New Boy
September 1963. Those of us who lived in or around London met for the first time at Waterloo station where our parents handed us into the care of one of the Brothers – I do not remember who. I remember that we were grouped together in compartments of the old steam train according to the boarders’ divisions, i.e. Junior, Middle or Senior. At 11, I was amazed to meet boys as young as 8 – if I felt pangs at being separated from my mother for the first time, how did these mites feel? One was Paul Hunt, titchy then, but a formidable Colts rugby player a few years later. Among my fellow passengers were boys who would be friends for the next 7 years, including James Hegarty and Kevin Strong.
The Junior Boarders, under the charge of our housemaster Bro. Luke, were on the top floor of the main building and my dormitory was the most westerly on the main corridor. The gothic feel to the building did induce the odd frisson. One morning at first light, well before ‘reveille’, I was heading to the loo when to my terror I found the corridor blocked by a black, hooded figure standing absolutely still, gazing down at the Peardrop. Heart pounding, I was trying to sidle past unnoticed when the figure turned suddenly – I let out a shriek of panic, which in turn made the figure jump back. It was Bro. Edmund with the hood of his duffle coat up against the late winter chill who, when he had recovered his composure, assured me that I had frightened him, as much as he had me.
Adding to Chris Crilly’s reminiscences in the March 2003 Newsletter, I too enjoyed the strict but kindly direction of Bro. Elwin Gerard as one of his choir. Lacking Chris’ talent, Decky would place me right in front of him for sung High Mass so that he could hiss “You’re flat Ginger, flat!” whenever my voice started taking liberties with the composer’s intentions. That Sunday ritual included Zube cough sweets, handed out as we changed into our cassocks; it also included ‘loot’ (or was it ‘dosh’?) which was the payment that we received, queued up in Decky’s office after Mass, the amount varying with the quality of our performance. These payments would sometimes exceed our weekly pocket money, which in those days would have been about two bob. Does anyone remember the name of the beautiful church for the wedding we sang in London where we each got 10/- ? – a fortune!
Our year, being small had only two classes, rather than the usual three. Our classrooms were at the Prep School at the bottom of the bank by the playing fields. This was where we first met the Buddha-like presence of Bro Didymus, our French master. He would sit, hands together, resting on his considerable stomach, twiddling his thumbs while teaching us the words to the current French hit song ‘Dominique’, by The Singing Nun – how hip was that? Other teachers that year included Bro Lucian, Mr Dann, Mr Collier and Bro. Anthony.
A not very pleasant tradition of the time was ‘pay day’, the last day of term when the teaching staff and prefects looked the other way as old scores were settled. Sanctuary was to had in the Chapel for the targets of this ritual, which whatever the tradition, seems to have been just licenced bullying. I think it was discontinued by the time I started in the Second Form.
Boarding was fun most of the time. Our lives were, however, highly regulated, with routine and repetition being the pattern. We could tell the day of the week by the food in front of us in the Refectory, and we had Cornflakes for breakfast every day for seven years; I have not eaten a single cornflake from leaving St Peter’s to this day. What we lived for was the weekend. Apart from prep and the tedium of compulsory letters home, it meant freedom to use the school as our own extended playground, with plenty of nooks and crannies for mayhem and mischief.
The craze of that first year for the Junior School boarders was to place as small piece of wooden board across a single roller skate and, starting from under the kitchen windows, sitting with our feet stretched out in front of us as we careered down the slope to the yard. I recall ‘Jumbo’ MacDonald (allegedly) suffered a painful accident as his legs went either side of the metal goalpost at the bottom of the slope. This was the time that The Beatles burst upon the world. I have clear memories of hearing their songs blaring out from a radio in the kitchens as we set off downhill.
Every Saturday was ‘flicks’, that was a cinema set up in the art room with Bro Ives as projectionist. Stocked up with pop and sweets from the Tuck Shop we uncritically enjoyed whatever was shown (nearly). Given the identity of the projectionist, we did not complain audibly when the film broke and had to be spliced. Bro. Ives was at that time housemaster of the Middle School (i.e. 2nd and 3rd Formers), which we would join the following year; he had a fierce reputation that had not diminished even when we had entered the Sixth Form, five years later. Although in fact he moved to take over the Senior Boarders (i.e. 4th, 5th and 6th Formers) he was to loom large in our lives, until he left before the start of our Upper Sixth year.
The Second Form boarders were, to we new boys, large and dangerous creatures; not to be provoked under any circumstances. Thanks to the magic of the Friends Reunited website, I now correspond and meet up with several of those awesome individuals, including Richard Creagh (Ginge), Gerry Newman, Mike McCleod and Kevin Murphy (Spud), who were all a lot less intimidating when we met up, together with Brian McCleod, last year in Christchurch. An impromptu tour of the School was provided by Bro. David and we spent a delightful hour talking to Tommy Browning who opened The Nick’s Head and brought us up to date with the changes that have taken place over the years. I was disappointed to see that the sign (on what was the shower block near the Peardrop) that read DEAD SLOW BOYS CROSSING has now gone; lacking as it did, punctuation, it conjured up a curious picture.
