Academic Expectations
Academic standards Many Wellingtonians of the 1940s considered that the school held reasonably high academic standards during those years: ‘Educationally, the Wellington Common Entrance was considered the second hardest after Winchester.’ Leslie Bond (Lynedoch 1948-53) ‘Wellington’s Common Entrance examination demanded a reasonable standard of education. Wellington had a higher standard than, say, Eton, and some boys who failed to get into Wellington had to seek for education at lesser schools.’ Ian Nason (Orange 1950-54) ‘Harry House had the admirable policy of hiring staff who were budding academics, but unfit for military service. They joined similar academics appointed by Longden. The result was a flowering of the arts and theatre, and a rather arrogant clique of “intellectuals,” who “used to carry slim volumes of TS Eliot around with them wherever they went.” This was perhaps not what one might expect from a school like Wellington so long ago. Later, some of them had success in the arts. An outsider might have expected the War and its aftermath to have been a dark age for Wellington. It seemed to me to be a golden age. After the War, when the regular teachers came back, I felt that something was lost.’ Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48) ‘I was fortunate to arrive at a time when teaching standards were improving with a cadre of dedicated schoolmasters who had returned to teaching after demobilisation. They also brought a creative spirit to the school’s cultural and academic life.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) However, some students from the 1940s and ‘50s felt that standards had not been high, and teaching not particularly good: ‘Wellington academically: pretty low, or I would never have got in! Marlborough was considered much better in those days.’ Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) ‘College’s culture of 1950 was muscular (rugger), military (lots of Army sons and recruits for Sandhurst), almost indifferent to matters academic (it felt like that anyway).’ Tim Reeder (Picton 1949-53) ‘I am sorry to say, educationally, Wellington was not a good school, but the greatest of fun, and, from that point of view was rather a waste of my father’s money.’ John Green (Talbot 1954-58) ‘The quality of my teachers, almost without exception, I recall as being poor.’ Nick Harding (Combermere 1951-1955) ‘Teaching was benign, to the point of not pushing enough.’ John Flinn (Combermere 1944-49) ‘I look back with a feeling that most teachers were competent, but few went beyond this.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) ‘(There was) no real attempt to show boys how to learn or why it was important.’ Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) ‘I learned very little. I liked most of the ushers, but none stimulated in me any sense of curiosity or appreciation of the value of learning. In the classroom, the main goals were fun and mischief. Much more fun than studying and learning was making toast with a candle in the back row of the class, or with pencil and sharpener held aloft asking for permission to go to the lavatory hoping to elicit the answer, “Do it in the waste-paper basket and don’t make a mess.”’ Christopher Capron (Benson 1949-54) ‘Wellington, during my time, was not an academic school. Beautiful buildings and grounds with a great history and tradition, but not academic. My grouse is that I was never taught how to concentrate and study subjects that did not interest me. I was, I think, an average student. I needed to be inspired and motivated. (And) if not inspired, then taught the need to buckle down and learn how to learn. For us, those who did (well) were “swots,” not bullied, but perhaps pitied for not joining us in whatever we were doing.’ Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) ‘When I went to Wellington, it was not, I think, regarded as a top public school and was not that well known. When I told people where I was at school, they asked whether it was “the school in Somerset” or “the school for potential Army officers?” It was not well endowed. It attracted mostly children of (the) professional classes and was not academically in the top flight. Nevertheless, it was much respected by those who had connections with it.’ John Thorneycroft (Benson 1953-58) Some respondents took a more nuanced view, commenting on particular educational aspects offered, or on attitudes towards learning: ‘I was very much General Sixth… This suited me as it meant subjects, such as History and Maths, would be taught by the inspirational masters of the time. They opened doors to one’s imagination and there was no forcing the pace to cover a curriculum needed to get into university. I think College opened the minds of those not so destined, as there was time to do so in a less taxing curriculum… There were plenty of role models amongst the staff willing to help if you were prepared to engage with them. Nevertheless we were expected to make the running, which meant those who chose not to could pass through College in a gentle meander, not bothering to get much from it.’ Colin Mattingley (Talbot 1952-56) ‘Wellington was considered a college which encouraged leadership and an ability to fend for one’s self, not especially academic like Winchester College, for example.’ Ian Nason (Orange 1950-54) ‘Wellington was not a school noted for excellent examination results and I never felt pressure to achieve academic miracles… I would describe the school’s objective more as assisting the pupils to make the best of the talents they were given.’ Richard Merritt (Picton 1954-59) I think we were not well-prepared for exams. For instance, I don’t remember sitting “mocks.”’ Christopher Miers (Beresford 1955-59) ‘It is difficult to comment on the standard of teaching overall. Monotonous is the word I would choose. Wellington did well in Classics, History and the Arts. It gained university entrances in these subjects as well as many entrances to Sandhurst.’ Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) ‘Whatever it may have been for the great mass of boys, Wellington in my time, was, presumably for a small minority, an intensely academic school. If you showed an early aptitude for a subject, you would be taken up, carefully nurtured, given highly specialised teaching in a small group in a narrow range of subjects – I was told to abandon all scientific and mathematical efforts beyond basic school certificate maths; all this with the ultimate aim of winning a scholarship at an Oxford or Cambridge college. This was a kind of pedagogy that would not now meet much approval, but it suited me fine.’ Peter Marshall (Stanley 1947-51) ‘No doubt the standard of education for the brighter pupils was excellent. For those of average intellect, like me, I don’t think the system got the best out of them.’ John Alexander (Talbot 1954-58) Several commented, with hindsight, that teaching methods of that era differed from today: ‘All teaching then was blackboard based, with none of the modern and interactive aids available today. So much more of a challenge for teachers to keep their pupils’ interest and attention!’ Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951-56) ‘In retrospect, apart from the blackboard, there were very few visual aids. It would depend on the personality and skills of the teacher.’ Thomas Collett-White (Picton 1950-55) ‘I think, for my generation, there was a menu of subjects that needed to be taught for the exam but there was little attempt to make learning interesting and applicable to life experience.’ Graham Stephenson (Combermere 1953-57) ‘My memory is of a traditional teacher-centric style reinforced by a substantial “preparation” workload every evening. The atmosphere in the classroom was always positive and respectful. The learning environment was teacher-centric but we were encouraged to search the literature, be creative, and present our own ideas to be discussed.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52) ‘The ushers and their teaching methods varied enormously. Indeed, I never met a more idiosyncratic group of professionals before or since. Some were brilliant, and I consider it a great privilege of my life to have sat at their feet. Some infused their lessons with humour and fun whilst still delivering good, solid teaching; others achieved somewhat lesser results by what can only be described as a rule of terror.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) ‘Challenging, but realistic. Given plenty of “prep” but facilities such as the library were excellent. We were quite diligent and did not fool around “much.”’ John Le Mare (Stanley 1950-55) The War’s influence Several respondents identified the Second World War as having an appreciable effect on their education. The War itself clearly impacted the availability of teachers: ‘The staff at Wellington during the War tended to be a curious mixture of persons exempted from military service for one reason or another.’ Peter Bell (Blücher 1943-48) ‘With young men away at the War, we were left with a worthy Second XI of staff too old or incapacitated to fight.’ Pat Stacpoole (Combermere 1944-48) Some continued to feel this, even after the War: ‘For the average boy, the standard of teaching was below par. Wellington had not yet benefited from the infusion of younger teachers returning from war service. Many of the teaching staff were too old or infirm to be called up and continued to teach at the College and were still in situ in 1949.’ Henry Beverley (Anglesey 1949-53) ‘Those available for teaching included older men and those unfit for service. Some were very good, and I am sure others did their best, but today’s staff are in another category.’ Anonymous (1948-52) ‘In my day, they were a motley crew! The Common Room was still recovering from the War years when many of the best teachers were conscripted or killed.’ Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954-59) ‘The school was picking itself up after the educational restraints and costly derelictions of a long war, including a low point when the master had been killed… Its image had also suffered from a series of local burglaries perpetrated by boys.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) ‘Looking back, I think Wellington, and perhaps other public schools, were in a post-war time-warp. Some masters were good, but none inspirational, with the majority past their sell-by date and living in a pre-war or even Edwardian world.’ Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) offers an effective analysis of the 1950s’ teaching staff: ‘Broadly, I would divide the staff into three groups. There were a few older men who were approaching retirement and had served in the First World War. Typical of these was Colonel Roy. There was a middle-aged group who had graduated in the 1920s and ‘30s and gone into teaching as a career. They were too old to serve in the Second World War and had continued teaching. An example was my tutor in the Picton in 1951, Rupert Horsley. The third group were younger, and many of these had seen active service and, as we shall see, bore the consequences of it.’ Many of these younger teachers were respected due to their War service: ‘Many of the staff in our day served during World War Two in the armed services. I don’t suppose any had been through any form of teacher training, but their experience of the world more than compensated.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) ‘When I was there, nearly all the staff had served in the War, in most theatres – Burma, including Chindits, to North-West Europe and the Atlantic convoys. As far as I remember, they were all afforded some degree of respect.’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) And due to their effect on the school: ‘There returned from the War an increasing flow of
CCF: Specialist Sections
The Army Section Some elected to stay in the Army Section, and did not regret their decision: ‘I joined the Army branch; my rifle number was 171 in the Armoury. We were taught how to use and clean the rifle and the Bren gun, having competitions with other platoons, and then went on a Field Day with Charterhouse or other nearby CCF units which was always exciting. We learnt how to do platoon in the attack, dig trenches and many other things which became very useful in Basic Training when I was called up.’ Anonymous ‘I joined the Army Contingent and was issued with battledress, boots and webbing and we had a certain amount of fun playing in the woods and also having Field Days down on the Aldershot training areas where we used blanks and thunderflashes. On one exercise, we had run out of blanks and when we charged the enemy position, our officer, Captain Comber used to shout “Bullets!” – from then on he was known as “Bullets” Comber! The CCF used to have an annual inspection by some senior visiting officer; on one inspection just as the officer was passing, a cadet called Tim Thompson was suddenly sick all over him – end of inspection – hurray!’ Leslie Bond (Lynedoch 1948-53) Others enjoyed the specialised Artillery section: ‘In my last year, the College obtained a 25-pounder field gun and I was the first cadet sergeant to be in charge of it. The gunnery I learnt was of great benefit to me when I eventually joined the Royal Artillery.’ ‘We had a thriving Royal Artillery section with our own 25-pounder gun, limber and “Quad” gun tractor. I really enjoyed my time as leader of the CCF Royal Artillery Section. I was soon to be the fourth generation of Royal Artillery Officers in my family, so this was Utopia.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52) ‘As it seemed more entertaining, I joined a small Royal Artillery Section, run by the regular Army, who came with a 25-pound mobile gun, towed by a military vehicle. We had great fun being driven into mock action, with me standing with my head through a hole in the vehicle’s roof giving instructions to the driver, and then going through the full drill of targeting and firing the gun.’ Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951-56) Later, the Signals Section was an option: ‘For some reason I ended up in the Signals Section (possibly to avoid having to carry a Bren gun), and had to master the dreaded ‘88’ set radio. This had four channels, two of which were totally forbidden, as they matched the ITV channel, and anything said was broadcast over the local area – in the afternoon, often horse-racing. The temptations were enormous…’ Michael Peck (Anglesey 1954-59) The Naval Section was generally reputed to offer the best trips, but Army section trips could be interesting too: ‘There was a trip to Bovington, HQ of the Royal Tank Regiment, where we were warmly welcomed by “The Tankies” and given first-hand experience of travelling over the proving grounds in several models of tank! My father served in the 44th Royal Tank Regiment throughout WW2 until he was mortally wounded a month before VE Day; it gave me a stark realisation of the conditions under which he and his brave companions had fought!’ Jeremy Watkins (Blucher 1951-55) ‘…in 1955 to Osnabruck with about 40 others as guests of the Oxford and Bucks Light Infantry, BAOR. I was the most senior cadet… An equivalent visit the previous year had been to the Black Watch who had treated the cadets royally, but our visit was largely uneventful apart from a visit to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp which was then almost as it had been when discovered at the end of the war, with mountainous mass graves etc.’ Nick Harding (Combermere 1951-1955) Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) also remembered this trip: ‘I went to Germany in 1954 with the Corps and we stayed in palatial German barracks which amazed us by having central heating. We learned a lot of swear words from the other ranks of our host regiment The Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire Infantry (“Beds and Tarts” to us), and we had some enjoyable tourism, notably to Hamelin and Hamburg where we saw Madame Butterfly in a converted cinema because the opera house was still rubble. We also were taken to Belsen concentration camp, liberated only nine years previously. This was very salutary, most of us never really having heard much of the camps. It was nearly dusk as we arrived and it was noticeable that there were no birds in this bleak place. The coach was silent after that visit.’ The Naval Section Many of our respondents chose to join the Naval Section of the CCF, which started in 1948. For some this was because of family tradition, a desire to join the Navy after school, or simply to learn new things: ‘My ambition then was to join the Navy, and when a Navy Section was started, I joined. Looking back, the standard of training was good and many outside visits, to ships, sail training camps in holidays, and other establishments, were arranged. We were enthusiastic about all this and took it seriously.’ Richard Godfrey-Faussett (Anglesey 1946-50) ‘I opted to join the Naval Section and I can safely say that I very much enjoyed the experience. There was quite a bit of drill (square bashing) and Lieutenant Charles Kuper, the master in charge, was a great character. I can recall marching up and down the Kilometre, all of us singing Hearts of Oak at the top of our voices, the idea being that this would be a substitute for a full Royal Marine band!’ Colin Mackinnon (Hardinge 1951-56) ‘I chose to move to the Naval Section where there was a certain amount for me to learn that was not familiar, and the opportunities for gaining experience at sea or at land-based Royal Navy establishments were a great attraction to me.’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59) ‘My father was in the Royal Navy and so, with the idea of possibly following in his footsteps, I joined the Naval Section. We spent Wednesday afternoons learning such arts as morse, semaphore, rope work, how to rig a whaler, and doing a great deal of drilling in one of the school quads.’ Anthony Goodenough (Stanley 1954-59) William Shine (Hill 1956-60), by contrast, ‘chose the Navy as I liked the uniform.’ Likewise, Tim Reeder (Picton 1949-53) ‘valued learning how to maintain the “bluejacket” uniform of the RN Section; washing and ironing the colour running collar, rolling up and pressing old style bellbottoms. But Anthony Collett (Combermere 1953-58) considered that, ‘to me, the least attractive side of it was the coarse uniform which scratched the skin mercilessly and necessitated the wearing of pyjamas underneath!’ But the greatest attraction of the Naval Section was the opportunities for travel and adventure which it offered, as some respondents explained: ‘After the first year I changed to the Naval Section because it had much better Field Days, namely taking a train to Portsmouth – an opportunity to virtually chain-smoke – followed by a day at sea, generally on a minesweeper, and another smoking journey on return!’ William Young (Anglesey 1954-58) ‘The advantage of the Naval Section was that Field Days consisted not of slogging about on the heath with rifle and blanks in ignorance of the tactical plan being rehearsed, but of visiting Portsmouth by train and seeing HMS Dolphin or Vernon, which were new and interesting.’ Numerous OWs recounted the various Naval trips they had been on: ‘In the summer of 1949, the summer “camp” was to spend two weeks on board the cruiser HMS Superb at Chatham. To describe that experience would require several pages, but I can say that it provided me with several growing-up experiences. I went home by bus at the end of the fortnight and my mother was horrified at the state of my clothing – we hadn’t done any washing of our clothes throughout the whole fortnight, and I suspect that not only my clothes, but my body required scrubbing!’ Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948-1950) ‘”Camps” and termly Field Days were visits to HM ships (Duke of York, battleship in Portsmouth; Romola, fleet minesweeper) for a week; and flying in Tiger Moth light aircraft at Royal Naval Air Station, Culham. Inevitable visits to Excellent (Whale Island gunnery school); Vernon (torpedo & anti-submarine), and other Naval establishments around Portsmouth.’ Tim Reeder (Picton 1949-53) ‘We flew in naval aircraft from Yeovilton, went out in RAF air-sea rescue boats from Calshot, but the best of all was a 2-week trip during the summer holidays in HMS Trafalgar, a Battle Class destroyer. Leaving from Portsmouth we visited the Orkneys and Shetlands before crossing the North Sea to Bergen in Norway where we stayed for a couple of days before returning home. We stood proper sea watches and worked part-of-ship and this, together with Charlie [Kuper]’s other training initiatives, were of tremendous value to those of us who eventually served in the Royal Navy.’ Anonymous ‘I remember a couple of camps, one to HMS St Vincent, the Navy’s boys’ training establishment, and one on HMS Boxer, then in dry dock in Portsmouth. One memory of the latter is the young Leading Seaman detailed to look after us explaining in vivid (pungent?) lower deck/barrack room language that there was no fresh water on the ship because someone had contaminated the fresh water tank. Afterwards, we all went round repeating his exact words with great glee! Also, the odd Field Day spent on ships in Portsmouth attempting to sleep in hammocks – thuds throughout the night as some unfortunate fell out or his knots undid!’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) ‘On one occasion, virtually the whole Naval Section was transported to Gibraltar from Portsmouth aboard the cruiser HMS Birmingham. In Gibraltar we were looked after by the Governor, who happened to be an Old Wellingtonian, and we were feted right royally. Returning to the UK, we were all split up and came home on various ships. I was drafted to HMS Loch Insh, a frigate. It took us five days to get back to Portsmouth and I can recall that most of that time I had a paintbrush in my hand and was painting everything “Battleship Grey.”’ Colin Mackinnon (Hardinge 1951-56) ‘We visited Portsmouth on several occasions, went to Gibraltar in HMS Vigo a destroyer, and went on an exercise in a submarine that was under attack from depth charges. All much more fun than roughing it at Catterick which the Army cadets had to endure.’ Nigel Hamley (Hill 1952-55) ‘Occasionally we were taken down to Portsmouth to fire anti-aircraft guns, including in a “battle trainer” when gallons of water were thrown over us as we loaded and fired. In early 1957 I joined a party of cadets at the naval dockyard of Rosyth on the Forth. We were given what was my first flight, over the Forth Bridge, and also passed beneath it in a small minesweeper.’ Anthony Goodenough (Stanley 1954-59) ‘The best was a week’s summer camp with Charlie Kuper, sailing a Navy cutter from Portsmouth on the Solent, camping each evening on a beach.’ ‘I was delighted to get the opportunity to join a contingent from Wellington who spent a week on board the aircraft carrier HMS Eagle, during sea trials off the south coast of England after a major refit in Plymouth. This was like heaven to me. We paraded with the crew
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.
Meals and mealtimes
The mealtime routine The daily routine of mealtimes changed very little for Wellingtonians throughout the 1940s and 1950s. The majority – all those who lived in the central dormitories – ate their three daily meals in the main Dining Hall, presided over by the Hall Usher, who kept order. During the Second World War this was Monsieur Noblet, ‘a great character’, wearing his Legion d’honneur in his lapel; later, several teachers took turns for the duty. The Hall Usher, or sometimes the Chaplain, would begin the meal with a Latin grace: ‘“Benedictus Benedicat per Jesum Christum dominum nostrum,” we all crowed “ARRRRMEN” and then the chatting immediately started. I never knew what grace actually was until I looked it up recently!’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946–51) ‘“MumblemumbleperJesumChristumDominumNostrum.” And we all sat down on those hard benches.’ ‘I recall the Chaplain (the Rev Dudley Dinnis) saying grace: “We praise the Lord for this fine dish and thank the Lord it isn’t fish… benedictus benedicat!”’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947–52) Many described the dining system in Hall, for example this OW from the early 1950s: ‘We sat at long tables, each for a dormitory, with dormitory Prefects at the head and then declining in seniority to the “squealers” at the bottom. The food was served at the foot of the table by the dormitory servant, the faithful “jally”, and the plates then passed up each side.’ Nigel Gripper (Hopetoun 1945–49) commented that ‘I don’t recall much abuse of the plates of food as they were passed up by about twelve pupils each side!’ However Peter Rickards (Murray 1947–52) recalled that ‘by this means creative additions, such as toilet tissue with the chocolate pudding, would sometimes appear on the way.’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949–54) added more detail: ‘Extra vegetables were on plates in the middle of the table. If a Prefect wanted more the cry would be “potatoes up” and nobody could take any on the way!’ This system was not without disadvantages. Peter Davison (Beresford 1948–52) commented that ‘The empty plates were returned, often before the juniors at the other end had received their helping,’ while Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957–61) laid out the difficulties at some length: ‘Firstly, there was insufficient space, we sat on benches with those at the foot cramped together. Secondly, those at the foot received their meals last as all the plates were passed up the length of the table, hand to hand. The results were that it was often cold, with frequently short rations and importantly there was often insufficient time to finish what was available. Those at the foot had often only just received their plate before it was cleared away and when you were on clearing duty you had to start when those at the head of the table had finished. This lack of time, and hence food, was compounded for the very junior at the foot as he had the additional duty of going to the kitchens to replenish such items as water jugs, etc or occasionally to “fetch a cloth!”’ On the other hand, Hugo White (Hardinge 1944–48) found some benefit: Sitting at the bottom of the table had its advantage, as we were well placed to scrape and devour any morsels of food left on the plates of our seniors as they were passed down for stacking.’ ‘Seconds’ were by no means frequent. ‘The elder boys did seem to be privileged to get first go at second helpings and I did feel a little guilty about this when I became ‘elder’’ John Le Mare (Stanley 1950–55) Several remarked that mealtimes were a rush. Jerry Yeoman (Anglesey 1955–59) recalled ‘the desperate need to get to Hall before the gong and grace was said. Such a failing would incur a beating and it was no good just not attending, for your absence from your place at the dormitory table would be very obvious.’ And there was an equal urgency at the end of the meal, with Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946–51) recalling ‘an open-ended finish only at teatime’ and John Alexander (Talbot 1954–58) commenting ‘I do remember that the meals were very brief. The regime/timetable did not allow much spare time.’ The impact of rationing Many foods were rationed in the UK from January 1940 until July 1954. Unsurprisingly, this had a major impact on the diets of a generation of Wellingtonians. Most were accustomed to rationing before they even came to College, from their homes and prep schools, and so the limitations were nothing unusual to them. Henry Beverley (Anglesey 1949–53) summed up the situation: ‘my generation, who were at prep school through most of the War, were under-nourished and always ravenous’, while Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949–53) commented ‘my time at Wellington was characterised (in common with the rest of the country) by dreadful food, and very little of it. When my children occasionally complained of what I regarded as their pretty luxurious fare, I would show them a photograph of my supper in the Stanley. I still have it, and it shows a plate entirely empty save for a small puddle of tinned spaghetti in the centre.’ Nevertheless, most felt that Wellington’s caterers had done their best under the circumstances. Remarkably, the number of respondents claiming that they had been ‘never hungry’ at Wellington was exactly the same as those who claimed to have been ‘always’ or ‘often’ hungry! Moreover, this did not change from the 1940s to the 1950s. Clearly hunger must, to some extent, have been subjective. Many recalled the specific arrangements around rationing, most of which centred around butter and jam: ‘The ration of butter was two ounces a week and we had our own personal butter ration on a dish in front of us. It had to last a week and one could spread it very thinly, though hardly tasting it, or enjoy it all in a few delicious sessions! I can still estimate a two-ounce chunk of butter. This butter ration was sacrosanct, and no one tried to take anyone else’s.’ David Trafford-Roberts (Anglesey 1943–45) ‘We had our own labelled margarine dishes and sugar jars. These were respected by all, and I do not recall any pilfering. Bread was usually white and rationed at two slices for breakfast.’ Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943–47) ‘Butter was rationed and still scarce, and we were allowed only one small pat of it at each teatime. This being the one thing that I felt seriously deprived of during those years, I developed a keen eye for spotting an unfinished pat of it at great distance.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946–51) ‘We were given 1 lb of sugar each month and I tried to make marmalade – a disaster!’ ‘A lot of our concern at table was centred on our own jam pots – the House cook took charge of our ration books for the basic rations, but we had control of our own “points” for things like jam, and our personal jam jars were always our own responsibility.’ Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948–1950) ‘Butter must have been in short supply, as were marmalade, honey and jam, for one sequestered any part of a pat that was left over in the lid of one’s personal jar.’ David Nalder (Orange 1949–53) ‘We would receive a weekly ration of both butter and margarine, the latter being more generous. Those of us who were happy enough to eat margarine would sometimes exchange our smaller amount of butter for someone else’s margarine.’ Neil Munro (Talbot 1952–56) Even when all rationing had ended, butter was still at a premium: ‘I once asked why we couldn’t have proper butter and was told that we’d been given the choice between limited butter or unlimited marge.’ William Shine (Hill 1956–60) Everyone found their own way of coping with the shortages: ‘When parents came or relations came to take us out over the few weekends that we were allowed out, we used to go to the Wellington Hotel and stuff ourselves with good food.’ Ian Nason (Orange 1950–54) ‘I supplemented the rations by eating other boys’ sausage skins, a habit they found disgusting.’ And one incident passed into legend: ‘There was rationing but we were not really hungry like our predecessors who were said to have roasted squirrels over dormitory gas rings.’ Tim Reeder (Picton 1949–53) ‘I was part of a gang from the Hill which killed a grey squirrel with a catapult and cooked it on the brew ring and ate it, more out of bravado than hunger but it was rather delicious. It got into the Sunday papers as proof of how starving we were, but we got away with a mild ticking-off.’ Norman Tyler (Hill 1947–52) Although the story became somewhat confused: ‘One occasion of note was when, after we had been served with a meat stew, the Sunday papers announced that the boys of Wellington College had been fed “squirrel stew” earlier in the week. As far as we were aware, no one issued a denial!’ Colin Mackinnon (Hardinge 1951–56) Good food or bad? A minority of our respondents were disparaging about the fare served to them at Wellington, describing it as ‘rather poor’, ‘awful’, or even ‘a disaster’! However, most felt that it had been ‘adequate’ or even ‘pretty good’, although somewhat stodgy and lacking in variety. The good … ‘My favourite meal was baked beans, bacon and fried bread. Oh they did cook the fried bread so well.’ John Alexander (Talbot 1954–58) ‘The food served in the main Dining Hall was healthy and varied, though perhaps with less meat than in these days.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947–52) ‘Given that certain foods were still restricted, the food we received in House was surprisingly good. I even recall enjoying a piece of whale steak.’ John Watson (Benson 1946–51) ‘I thought the food was good, even the de-hydrated powdered egg and potatoes! The high point of the week was fish on Friday, the smell of which, wafting through the colonnades, was for me a comforting experience, marking the week drawing to a close.’ Michael Mathew (Murray 1956–60) The bad … ‘“Frogspawn” comes to mind and steamed date pudding – ugh!’ Anonymous ‘For the Sunday evening meal, it was usually cold pilchards in tomato sauce – yuk!’ Anonymous ‘I was personally not keen on “fish eyes” (tapioca) or whale meat, both of which appeared rather frequently!’ Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943–47) ‘At breakfast, coffee and tea were provided but both tasted the same, one could only tell by the shape of the pots.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945–50) ‘One incident did cause some amusement. The kitchen decided to serve mutton (whether roast, casseroled or stewed I don’t recall) anyway hardly any of it was eaten, which induced the Master, Harry House, in his wisdom, to address us on the subject of mutton!! It was good for us, he said; health giving, he said – and delicious as well! (Maybe he had the one edible portion!!!!)’ Jeremy Watkins (Blücher 1951–55) ‘At breakfast, coffee and tea were provided but both tasted the same, one could only tell by the shape of the pots.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945–50) ‘One incident did cause some amusement. The kitchen decided to serve mutton (whether roast, casseroled or stewed I don’t recall) anyway hardly any of it was eaten, which induced the Master, Harry House, in his wisdom, to address us on the subject of mutton!! It was good for us, he said; health giving, he said – and delicious as well! (Maybe he had the one edible portion!!!!)’ Jeremy Watkins (Blücher 1951–55) ‘Food
Discipline and Punishments
NOTE: This page records practices and attitudes at Wellington in the 1940s and 1950s. Such practices and attitudes are outdated and in no way condoned by Wellington College today. They are included as part of our commitment to recording our history as faithfully as possible. Non-corporal punishment Some non-corporal methods of punishment are described in other parts of the ‘Decades’ section. For example, Biology teacher Mr Lewis’ notorious ‘Big Stuff,’ a laborious line-writing exercise, and ‘Coventry,’ a tortuous procedure which entailed the whole class sitting absolutely still. Sanctions such as these caused more fear and resentment than beatings, perhaps because they lasted longer or because of their apparent pointlessness. John Thorneycroft (Benson 1953-58) recalls another such practice: ‘One particular nasty punishment in the Benson for a serious breach of house rules was to report to a Prefect every five minutes between 7.00am and 7.30am wearing alternately ordinary clothes and then “change” (sports) clothes. Quite tiring!’ Some recalled other forms of punishment: ‘Petty infringement of dormitory rules resulted in having to write these out a number of times. I recall one offender writing out the full rules on a postage stamp.’ William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) ‘Other common punishments included “impos” [impositions] where you were ordered to handwrite something incredibly boring, like fourteen Shakespeare sonnets.’ Anonymous ‘I remember weeding the Combermere Quad as a punishment because I had walked on the grass!’ Richard Buckley (Combermere 1941-45) ‘… having to run up Finchampstead Ridges and take a rubbing of the brass sundial there! There was a back route to the Ridges, however, which passed the local nudist camp, called “The Heritage!”’ Michael Trevor-Barnston (Anglesey 1957-60) ‘Punishments were for the most part notional, such as brief detention, the copying of “lines,” or cleaning and weeding tasks around the House. In the Talbot there was a system which involved “penny fines.” For a minor misdemeanour, you would be fined one (old) penny, which would go to House Funds.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) This system of penny fines appears universal, as it was mentioned by many. The fines were innocuous in themselves, but added up to have more serious consequences: ‘Four fines in a week and you were tanned [beaten]. The first week at Upcott was forgiven, but, sure as shooting, I got four fines the second week. I’m not sure how the Prefects engineered it, but they kept finding my towel in the bathroom.’ Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954-59) ‘I think I had two canings… The offence, five fines in a month for things like leaving your jam jar on the windowsill outside the dining room or leaving an article of sports clothing on the changing room floor. I still say I was set up on the changing room fines.’ John Armstrong-MacDonnell (Talbot 1952-56) Chris Heath (Beresford 1948-53) was of the opinion that ‘being tanned for too many “black marks” did encourage you to do better, or become craftier in the future.’ Levels of punishment Fines were imposed for the most minor offences, particularly within the House or Dormitory, but many misdemeanours incurred the prospect of a beating. The system’s ‘hierarchy’ is explained by Richard Craven (Hill 1950-54): ‘I recall there were three levels: Headmaster’s or College beating, Tutor’s beating and Prefect’s beating. The first were few and far between, in fact I can only remember about two during my time. They were for the most serious offences, so knowledge of them went around the school like wildfire and further misdemeanours of similar severity would mean expulsion. These were carried out by either the Master or his deputy, Mr Meikle. Rumour had it that Mr Meikle would draw a chalk line across the offender’s backside for accuracy, hence his nickname, “Chalkie.” ‘Prefect beatings could only be administered by the Head of House/Dormitory and then only with the Tutor’s knowledge and by members of the Upper Ten. College beatings took place in the Master’s study, House Tutors in the Tutor’s study, Form Tutors’ in the classroom, College Prefects’ in the Upper Ten room, and Head of House, in the case of the Hill at least, in the Dormitory bathroom.’ Only one respondent, Rodney Fletcher (Combermere 1949-53), recalled being beaten by the Master, merely commenting that ‘He had a poor aim.’ Several, however, were beaten by teachers, for crimes which were more classroom-based: rubbing a memo off a blackboard, being very late for a lesson, carving your name on a desk, or being disruptive in class. House Tutors also beat those discovered off school grounds without permission. Perhaps most baffling to today’s mind, some teachers also beat boys for not doing prep, handing in poor work, or being bottom of the class. Even at the time, some questioned the point of this: ‘I really don’t think being beaten for bad French results made me any better at French.’ Chris Heath (Beresford 1948-53) ‘The first beating I had was from my Biology teacher, Mr Lewis. I had failed to grasp some arcane and completely useless principle of biology. What thought process he went through to decide that a beating would help me grasp this incomprehensible biological principle is hard to imagine.’ Richard Wellesley (Benson 1948-53) Two OWs sent in stories of how they avoided, or could have avoided, beatings from teachers: ‘My Tutor Mark Baker heard me whistling on the way to prayers in the evening. He invited me to come to his study after prayers where he said he was going to beat me. At the time I was playing number eight for the Wellington First XV and I certainly was not going to be beaten by him or anyone. I told him that I refused to be beaten and thank goodness for him and probably me, he dropped the case.’ Ian Nason (Orange 1950-54) ‘I was beaten by Charley Kuper for failing to “tick” him when we passed each other in the Quad. I decided to become much enraged by this, and, for a while, refused to look him in the eye or smile during our History lessons. Eventually he called me aside after class and asked me what was wrong. I told him that I had a moral objection to beatings. To my surprise, he replied that he would never have inflicted it had he been aware of my principled viewpoint. I felt an utter hypocrite, as in reality I never had any moral objection to the practice, which was of course universal at the time.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) Most beatings, therefore, were administered by either Dormitory or College Prefects, or by the Head of House. Some were for important matters: three who were at College during the War years recall being beaten for failing to blackout their windows properly, and incidents of smoking (mentioned by very few) or bullying would still be treated seriously today. However, many beatings were for offences we might now consider trivial. Examples given by respondents include running or eating where not permitted; walking on the grass in the Quad or cutting across the corner of ‘Turf’; talking, reading, or listening to the radio after ‘lights out’; contravening regulations regarding dress; or any behaviour that could be lumped under the term ‘squealering.’ One of the more unusual crimes was that confessed by Randal Stewart (Anglesey 1953-56): ‘I was beaten once by my Tutor and twice by Prefects. Another boy and I had ruined one of the Prefects’ saucepans trying to melt the lead out of spent .303 rounds, which we dug out of the old 500-yard range. The other boy was expelled the following term for taking lead from the College roof – we were making musket balls.’ It is difficult to say how frequent beatings were. A handful of respondents claimed they had never been beaten. Most seem to have experienced it between one and three times in their school careers; a hardy minority, more. Most could remember what their crimes had been, but a sizable group could not; suggesting that beating was not always the deterrent it was meant to be. There were checks and balances in the system, intended to prevent the Prefects from abusing their power. Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) wrote that ‘Prefects had to ask Tutors for permission to beat boys,’ while Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) believed that ‘in the Talbot, it had to be authorised by the Head of House.’ Perhaps this was the case for House or Dormitory Prefects; however, College Prefects only had to seek permission after the event. Anthony Collett (Combermere 1953-58) states, ‘Every time, the Prefect had to write to the Master saying, “I today had occasion to beat X for …,”’ confirmed by Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951-56): ‘A College Prefect could beat a boy from any house/dormitory and just inform the boy’s House Tutor afterwards!’ The system meant that most beatings by Prefects were administered to significantly younger boys, but one respondent recalled an exception: ‘I was caned in my fourth year, when I must have been close to seventeen, for failing to respect a no-go area on Rockies. I was several inches taller than the Prefect!’ Michael Mathew (Murray 1956-60) What was it like? Beatings were something of a ceremony, or in the words of Richard Harries (Hill 1949-54): ‘A terrifying piece of theatre.’ The ritual became well-known to everyone: ‘You were beaten, I think on Friday, at 10pm, in the Tower. Six strikes usually, pyjamas only, the Head of House beat you. He was not allowed to raise the cane above his shoulder height.’ Michael Crumplin (Orange 1956-60) ‘Bit of a ritual. After bedtime, there would be a knock on your door and a voice would say, “The Head of Dormitory would like to see you in the bathroom. Bring a chair.” Bloody frightening!’ William Shine (Hill 1956-60) ‘Beatings were a ritual where the anticipation was almost worse than the actual punishment. They would take place immediately after lights out when the victim’s name would be called, for the whole dormitory to hear, and the unfortunate boy would shuffle down to the scullery on the floor below. They would wear pyjamas only and any attempt to insert newspapers or other paddings would be recognised immediately and result in extra strokes. The beating was administered bending over the back of a chair and clasping the bottom rail.’ Anonymous ‘The hard part was having to endure the wait between the notification of the punishment and the execution, which might be an entire day.’ Michael Mathew (Murray 1956-60) ‘One of the rituals in the Hardinge was that, after every lunch, all boys had to brush their teeth and report to the duty Prefect clutching their toothbrush to be ticked off on the attendance sheet. There was one chilling exception to this: the passing down the table from boy to boy at the end of lunch, the dreaded message, “NO TEETH!” This signalled that there was to be a beating in the bathroom. Rather than brush their teeth, all boys slunk silently to their rooms and waited nervously to hear the footsteps of the Prefect going to the room of the victim to tell him the Head of Dormitory wished to see him in the bathroom. Then the unwilling footsteps of the miscreant down the corridor, the four interminably spaced cracks of the tan followed by the rather faster steps back to poor fellow’s room.’ Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954-59) Jock Brazier (Hill 1941-45) remembered: ‘Having to go to the steward to collect a cane which you handed to your Head of Dormitory, and you were beaten during second prep.’ As for
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
Living Conditions
Many of our respondents used words such as ‘basic’, ‘austere’, or ‘spartan’ to describe life in their Houses and dormitories. One or two went further, describing conditions as ‘verging on squalor’ or claiming to have been ‘appalled’ when they first saw where they were to live. However, such views were in a minority. Most OWs described their accommodation as ‘adequate’ or even ‘comfortable’; at the time they expected nothing more. Hot or cold? Being warm enough is fundamental to human comfort. One of our earlier respondents, Robert Waight (Orange 1942–46), recalled that ‘Surprisingly, despite wartime fuel restrictions, our “tishes” and all but a few classrooms were tolerably warm.’ John Berger (Benson 1949–52) commented that ‘the heating worked in winter’, while Roger Ryall (Picton 1951–56) wrote that ‘there was always plenty of hot water and hot baths were always available, plus the buildings were always warm.’ However, more OWs recalled being cold, especially in winter: ‘The heating pipes had silted up many years before and it was cold, we used to pull our clothes into our beds to warm them before getting up to dress.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945–50) ‘The winter of 1947, when the ink froze in the inkpots, was a testing time for even the most hardy. The Victorian system of cast iron pipes can never have produced much warmth, but with the coke shortage of the war years it was often difficult to tell whether the heating was on or off. Those with money purchased ex-US Air Force kapok-lined flying suits which they wore day and night – alas, I was never sufficiently affluent.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944–48) ‘In winter it was very cold. I put my feet through the arms of my overcoat in order to stay warm.’ ‘My chief memory of Wellington is of being cold. I had only been in England for two years after growing up in Central Africa and was not used to the cold … I would wear three sweaters under my tweed jacket and still freeze in class. This affected my studies as my grades followed the thermometer. After winning a prize one Summer Term for being top of the class, I received a beating the following winter for dropping to the bottom and “not trying”. When the same thing happened the next year, I was sent to counselling to find out why my grades fluctuated so wildly. My explanation that I was too cold and could not learn while shivering and sitting on my hands to keep warm seemed to be dismissed as nonsense. However, I was not beaten again.’ Graeme Shelford (Hardinge 1954–57) Several also mentioned that whatever the weather, windows would be left open: ‘My Tutor Hugh Marston made it a rule that all Hardinge boys had to keep their “tish” window open at least six inches at all times. There were nights when I slept wearing a sweater, covered with all my blankets, my dressing gown and my carpet. A couple of times I awoke in the morning to find my bed covered with snow.’ Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954–59) Room, cubicle or ‘tish’? ‘Probably the greatest single factor affecting our lives at Wellington was the “tish” system. As far as I know, no other public school gave its boys a room of their own almost from ‘day one.’ Living, as one did, in a raucous herd, the facility to shut oneself up in the privacy of one’s own space was of enormous importance.’ The vast majority of respondents echoed Hugo’s views, expressing much appreciation for the Wellington system of accommodation. For most, this meant a smallish cubicle, separated from its neighbours by a wooden partition. ‘Partition’ became colloquially shortened to ‘tish’, a term sometimes applied to the cubicles themselves as well as the dividers between them. Many commented on how pleased they were with this, after having been accustomed to communal prep school dormitories: ‘We appreciated having our own private space and each made it as comfortable as was his ability to do so.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946–51) ‘To have one’s own room was a delight.’ Norman Tyler (Hill 1947–52) ‘This really gave me a feeling of freedom and responsibility.’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954–59) ‘Wellington was well ahead of other schools then in providing this degree of privacy, while most other schools still used the open dormitory system.’ Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951–56) The wooden partitions dividing the rooms were six or eight feet high but did not reach to the ceiling of the dormitories. Because of this, they provided, in Thomas Collett-White’s (Picton 1950–55) words, “Visible privacy, yes; audio, no.’ William Young (Anglesey 1954–58) found that ‘The dormitory was surprisingly quiet at night, no sounds of snoring’, but missiles could be exchanged between the cubicles. Robin Lake (Benson 1952–57) recalled that ‘We got very good at judging “three rooms away” or “across the corridor” with ping pong balls or old gym shoes!’ Climbing over the partitions, or ‘tish-popping’ as it was known, was strictly forbidden and punishable by beating. Nevertheless, Robert Waight (Orange 1942–46) recalled that ‘this line of approach was taken by marauding boys interested in attacking their friends using a variety of missiles, often water-filled. Despite howls of laughter on both sides, invaders were often repulsed quite savagely by flailing fists, hockey sticks, and cricket bats!’ Furnishings and fittings The layout and furnishings of the rooms were fairly standard, as described by Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949–54): ‘an iron bed, a desk/table with chair, a window seat with a cushion (“hardarse”) and a small chest of drawers.’ To this inventory, others added possibly ‘hooks for clothes’ and ‘a floor mat or carpet of some sort.’ Robin Ballard (Orange 1955–59) mentioned ‘a bookcase, or fitted bookshelves on the wall behind the door, with a flap-down for food’, while Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957–61) enlarged: ‘Each room had a “birdcage”, situated behind the door and over one end of the bed. This was a wooden cupboard, with three shelves and a wire mesh front, hence the name. This was useful storage for many items, particularly tins of baked beans etc.’ These furnishings were themselves pretty basic. Nigel Gripper (Hopetoun 1945–49) said his had ‘a straw mattress,’ while Martin Kinna (Murray 1953–58) wrote that ‘the old beds were awful, lumpy and made a terrible noise when one turned over.’ However, many students added more comfortable items of their own, the most popular being an easy chair of some sort: ‘I had a very comfortable padded deck chair with arms, that a sailmaker had made for my then sea-going father years before.’ John Green (Talbot 1954–58) ‘a cushion or two, a comfy rattan armchair’ David Nalder (Orange 1949–53) ‘Most of us imported table lamps, wicker chairs etc.’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951–55) ‘Namely an armchair, including cushions, and a rectangle of proper carpet, the latter to replace the insanitary hard curled coir mat … The final touches being a coloured lampshade in substitution for the chipped enamel effort provide by College and a more tasteful curtain.’ Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957–61) And some attempted to rearrange what furniture they had: ‘All cubicles had the same layout, with bed against a long wall and desk opposite; that is until towards the end of my time, when some bright spark experimented with turning the room round, with the bed just fitting along the outer wall next to the window shelf with the long hardarse and triangular hardarse. This worked very well, and was copied by a large number of the boys in our corridor. The new arrangement seemed to give more space, and was open-mindedly permitted by our Tutor, Mr Marston.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946–51) ‘At the start of every term I would rearrange the furniture within the very limited scope available. The head of the bed would be repositioned to the opposite end. This allowed me to have, on the provided table, my own bedside lamp, height increased by placing the obligatory copy of Shakespeare underneath. I think that that was the only use to which said mandatory volume was ever put.’ Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957–61) ‘As well as decorating our “tishes” to our personal taste, we rebelled against the conformity they imposed by rearranging them from time to time. Given the tiny area available, this practice, while stretching our imagination and back muscles, achieved little. A “tish” remained a “tish”.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942–46) Technical improvements Many also demonstrated ingenious uses of technology in their rooms: ‘I ran a system of strings round the room so that I could open and close the curtains without getting out of bed.’ Vernon Phillips (Murray 1951–54) ‘There were personal attachments to the lighting systems allowing you to put them on and off when you wanted.’ Hardy Stroud (Combermere 1950–55) ‘This involved stringing up some very dicey wiring to set up lights in different locations. Nobody objected to this amateur wiring, but they should have! It was downright dangerous.’ Graeme Shelford (Hardinge 1954–57) ‘For some reason when the Bishop of Portsmouth visited College, my room was chosen to give him an idea of our living quarters. I had rigged up a lighting system in the room which he wanted to try out. He was too enthusiastic in pulling the cord and the whole lot fell down on him!’ Alan Saunders (Orange 1957–60) ‘When I was 15 or 16 I was appointed Dormitory Electrician with no training or instruction. I frequently mended fuses and did well to avoid electrocution!’ Not to mention the cat’s-whisker or crystal radio sets possessed by some, despite being forbidden: ‘I used to make one valve radios and sell them, and we used the bed springs as aerials.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945–50) ‘I tried out a crystal radio set with earphones for a while to hear the news, but there was such poor reception, I gave that up.’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954–59) ‘I had a crystal set which enabled me to tune in to some stations and listen in my room with headphones. Unfortunately one night I went to sleep with my headphones on and was found out by the Prefect doing “callover”. This resulted in me getting beaten by Head of Dorm David Mordaunt, who was subsequently a very good friend!’ Graham Stephenson (Combermere 1953–57) ‘Tish rags’ and other decorations The wooden partitions separating the cubicles were of no great beauty, being old and often in poor condition. Those in the Beresford were painted a shade described by one respondent as ‘eau de nil’ and by his contemporary, rather less attractively, as ‘puke green.’ To cheer them up, and further personalise their living space, Wellingtonians decorated them with a wide variety of colourful cloths known as ‘tish rags’, and with pictures from home, the variety of which demonstrates the range of interests at the time: ‘Nearly all of us draped our walls with swathes and swags of material, the gaudier the better. These “tish rags” probably originated in the souks, bazaars and markets of Asia and Africa, in which our parents had haggled during their service to King and Empire.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942–46) ‘Pictures were usually the centrefold of Eagle comic.’ William Shine (Hill 1956–60) ‘I used the coloured covers from The Field plus the odd picture of a film star (they usually wore more clothes in those days!). Most attempted to create a more sophisticated atmosphere using darker shades for one’s table lamp, although the effect was often more that of a courtesan’s boudoir than that of a sophisticated man-about-town!’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951–55) ‘I decorated the walls with some line
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
Fagging
NOTE: We are aware that the terms ‘fag’ and ‘fagging’ are now considered derogatory or possible homophobic slurs, and that their use may now be offensive. Throughout this website we use the terms as they were used at Wellington College in the past, deriving from ‘fag’ as a slang term for tiring or tedious work, and with no derogatory or homophobic connotations. The fags’ exam A large number of respondents described the fags’ exam, a test of knowledge to which all new boys were subjected around three weeks into their school career: ‘Once in Dormitory, the first three weeks were dedicated to learning the geography of the College, some local traditions and practices, and also some things that were completely useless such as “How many pineapples are there?” (fourteen, I think, but I may be wrong.) During this period you were looked after by a more experienced fag who taught you the ropes and where things were located, such as noticeboards. Once the three weeks were up, you had to take and pass the Fags’ exam.’ Chris Heath (Beresford 1948–53) ‘Essentials included the names of the Tutors and Heads of all the dormitories and houses and the whereabouts of the various buildings and playing fields. There was quite a lot of less important stuff also: e.g. the height of the Golden Pineapple!’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949–54) ‘The wide range of questions made it quite hard: we had to know where remote buildings were, when Grubbies was open; who was Head of School, Captain and members of the rugger XV; Tutors’ and ushers’ positions, nicknames, special interests and characteristics! It lasted about forty minutes and, astonishingly, some failed.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942–46) The exam itself generally consisted of a verbal questioning by the Prefects on the appointed day. ‘Then the exam with its trick question, “Where does the Path of Duty lead?” To Grubbies, the tuck shop, not “The Way to Glory” as inscribed over the gate.’ Pat Stacpoole (Combermere 1944–48) ‘The only question which I can now remember is that one was given a list of all the ushers’ nicknames, which one was expected to know off by heart. My House Tutor was “Nosey” Evans because he had a very prominent nose. (Easy and obvious, that one.) Major Roy, who commanded the Corps, had lost an eye (we never knew, but assumed, during the War) was very unkindly known as “Dead-eye Dick”, or “The Constipated Bulldog”, while, as mentioned previously, Mr. Crawley was “Anthony Sebastian”. Those are the only ones I can now recall – no, one more, Mr. Travers (he was an Australian, and an Australian rugby international, I think only at College for a year or so) was “Jiker” – no, I don’t know, either.’ Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948–1950) ‘When researching this narrative I dug out my Blue Roll for the Michaelmas Term 1957. On page 4 where the Academic Staff is listed are my pencil annotations giving the nicknames of the majority of the teachers.’ Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957–61) Several remembered the consequences of failure in the fags exam: ‘This was the first exam you faced within College and was taken very seriously, not just by yourself but also by your Fag Teacher. Failure carried a stigma and could have long term consequences for weeks to come.’ Richard Craven (Hill 1950–54) ‘If you failed, you had to take it again a week later. If you failed a second time, I think there was a risk that you might get beaten.’ Chris Heath (Beresford 1948–53) ‘If you passed – huge relief for you and your fag teacher. If you failed, you had to stand up on a raised shelf and sing a song (subject to some abuse). You were given a further week to “swot up” and be re-examined. What an ordeal! I was fortunate to pass my own exam first time, but my designated fag failed first time, but after shutting him in an under-eaves cupboard and forcing him to learn all the necessary facts whilst I sat outside and shouted out the Q & As, he, or should I say we, passed the second time!’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954–59) ‘I failed the fags’ exam, which took place a fortnight after one’s first arrival. As a penance, I was compelled to climb onto the bar between the “tishes” on the first floor and sing a song. As I could not remember a single one, a Prefect handed me up a Bible open at the Psalms. Not knowing the tune, I made it up. It was not a pleasing performance.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949–53) ‘The penalty for failure was to stand before the whole dormitory and sing a song whilst being barracked by the audience. Fortunately, I passed but I retain to this day the mental image of some poor boy who had failed crying whilst being mocked as he attempted to sing the song. In my final year when I was a senior boy, we managed to abolish the practice [the punishment, rather than the whole fagging system].’ Richard Merritt (Picton 1954–59) Duties Once the exam was passed, fags were expected to serve for around four terms, although occasionally it could be as many as seven. John Ravenhill (Orange 1953–56) still feels some bitterness about this: ‘I also believe that my achievements could have been greatly improved if I had not been penalised by seven terms as a fag due to my low academic achievements, four terms as head fag whereas my brainy brother only did three terms and was then Prefect at 16. NOT AT ALL FAIR.’ The running fag ‘“Someone!” The call reverberated down the dormitory. First-year boys dropped whatever they were doing and reported to the Prefect making the call. The last past the post got the job. “Anyone!” All including year two had to respond.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947–52) ‘At the bottom of the heap was “the running fag”. Whenever a Prefect wanted something to be done, he would call “Fag”. This forced all the fags to drop whatever they were doing and run like hell to get to the Prefect before anybody else. If you were last, you were likely to get the job. Most of these jobs were not all that onerous, mainly requiring you to carry a message from one place to another or check a noticeboard.’ Chris Heath (Beresford 1948–53) ‘I remember one particular group in the Combermere – when they were “squealers” they would try to trip each other up so that the other was the last to arrive and had to do the fag.’ Graham Stephenson (Combermere 1953–57) The room fag After a period as running fag, some would then be allocated as ‘room fags’ to a House or dormitory Prefect: ‘Each Prefect had a room fag, whose job was to make the bed, clean the room, polish shoes and Corps boots and make tea, toast and so forth. The Head of Dormitory for some reason had two room fags.’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949–54) ‘We had to fag for the Prefects for two years, doing jobs such as cleaning Corps kit, running baths for the Prefects, cleaning shoes, making beds etc.’ John Alexander (Talbot 1954–58) ‘One became early-morning tea-maker, boot-polisher, bed-maker, room-tidier, belt-blancoer, toast-maker and general factotum to one of the Dormitory Prefects. My own was Peter Snow of Swingometer fame; a cheerful taskmaster, and I was fortunate – not all were.’ Michael Peck (Anglesey 1954-59) Some recalled the specific demands made of them: ‘My first stint was to one Cholmeley Messer, who was so tall that folding his trousers involved holding them higher than my head … or so it seemed.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946–51) ‘My first job was to wash the razor of Eddie Arida, a future water-skiing champion.’ Nick Harding (Combermere 1951–55) ‘I fagged for a chap called Temple; his demands were pretty modest; the only regular task I recall was cleaning some leather sandals (when did he wear those?) with shoe-cream!’ Jeremy Watkins (Blücher 1951–55) Later, there may have been some restrictions on what a fag should do, as Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957–61) recalled that ‘The only tasks not permitted were cleaning or polishing of CCF equipment.’ One task in particular seems to have passed into College legend, although only one respondent claimed to have experienced it first-hand: ‘Apparently, it had been far worse in the past and I heard that there had been a fag who, one winter had been sent out to sit on a toilet seat to get it warm for a Prefect!’ Chris Heath (Beresford 1948–53) ‘It was alleged that a fag from the Hopetoun or Murray had been sent on a cold winter morning to warm a lavatory seat in what were known as the Murray Heads below that block!’ Henry Beverley (Anglesey 1949–53) ‘I did however consider one task requested of me by a Prefect – to warm the loo seat for him on a cold winter’s morning – a step too far …’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948–53) Other duties There were other specific roles too: ‘One could be the chap who got the milk from the Dining Hall and carried it to the dormitory each day, or the toast fag who had to make toast as required for the Prefects.’ Martin Kinna (Murray 1953–58) ‘At one point I was the Hopetoun bread fag, which involved collecting a large tin filled with freshly-baked and sliced white bread which we ate for supper.’ David Ward (Hopetoun 1954–58) ‘I was the Sixth Room fag and had to clear up after the Prefects’ tea. They liked to leave broken canes [from beatings] on the floor, which I had to dispose of.’ Vernon Phillips (Murray 1951–54) ‘On a rota two fags were made to wash up the Prefects’ dirty crockery and cutlery after lunch each day. This was leftover detritus from the previous evening feast which they were entitled to brew and enjoy after general lights out for the dormitory. Consequently, the residue was well and truly caked-on and difficult to remove with just tepid water and a tatty rag. The Prefects must have built up a colossal immunity to germs!’ Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957–61) ‘In my first term, I had to do duty as a “brew fag,” which meant washing up the Prefects’ coffee cups etc. every morning. I think this function was stopped not long afterwards, because a parent complained about it.’ Anonymous Sometimes the role was not quite so official, and therefore more resented: “One group of Prefects thought it a good idea that I made early morning tea for them – one has little idea how nasty one can make a cup of tea if one really sets one’s mind to it.’ John Green (Talbot 1954–58) The time fag Many respondents described the vital early morning role of the time fag: ‘One had to arrive in hall before the deadline – 7.45am for breakfast, when the Hall Usher shut the door firmly, whether one was in or out. Each dormitory had a “time fag” whose job it was to call out the time, probably starting from 7am until 19 minutes to 8, when one had to be out, giving just enough time to get to Hall without undue haste. The final countdown was in minutes, interspersed with “Hurry up!”’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951–55) ‘I was time fag, whose job was to shout out the time at regular intervals to get all boys out of dormitory by 7.45 am to get them to breakfast. Doing this for a
CCF: Corps Life
For many, it was a positive experience: ‘I fiddled my age to get into the Corps a term early. I loved it, and, apart from attending each of the summer camps, I went on several holiday attachments to Regular Training Establishments in the area. The majority of boys at Wellington professed to regard the Corps as a joke or were even openly contemptuous of the whole set-up. Nevertheless, the Corps operated with surprising efficiency and good military order.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) ‘Being quite good at its activities, I enjoyed the Corps and attended Corps camp for a couple of years. As one of the five CSMs I enjoyed the smartness of drill, and teaching the ability to take apart and reassemble the Bren gun blindfold to simulate darkness.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) ‘I was 14 years and three months old when I joined and I enjoyed it greatly. I learnt a great deal and became very adept at field craft, map reading and the like. I loved the strategy and planning part of things too.’ Chris Heath (Beresford 1948-53) ‘Yes, this was fun, and I ended up being RSM of the CCF. As a “new boy” I was amazed to receive on my first day a rifle handed to me to look after for the whole five years. These were stored, under chain and keys, in the Armoury.’ John Le Mare (Stanley 1950-55) ‘Corps was great fun and very useful skills – shooting, knots, first aid etc.’ ‘I thoroughly enjoyed the Army Section. It was welcome distraction from regular College life and apart from spit-shining boots and blancoing canvas, we all looked forward to those Wednesday afternoons.’ Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954-59) ‘I very much enjoyed Corps and indeed as a result seriously considered going into the Army. I ended up being a CSM, so fairly senior in the rankings. I particularly enjoyed weapons training and shooting the various weapons on the range – in those days 303s, Sten guns and Bren guns. As one became senior you could join what was called “Junior Leaders” and we were put through some quite tough tasks.’ John Alexander (Talbot 1954-58) Almost everyone could remember to which rank they rose, or failed to rise, although few could match this story of how their promotion was achieved: ‘I was a sergeant in the Corps. To gain my promotion, I went on a course in the holidays at the Police Training College in London, fell out of a tree hitting my head on a steel bin, went to the Septic Military Hospital and was put in the syphilitic ward… I was sent to surgery for a septic leg, but luckily it was noted that I wasn’t syphilitic just in time and I was returned to the ward unharmed and did eventually get my forehead drained. Three stripes well earned?’ John de Grey (Blucher 1938-43) Others were less enthusiastic about the Corps and what it entailed: ‘All I remember is long marches with a heavy rifle, and “The first three letters of ‘management’ are ‘man.’”’ Dick Barton (Lynedoch 1938-42) ‘We were issued with a peaked cap, and a uniform with a great many brass buttons which had to be cleaned with Duraglit.’ ‘Blanco and Brasso were king, together with the ability to polish boots to a mirror-like finish; not to mention being able to iron the necessary creases on the back of one’s serge blouse or jacket, to the exact regulation lengths – the main difficulty being with the irons. They were not as known today; they were flat-irons, heated on gas-rings at the end of the dormitory, until reaching the required temperature. Judgement of this was dodgy – one spat, and if it sat and sizzled, okay; but if it leapt off, too hot, and even through the ubiquitous brown paper, the serge was in severe danger of scorching, requiring delicate work with a razor-blade to scrape off the burn-marks.’ Michael Peck (Anglesey 1954-59) ‘As a timid young person who disliked shouting and physical exertions on things like assault courses, which were beyond my capacity, I detested the Corps, although rather to my surprise, as a National Service officer after leaving Wellington, I became easily reconciled to the army.’ Peter Marshall (Stanley 1947-51) ‘Initially I had little enthusiasm for the Corps, with its basic infantry training (“kitten crawl and “bushy-topped tree”) and the hour of drill in “mufti” which took place on South Front each Friday morning. The termly Field Day exercises in an army training area were not taken seriously. But I became more engaged when with sergeant’s stripes I attended one summer camp in tents on Salisbury Plain and also took over the more adventurous Junior Leaders cadre.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) ‘The same disadvantage, growing no taller than 5’2”, presented itself during my time in the Junior Training Corps as the standard 303 Lee-Enfield rifle, apart from its weight, was far too long for me to manage properly, especially on field exercises.’ Anonymous ‘The Corps was a bore. I was a corporal and found it heavy going. It is interesting that our rifles were Lee Enfield 303s made in 1916!’ Bertram Rope (Picton 1949-54) ‘There was rather too much drill and “bulling” of kit for my taste, but again it kept my unruly spirit in some sort of order. I did enjoy the annual Field Day, and have a photograph of myself with rifle accepting the surrender of some of our dastardly foes.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) ‘I did not greatly enjoy it, and it was a sign of the prevailing attitude that when the news came through that we had been beaten at a Field Day by Charterhouse, everyone cheered.’ ‘It was all rather silly really, though we did our best to take it seriously. Many futile hours were spent in polishing toecaps with a product called Heelball, and blancoing our webbing. One not good memory: having to go through a nasty muddy tunnel under a nearby bridge holding our rifles above our heads, and being put on a charge if we got them wet. It was known as “Doing the Sewer.”’ Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) ‘I thought it was ridiculous to spend the week bulling my boots and then crawling through a sewer on a Wednesday afternoon. To me it was a pointless activity without any meaning.’ Although there were some entertaining moments: ‘… such as when a drill instructor from Sandhurst commented on the oversized uniform of one of the younger members, “If you was in the Women’s Royal Army Corps you would be going on sick leave.” Mine clearance also provided a bit of light entertainment, in that when the dummy mines buried in a sand bed were probed too enthusiastically, a skeleton hanging at the end of the bed danced. Needless to say, the temptation to probe too hard was irresistible.’ William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) Whatever Wellingtonians may have felt about the Corps, very few made overt objections to it. We received only these very few accounts of dissent: ‘There was a Corps mutiny resulting in a full Corps parade on South Front, taken by the school RSM Colin Innes. It was not a good move and he soon regretted calling it!’ Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) David Ward (Hopetoun 1954-58) was our only recorded conscientious objector, although one longs for more detail in his simple statement: ‘I refused to join the CCF which caused a bit of a kerfuffle.’ We do, at least, have his brother’s point of view on this event: ‘We were all “invited” to join (in theory voluntarily), and most did so without demur until my younger brother declined in 1956, causing something of a stir – I was summoned from Sandhurst and told to persuade him to change his mind – of course I didn’t/couldn’t!’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) Officers and staff The Commanding Officer of the Corps from 1940 until 1946 was Major Macdermott. He was followed by Colonel Roy, who held the position throughout the 1950s. For reasons that were not entirely clear, he was nicknamed ‘Hoch’ or ‘Hosh’ and was widely remembered. He is also discussed on the page about Maths teachers. ‘Colonel Roy was in charge of the Corps and I remember an occasion when, confronted with a particularly idle bunch of cadets, he became exasperated and bellowed “Men that mutiny get shot!”’ Neil Munro (Talbot 1952-56) Several other teachers had roles in the Corps and also sparked memories: ‘I remember learning how to pick up the rifle on South Front. Down I went and rose with the weapon still on the ground. Sandy Entwisle was watching. “Douggie,” he said, “I think you will find it easier if you take your gloves off!”’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) ‘One had to go into the Army Section first – fieldcraft with Ned Catterall, a former Chindit: “Down behind your individual blades of grass, ha, ha, ha.”’ For many years the Commander of the Naval Section was ‘Dick’ Borradaile, inimitable and respected by all; he ‘had a characteristic way of pronouncing “if” as “eev”,’ according to Michael Llewellyn-Smith (Orange 1952-57). Another popular officer in the Naval Section was ‘Charlie’ Kuper, described as ‘a splendid, rumbustious sort of chap who used his influence to organise some wonderful camps and field days for us.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) recorded a memory of one of the Armoury staff: ‘The Armoury was situated beside a soccer pitch and required two proper (or possibly retired) soldiers to look after it. Goodness knows what they did apart from issuing rifles on a Wednesday afternoon and possibly for the parades on Friday mornings. One of these men was called Salmon. He lived in a house about fifty yards from the Armoury. Somehow, and I struggle to think how, I and another boy found our way into Salmon’s house to watch television [still a rarity in the 1950s]. I suppose we were watching Wimbledon or a test match, and I well remember having the cheek to turn up again the following week to seek re-admission. Word got out that this was happening. Perhaps poor Salmon spoke to someone, and there was an announcement that the houses of the Armoury staff were out of bounds to us. I rather guess they always had been. Or it was so obvious that it didn’t need spelling out!’ Drill Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) recalled that ‘The training was largely practical and worthwhile with (unlike at RMAS later on) comparatively little square-bashing.’ Perhaps for this reason, we received relatively few stories relating to drill, although it obviously made an impression on some: ‘Drill was tedious but led to a presentable standard at the Annual Inspection, which culminated in a march past the Inspecting Officer preceded by the memorable hoarse words from our commander Major Macdermott: “Wellington College Officer Training Corps contingent will march past in column of fours led by A Company followed by B Company followed by C company followed by D company followed by Band – by the right – Quick March!” Try shouting that in one breath!’ Pat Stacpoole (Combermere 1944-48) ‘My difficulty was that I had, and still have, some difficulty in determining my LEFT from my RIGHT.’ ‘I ended as Regimental Sergeant Major – mainly because I could shout loudly and with authority.’ Sam Osmond (Hill 1946-51) ‘The shambolic drill in our scarecrow denims was a bore. Somehow, I became the Signal Sergeant which allowed me to hang around the Armoury and miss the drill.’ Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) Field Days and
Chapel and the Chaplain
The Chapel routine According to Charles Wade (Lynedoch 1947-50), ‘On weekdays, the service lasted fifteen minutes, comprising a prayer, psalm (sung), lesson, hymn, and prayer.’ Sundays saw a morning and evening service, the latter including a sermon. Added to this was a voluntary service on Thursday evening and early morning Communion, irreverently referred to as ‘Holy Swipes,’ for those who had been confirmed. House or dormitory life also had a religious component: Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) remembers how ‘House prayers each evening were led by Prefects with the Tutor present,’ while Nick Harding (Combermere 1951-55) recalls “‘Prayers in the passage outside one’s “tish” most evenings, perhaps with a short reading from the New Testament, which I think quite impressed me due to the poetic nature of the King James version.’ Most of our respondents accepted daily Chapel attendance with few complaints; typical comments included “We went every day and that was that,” “normal and perfectly acceptable,” Most respondents accepted daily Chapel attendance with few complaints; typical comments included, ‘We went every day and that was that,’ ‘Normal and perfectly acceptable,’ ‘A necessary part of the curriculum,’ and ‘Just part of one’s daily routine.’ A few were less enthusiastic. One anonymous OW felt the mandatory nature of Chapel ‘did rather sour me for religion for a number of years’, while John Thorneycroft (Benson 1953-58) wrote that ‘the frequency of the services was felt to be a bit much even then!’ Some who went on to strong faith and ordination in later life were among the least enthusiastic about their College experience of religion. Thomas Collett-White (Picton 1950-55) considered compulsory daily Chapel attendance ‘dreary,’ making ‘no impression. Post Well. Coll. I discovered “the real thing,”’ while Richard Harries (Hill 1949-54), later Bishop of Oxford, wrote that: ‘Religion consisted of daily morning prayers. This meant in effect switching off when one went into the Chapel and switching on again on leaving.’ Conversely, some of those indifferent to faith were more positive about the experience. According to Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47), ‘An incentive for attending the Thursday evening service was that one was excused one of the two evening preps. But there were some masters who felt their subjects were the ones that were not excused! Another reason for attending, at least if one was in Talbot House, was just to have some fresh air in relaxed conditions in the evening.’ Perhaps the prevailing view was summarised by Chris Heath (Beresford 1948-53), saying ‘I was never really enthusiastic about religion. Nevertheless, the Chapel had a nice design, the seats were not too hard, and the sermons reasonably short.’ Music in Chapel Almost all respondents had good memories of the music and singing they experienced in Chapel, whether as members of the choir or the general congregation. Typical comments included: ‘I enjoyed Chapel because, not having a tuneful voice, I liked singing in company.’ Anonymous ‘The hymn singing was rousing and there were many favourites.’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949-54) ‘We all remember the surge of feeling when the full Chapel sang a rousing hymn at the end of term.’ Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) commented that ‘once a week, I think on Thursday mornings, the music master, Mr Allen, put us through the hymns and psalms for the coming week so that we had no excuse for not singing lustily,’ while Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951-56) gave more detail: ‘The then Director of Music, a splendid man called Maurice Allen, used to conduct the whole school in singing practice in the Chapel, which resulted in some marked improvement. However, there were still some boys who used to spend their times in Chapel testing themselves to see how many of the boys they could see they could put a name to!’ John Green (Talbot 1954-58) also mentions the latter pastime: ‘I was in the Choir for a bit, as a treble and alto, thereafter retiring back to the House benches high in the centre section of the south side of the Chapel. From there, one could see everyone and everything, and we learned the names of all boys in the College from this perch – now, when a name is mentioned, I normally still pick up on it from this practice.’ Many OWs mentioned favourite pieces of music, for example: ‘We sang some great hymns, including a setting of Tennyson’s Sunset and Evening Star, and Addison’s The Spacious Firmament on High.’ Michael Llewellyn-Smith (Orange 1952-57) ‘Wonderful music… Stanford’s Te Deum in B Flat and Jerusalem (are) never forgotten.’ Bobby Baddeley (Picton 1948-52) ‘I still remember Stanford’s Te Deum, which we sang from time to time – and I still very much like it, when I hear it.’ Hugh Trevor (Hopetoun 1943-48) ‘The most beautiful piece of singing by the choir, which I particularly remember one Christmas, was R L de Pearsall’s setting of In Dulci Jubilo – I’ve always loved it ever since!’ Jeremy Watkins (Blucher 1951-55) ‘It did foster a love of the grander choral works, such as Messiah and Zadok the Priest.’ William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) Even more of our respondents singled out ‘the tremendous organ that could make the walls shake,’ with comments such as: ‘I particularly enjoyed staying on after the Sunday morning service to listen to Mr Timberley’s organ voluntary.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) ‘What comes to mind, and the inner ear, is the organ: a fine instrument. It was here I became familiar with Bach preludes and fugues, Widor’s Toccata, and other stalwarts of the repertoire.’ Michael Llewellyn-Smith (Orange 1952-57) ‘I enjoyed the playing of Mr Timberley at the organ as we departed Chapel. His rendition of Widor’s Toccata was literally thrilling.’ David Nalder (Orange 1949-53) ‘I loved the music in Chapel, particularly when the organ was given its head; I’m sure I was told by the Director of Music, Maurice Allen, that the instrument was technically slightly too large for the building and it really was exciting when all the stops were out – the air positively throbbed!’ Jeremy Watkins (Blucher 1951-55) ‘That magnificent organ, usually played by Mr Allen, was quite inspirational.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52) ‘I remember some very accomplished organ playing, I think by Brian Kenny.’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) ‘A Prefect in the Picton had recently won an organ scholarship to Oxford… he invited the two of us into the organ loft to give us a recital of Widor’s Toccata and Fugue on this impressive organ. This was a fantastic experience for me and introduced me to our wonderful College Chapel, from which I received so much “comfort and joy” in the years ahead.’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59) ‘I loved listening to the organ music and admired the stained-glass windows which were installed during my time at College.’ Nigel Hamley (Hill 1952-55) Nigel was not the only OW to mention the stained-glass windows; for many boys, they were part of the pleasant sensory experience, along with the music. John Flinn (Combermere 1944-49) even recalls the building having ‘a distinctive, pleasant smell, I suppose of polish.’ Mike Bolton (Hopetoun 1947-53) has another memory about the windows: ‘When the new windows in Chapel were being dedicated, the Bishop of Oxford was sitting on the left of the chancel whilst the Archbishop of Canterbury preached. He stared ahead at the first window which depicts a locomotive called Wellington and an athlete leaping a hurdle apparently in front of the train. At the end of the service, the bishop was heard in the vestry asking if the hurdler got over the track before the train hit him.’ Reading the lesson Reading the lesson, or daily Bible passage, was of course another staple of the Chapel’s services. Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951-56) elaborates: ‘As a member of the “Upper Ten” Prefects, we took it in turns to read the lessons in Chapel. This was daunting at first but then became easier. Only one bad incident I recall was when the reading list, prepared by the Chaplain, the Rev. Dudley Dinnis, said I should read a particularly juicy extract from the Book of Ecclesiasticus. This I duly did, and though many may not have been paying attention, Douglas Young was, and was horrified. He came up to me opposite the entrance to Chapel and said, “I hope you realise you read the wrong lesson this morning!” I apologised but explained that it was as on the Chaplain’s list. Shortly afterwards, a flustered Dudley Dinnis came over to apologise to me and say it was his misprint and it should have read “Ecclesiastes!” He then kindly invited me over for a glass of sherry to make amends!’ Other students found the experience unpleasant: ‘Reading the lesson as a College Prefect was always rather a frightening experience!’ Norman Tyler (Hill 1947-52) ‘My duties as a College Prefect were not too arduous, but it did mean that I was expected to read the lesson in Chapel fairly frequently. That task was a nightmare to me because I have never really been able to read aloud and I did everything I could to avoid it. With hindsight, I was probably dyslexic, though in those days it was not a recognised problem.’ Colin Mackinnon (Hardinge 1951-56) Sometimes the lessons were read by teaching staff, one of whom made a particular impression: ‘It was a real joy when Anthony Crawley read the lesson. Such a beautiful speaking voice with a very individual delivery and impeccable phrasing!’ Jeremy Watkins (Blucher 1951-55) Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) experienced this slightly differently: ‘One usher [Anthony Crawley] had the most extreme of old-fashioned Oxford accents and each year he was given to read the lesson where “The wean-ed child shall play upon the hole of the ass.” All College used to wait for this amazing retreat into High Victorian speech and try to contain our giggles.’ Colin Innes (Combermere 1949-54) recalls a different usher’s peculiarity: ‘Somehow, Dudley Dinnis always gave Jack Wort the same Bible reading every time… The reading was John, Chapter 11 and Verse 35, which happen to be the shortest verse in the Bible. Jack Wort finally asked why he was asked to read the same lesson, to which Dudley D replied, “Because I knew you would stumble over Verse 35.” You see Jack Wort had a bit of a lisp and so saying “Jesus wept” sounded more like “Jesus swept” and, at that point, Jack Wort announced his reading as accurately as he could!’ The Chaplain This brings us to that most central of roles: the College Chaplain. For our earlier respondents, this was Owen Chadwick: priest, rugby international, later Regius Professor of History at Cambridge and Master of Selwyn College. Even early in his career, Chadwick made a strong impression. Allen Molesworth (Blucher 1945-48) describes him as ‘an inspiring priest,’ while Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48) simply states how ‘he was impressive.’ Others went into more detail: ‘The Reverend Owen Chadwick, the Padre, was the most inspirational man of the cloth whom I have ever met. He had recently replaced the previous, very popular incumbent in a major altercation regarding the conduct of the Chapel services. Owen Chadwick was a thoroughly robust, militant Christian who preached his faith without fear or favour. He had a good sense of humour, which made him a joy to listen to, whether formally in his sermons delivered each Sunday in Chapel, in his Divinity class, or in the informal atmosphere of our Tutor’s sitting room where he instructed us for Confirmation – the latter made more memorable by the biscuits, butter,