If it's not nailed to the table - it's
eaten.
Part One - 1960 /61
by
Iain Helstrip
This article is reproduced
from the January 2008 edition of
Over the Hill
I was on holiday quite recently and
took Bill Bryson's book "The
ThunderBolt Kid" as holiday reading. It stunned me just how
close being brought up in the Mid West of the USA had so many
similarities with my own youth in the UK.
Naturally, there were huge differences
between these two cultures separated by a common language:
- but Mr. Bryson's ability to remember details such as potato
men. You must recall them, take one potato, and then you
pierce the potato with silly coloured plastic ears, and noses
and hats to create potato men. What amazing fun! I don't
think I have thought of this sort of insignificant detail
in close on 45 years. Hasn't the world moved.
Mr. Bryson did however get me dredging the pits of my own
memory and of course Kingham Hill School Days was there in
the forefront of my reminiscing.
It all started in the summer of 1960.
My home was central London just a few minutes walk from the
West End. I was a townie right through. My mother told me
we were all going for a picnic in the country and taking
a long time friend of the family. That was fine by me after
all some nice goodies to eat and after all it was only for
a day. A few days later the car was duly loaded and we set
off to the country. I saw KHS for the first time, as it transpired
this long time friend had her sons at the school. We were
soon off the hill and found a nice spot to picnic in the
sun. A massive spread of goodies and treats and fizzy drinks
that seldom if ever adorned our table at home was duly laid
out on the blanket. Woof and it had gone. I was stunned if
it was edible it had gone in a flash of a moment. At the
time I thought little of it, but I should have recognised
the warning signs..
Time moved on, my life untouched by
this visit to the country. My education (well attendance
anyway as this can't be disputed) continued at Marylebone
Church of England School on the Marylebone Road. Its name
implied that it was of Christian persuasion - not
something I ever came across. Anyway, one day my Mother gave
me a note to take to my schoolmaster, which I duly did.
"So Iain - you will not be with us tomorrow". His voice boomed
in front of the entire class of about 38 pupils. "Why is that?" I
did not have a clue and I said so, but I did not have very
long to find out.
The next morning saw my Mother and
me on the train from Paddington to Kingham. I can remember
little of the interview apart from Teddy being quite friendly.
I was told of all the great things I could get up to at school,
there were the sports, rugby, cricket, cross country running
(all sounded very energetic - but
I thought it best to humour everybody and just go a long with
it) plus there were clubs, engineering and modelling. Plus
there was scouts or CCF. Nobody actually mentioned doing anything
academic.
Then I was told there was an entrance exam but it did not
matter how I did as I was accepted it was just to evaluate
my ability (they did not realise there was little ability to
evaluate) - I was a victim a gigantic conspiracy. After my
five minutes frantic preparation (more would have made no difference
whatsoever) I was set pen to paper and flunked everything put
in front of me.
Finally I was told that I was a candidate for L2 next September
and would be welcomed to Clyde House.
I remember little of the remainder
of that summer other than being frequently told just how
lucky I was to be going to Kingham. I was going to have such
a great time, and the list of activities was trotted out
time and time again, and all in such beautiful countryside.
I must have been very naïve not to realise
that this was all being sold very hard. As autumn approached,
the frenzy of activity in our tiny flat increased, and there
was the sewing on of name labels onto the school uniform, shirts,
vests, pants and short trousers. Hang on a moment SHORT trousers
aghh. That can't be right I said to my Mother, but yes it was.
Everything was new or almost new and itched and was horrible.
My Mother had knitted grey long socks for me, to save some
pennies. They itched more than anything else and would come
to haunt me for weeks to come as will be revealed.
That fateful day arrived, and I was
put on the school train at Paddington. I can remember very
little of the journey other than being deposited at Clyde
House by the school transport- not
really feeling very happy.
I went into Clyde House like a lost
soul. My name was not on the list of new boys; I was not
part of Clyde House. I can remember thinking this was my
chance, escape, escape but it quickly transpired there had
been an administrative mistake I was to be a Durhamite and
was quickly marched to my house - mind
you I would see plenty of Clyde over the next 3 months when
visiting to retrieve my incorrectly labelled laundry.
So I was shown to Dorm 3 at Durham House. I was one of the
last arrivals given my excursion to Clyde and got the bed next
to the window, (that I subsequently learnt was open 24/7) and
had the pleasure of being the closest bed to the school clock
chiming out the hours, but also the window closest to the chimney
that took the exhaust from the coke boiler. When the wind came
from any direction, the smell of coke being burnt prevailed.
I was quickly shown how to do hospital corners another new
experience, and my bed:- where are the springs? Somebody had
stolen them all I had was a two-inch thick mattress (which
was not sprung) that resided on top of wooden boards, it had
all the comfort and springing of a house brick.
This is another conspiracy I would never get any sleep, but
this would be the last of my problems, as time would surely
reveal.
Now for those readers that have difficulty recalling September
1961, top of the pops was:-
1. = Shadows - Kon-Tiki Listen
to this record
2. = Highwaymen - Michael Listen to this record
3. = Helen Shapiro Walking Back to
Happiness. Listen
to this record
4. = Billy Fury - Jealousy Listen to this record
5. = Elvis Presley - I feel so bad Listen
to this record
6. = Cleo Laine - You'll answer to
me.
7. = Connie Francis - Together Listen
to this record
8. = Del Shannon - Hats off to Larry Listen
to this record
9. = Laurie Johnston Sucu Sucu
10. = Eden Kane - Get lost. Listen to this record
We went to the dining hall for supper.
I tried to sit straight down, but there was grace - a completely
new experience for me. Here was supper, or that's what Dixie
Dean called it (Trade descriptions act was not in existence
back in those days) then the mists cleared, there was clarity.
Now I understood why if it was not nailed down it was eaten - and
very quickly. There was only Tea to drink; now I did not
drink tea then, and 45 years later I still do not. Aghh.
There was a house meeting that evening
and I met the new house parents Mr and Mrs George Kingsnorth.
It was their first term at Kingham too, and they tried to
solicit some camaraderie on this basis. I was feeling very
new, very lonely and not very happy and it was going to get
worse before it got better, (which it did but you will have
to wait for later editions for this). We were allocated housework
jobs - another new experience
in the making. I also was elected to the dubious, and, as I
would soon discover, rather foul, task of being 'sock monitor.'
Anyway, a fairly restless night sleep passed, and at 7.00
AM the alarm went off, dress quickly into jeans and off to
housework for 30 minutes after which your handiwork would be
inspected. As A junior I was given a duster and off I went
another new and very unwelcome experience, (and I gave up counting
the number of times I failed the inspection test over the forthcoming
weeks).
Then there was breakfast. It was rather like supper, just
less of it. Then it was off to chapel service. Then I met my
classmates at L2. Autumn 1965. I can recall there were Francis
Inman, Nick Thompson, John Burgess, Brian Williamson, David
Earle, and Edwards and Sheldrick I am sorry that the given
names fail me along with the remaining 7 or 8 names of the
other class mates. Basil Benson was the form master. The reality
was sinking in, and there were lessons as well. This was all
too much.
The routine was:-
Monday . Chapel. Lessons. Lunch.
Scouts. Supper. Prep.
I chose to go into the Scouts. Why? Because the thought of
marching up and down in uniform being bellowed at sounded like
punishment to me. Where as joining pyromaniacs anonymous sounded
much more suited to my abilities, after all if you have to
be outdoors then keeping warm by the campfire seemed smart.
Plus the dress was more casual (usually jeans and shirt) as
was the attitude towards everything in general.
Tuesday :- Chapel. Lessons.
Lunch. Lessons. Supper Prep.
The less said about lessons and prep
the better. I was like somebody sinking into quicksand - the
more I struggled with it the worse it became for me.
I could not spell to save my life - and
David Wetherill who took me for English revelled in applying
the slipper for spelling errors plus having to write out
the offending word 100 times.
Wednesday :- Chapel. Lessons.
Lunch. Sports (Rugby.) Supper. Prep.
See above for lessons.
Now we come to Rugby - a thoroughly disagreeable experience.
Now I have always been against blood sports (- that is unless
I am holding the gun) but running around the rugby pitch partly
dressed in the freezing cold chasing an odd shaped ball really
did not come high on my list of enjoyable things to do on a
Wednesday afternoon. What was worse was there were a dozen
or so bigger players ready to jump on top of you if you actually
were thrown the ball and caught it. You would find yourself
mashed into the mud. This was not great news, and once I had
this sussed, I found the wing to be the safest place to be
as the ball was least likely to ever get to you. It had to
pass through a number of sets of hands first and with luck
they would eat mud before you. Although entirely safe it was
not.
Wednesday was sock day. I was sock
monitor. This was a disgusting task of collecting up the
30 or so pairs of socks from your house and delivering them
to the boiler room under the main kitchen for them to be
washed. You would then collect the 60 or so socks that had
been machine washed, you then had to sort them into the correct
pairs and deliver them to your house and place them on the
correct beds. This was a truly awful task, but it did have
an advantage..
The area where the washing machine
was housed was also where a number of the kitchen staff ate
their meals. Often there was a bottle of tomato ketchup or
daddies sauce left on the table - just waiting to be liberated to the main dinning hall.
Your evening meal laced with less than liberal quantities of
either of these comestibles made your supper bearable - just.
Now, you may recall my Mother knitted
my socks especially. And you would be shouted at (and even
punished if you caught somebody in a foul mood) if you were
wearing your socks at half-mast - quite noticeable with short
trousers. My socks seemed to be getting quite snug, then
a week or so later I could hardly get them on. Was I growing?
This was a mystery. Actually it was the extra hot wash was
causing my socks to shrink. But it got me punished more than
once before I was issued with standard KHS heat proof socks
-
Thursday :- Chapel. Lessons.
Lunch. Clubs. Supper. Prep.
See above, above for lessons.
Now it came to Clubs. Now this had been one of my Mother's
big selling platforms for me going to Kingham. I wanted to
join the engineers club. I wanted to drive cars. I put my name
down for engineers and was allotted the model club. It seemed
that you had to be a 5th former or above for the engineers
club.
So I was in the model club, which was
overseen by James Woolliams. It met in the Scout loft store
(the door on the left before the boys entrance to the Chapel-
probably banned from use now by the Health and Safety busies).
It had a "0" gauge train
line running around the perimeter in a poor state of repair.
The first step was to put this into good order and fit for
a train to go around the circumference of the entire loft.
The second step was to get up steam and create mayhem. The
time allotted for clubs was barely sufficient for getting up
steam, so Mr. Woolliams took us down to the science labs and
with the aid of a Bunsen burner the process was speeded up
by preheating the engine. The steam train's methylated spirit
burner was then duly filled and lit and we waited expectantly
for steam. It finally came and the throttle on this steam train
was opened and off it juddered down the track spilling methylated
spirits behind it, which naturally caught fire. Now the model
loft was of beautifully dry wood and there was this engine
now hurtling down the track leaving devastation in its wake.
(If you see entry for Scouts, you will see my already established
membership for pyromaniacs anonymous).
Oh what fun. We did not play trains again for a very long
time and only after the model loft (now known as a fire trap)
had been fitted with fire extinguishers.
Friday :- Chapel. Lessons. Lunch.
Lessons. Supper. Prep Bed.
See above, above, above for lessons.
Saturday : Chapel. Lessons.
Lunch. Games. Supper. TV. Bed.
Lessons:- I will close part one of
my reminiscences with a memory of Teddy Cooper, taking the
red herring bait with great aplomb and telling the story
of "Albert and the Lion" in the
way only he could. That is a happy memory.
See above for Blood Sports. (Rugby)
TV. Now this was THE night of TV. After
grace was said at the end of supper there was a mad scramble
for the door and to be one of the first in the main hall
in order to secure a good seat (but not a great seat - as
if you did get too good a seat you would find yourself turfed
out of it and someone more senior taking it). There was then
2 hours of TV. My high spot of the week.
Sunday : Chapel. Lunch. Chapel.
Sunday saw an extra hour in bed. This was always appreciated.
The housework was a lick and a promise with just sweeping and
dusting taking place. It was then best suits for Chapel.
After Chapel, back to Durham to wait for lunchtime.
After lunch it was free time you could do anything you wanted
but you were banned from the house between 2.0 and 4.0PM. The
longest 2 hours I can ever recall especially in the winter
months.
And that was the week that was.
Repeat 12 times and you come to the end of Christmas
term 1961.
Then it was school report time......aghhhh.
L2 Term order 13.
Number in class 14.
It said:-
Careless, untidy, inattentive, No effort
shown. Pop, the only non-critical academic report said very
good work". Bless
him because he saved my life at home.
A master said:- A very depressing report,
I don't think he is lazy, (little did they know) I would
like to think he is feeling his way and things will be different
next term..
To be continued.......
Iain Helstrip
February 2008
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