Sunday 30 April 2017

OWT 94 April 2017


TEL 01938 555574   07399 464482  
APRIL  2017
REUNION 2017   The 20th reunion was a great success, with an estimated total of one hundred people in attendance throughout the day - though not necessarily at the same time.  The souvenir coasters, organised by Frank, were well-received.  Age Concern did us proud with a splendid lunch, plus excellent prepatory work so everything was in place when the advance guard arrived to set up.  The only minor hiccup was when the microphone suddenly stopped working, but that did not seem to be much of an issue.  We had two excellent speakers, Roger Povoas and Bob Childs, and donations to their chosen charities were given as a gesture of appreciation.  As I always say, we have managed to hit on a successful reunion formula, which we change at our peril!  As usual, the memorabilia display was in constant use and the school films were shown on-screen.  Also available was an honesty bar, tea and coffee, raffle tickets and a sales table.  It was good to see several ladies present.
My thanks to, in no particular order -:  Brian Screaton, Treasurer, barman, jack-of-all trades; John Offord, Age UK Liaison Officer, custodian of our facebook page; general help; Frank Smith, Doorman, coaster arranger, general help;  web site manager;  Stephanie Duggan, assistant to Frank on the day, badge organiser, raffle ticket seller, sales table, invaluable support and assistance.  Also thanks to those who brought a raffle prize.

Several photographs of the event have been posted on our Facebook page. You can view them via links on the Reunions page of our website CLICK/TAP HERE
We still have a few of the specially-commissioned  twentieth reunion coasters available.  £2 each + £1 P & P to a UK address.  To see a picture, visit the reunions page on the web site.  To order e-mail to make the arrangements
A pair of spectacles in a silver case was found at Clarence House after the reunion, and handed to Brian Screaton.  If they are yours, please let me know.
OBITUARIES   Len Harrison (1930's) passed away January 2017
Terence Bernard Willson (dates unknown) passed away October 25th 2015
From Trish Kenyan, Joe Melia's sister:  My brother Ron, who also attended CBS, told me that Ray Winterton recently passed away aged 75 or 76.  He was born in Prestwold Road, off Humberstone Road, and lived there all his life.  He walked to school each day with Ron and Joe.  According to Ron, Ray excelled at chess and never lost a match at CBS.  He became the youngest Silver Knight to play for the county  (Our records show that Ray Winterton died around Christmas 2016 , but many thanks to Trish for this additional information - Ed)
Received from from Dick Martin (1956-63) on February 20th: I will be attending a memorial service pn Monday February 20th for Martin Heighton, who was Head Boy at CBS shortly after I left in 1963, but I notice he is not on the Wyvernians database.  The service is being held at The Chapel of St Peter and St Paul at the Old Naval College, Greenwich.  Martyn sort of became part of our family, in that he was married to my brother-in-law's sister.  He led a very interesting life after leaving school, and I have asked his family if they would write an obituary for OWT 
Roy Whitehouse (1946-51) passed away March 21st 2017 from aggressive lung cancer.  I was advised of this by his daughter, Julie
FROM PETER TURTON - 1961-68   I shall not be able to attend this year's reunion as it coincides with a holiday. I am sorry to hear of the death of Mr Michael Palmer. He always encouraged me to play for the school football team even though I thought I was pretty useless! Because of Mr Palmer I went on to do History at university, and later found employment teaching the subject and also working at some of the top museums in the country. History is still a great interest of mine - despite me thinking I would be better of studying languages.


FROM LES OSWIN - 1935-39   Besides the 3 'R's and other traditional subjects I learned other important lessons at CBS - team spirit, companionship, trust in one's colleagues etc.  These proved of value after June 1942 when I donned the Royal Corps of Signals uniform.  June 1943 saw me as an officer cadet at 150 OTCU in Catterick, and during one of our frequent three-day exercises near the Yorkshire moors I was dropped off the back of a lorry on a country road.  I had a map and compass, along with orders to find my way to a friendly HQ on the moors without being captured by the 'enemy'.  My best pal, Walter, twas dropped off wo hundred yards after me, and against the rules we decided to journey together.  Walter seemed more confident, so I was happy to follow his lead.  The first obstacle was a fast-flowing stream, too wide to jump over.  We bundled up our denims, forage caps, boots, maps etc and threw them to the far side.  But Walter was rather weak, and his bundle landed in the water.  So two naked officer cadets plunged in and eventually managed to recover the bundle.  Using my shirt to dry ourselves, we dressed and continued our journey.  Walter seemed pretty sure where he was going, so I trusted him and followed - straight into the arms of the enemy.  WALTER WAS AN ENEMY SPY!!  So much for trusting one's colleagues!
Walter was enjoying himself, but I was put into an abandoned quarry without my boots.  Escape was my first thought, so I began to stumble up the slope but OUCH.  Myright foot had gone down on a broken bottle, and the glass had pierced my foot.  There was blood all over the place, and shouts of 'medic' and 'ambulance'. 
So it was back to Catterick and the warmth and comfort of the MI room, with instructions to take it easy in the barracks for a couple of days.  If I remember correctly, I ignored the instructions and attended a unit dance with my foot bandaged while Walter was still roughing it on the moors.  We remainrd best pals until September 1943, when our army careers took different paths, but we kept in touch until well after the war.
FROM DENNIS BIGGS - 1949-56   Popular music was of interest to many of my classmates in the late 40s and early 50s, and there were quite a few changes taking place then. Quite a few of my classmates were developing an interest in jazz and swing music. I recall a few names of the interested ones such as Trevor Adcock, Peter Wright, Graham Morton and my goodself who were keen on this type of music - I cannot recall other names as my memory is somewhat hazy after so long. (Some of them even bought instruments to play) It was not always easy to find the opportunity to tune into this type of modern music, and we for instance had only one wireless set in the house and did not possess a gramophone.
Thus my early listening was confined to such programmes as Friday Night with Henry Hall, Two Way Family Favourites with Cliff Michelmore, and Billy Cotton's Band Show on Sunday lunchtimes. Occasionally swing music from Glenn Miller, Ted Heath, Eddie Calvert and later Chris Barber, Acker Bilk, Humphrey Lyttleton, John Dankworth was played but most of the time we had the music of Mario Lanza, Al Martino, Perry Como, Duke Ellngton, Ella Fitzgerald etc from the USA. British artists were making their appearance such as Tommy Steele, David Whitfield, Lita Rosa, Cleo Lane, Edmundo Ross, Matt Munro etc.

The best time to catch the swing and trad jazz music was by listening to the American Forces Network and Radio Luxembourg in the evenings, and when my parents eventually bought a radiogramme I managed to have the old wireless set in my bedroom. It was not always easy to get a good signal and I seemed to spend a lot of time fiddling with the knobs on the dial to get a good reception.
Then skiffle with Lonnie Donegan arrived, followed by the Twist and eventually rock 'n' roll with Bill Haley and the Comets,and  Elvis Presley.What a music revolution was taking place in those years!.  Louis Armstrong arrived, and my favourites were Dizzie Gillespie and Charlie Parker. I even started to buy gramophone records and it was the start of my collection.
Classical music and opera largely passed me by in these formative years, although I attended some serious concerts when my father was singing in his works choir. Bill Sykes ,and later Mr Gimson, got us to sing or listen to more classical music but it could not compete with the new music waves of this era.  Only at university did I really get into the more serious music scene.
I was during my schooldays a keen cinema- goer and so we had film music such as An American in Paris,  Guys and Dolls etc and as I was also a quite proficient ballroom dancer by the sixth form I appreciated ball room music, but it was the traditional jazz which really got me motivated. When I started work in London, I managed to go to Ronnie Scott's Club and listen to live jazz which was so inspiring. I am so pleased that I was blessed with these musical experiences and their memories, although fading, still let me enjoy the music of those years to this day I wonder what other memories my classmates had of the music of this period.

FROM GEOFF GERMAN  1965-71   I enjoyed reading the memories of Mr Palmer, who was my history teacher at Downing Drive in 1965.  He was a lovely man, and I do indeed remember the dicky bow and his endearing habit of referring to homework as prep.  I have a vague memory he was the suthor of a book about Henry VIII, and he also wrote an erudite pamphlet about St Denys Church, Evington.  However I could be wrong, as age clouds the memory.  I had no idea that Mr Palmer ran the fifth year football team.
FROM BRIAN STEVENSON  1959-65    I was sorry to learn from Dave Postles of the death of Michael Palmer, who I regard as the best teacher I ever had at City Boys. He arrived like a breath of fresh air at the beginning of 1964 to rescue our history 'A' level group from disaster.  I had been inspired to opt for history at 'A' level after studying under Ron Smith in 5L. Ron wasn't to everyone's liking, and could be a bit of a disciplinarian. His particular bugbear was pupils levering their chairs on to the back two legs. 'Four legs!' he would bark at any offender, having explained the 'Four legs good, two legs bad' mantra from Orwell's Animal Farm at the outset of the year.  But it was his stirring accounts of Frederick the Great and the European wars of the 18th and 19th centuries which really sparked my interest in history.  However, by Christmas 1963 history was beginning to look like a very bad choice indeed.  It was split between European and English history. English history was handed to a dour Scot called McFadyen, who bored us to the verge of insanity by reading out his notes for the entirety of each lesson. The phrase 'losing the will to live' could have been invented to describe the experience of enduring (and I choose the word advisedly) one of his lessons.  In nightmares I can still hear him rolling the words 'San Juan de Ulloa' (an obscure sea skirmish on the South American coast in the Elizabethan era) slowly around his tongue in his Scottish brogue.  Meanwhile, on the European history front, we were presented with a temporary teacher called (I think) Hutchinson - no relation to Bunny as far as we knew. Hutchinson strode in confidently on his first day and wrote '1. Nationalism' on the blackboard in a firm hand. We were never to find out what 2 and 3 might be, as he then went on to lose us completely both academically and in terms of class discipline.
What a relief then when Mr Palmer took over in January. His flair and enthusiasm restored my interest in the subject. Not only that, he energised the History Society (the only club I was ever moved to join during my school career) and organised history walks in the countryside at weekends, looking for 'ost villages or tracing the course of the old Leicester-Swannington railway line. The walks were enlivened by both his knowledge and his wisecracking style of leadership. Even Grit Whitbread (who joined us on some of the walks) seemed to relax and become more like a regular human being on these occasions.  Mr Palmer steered us energetically through the syllabus, but there was a late scare when we came to revision before the 'A' level exam itself. He discovered that the hapless Hutchinson had failed to cover whole areas of the syllabus that should have been dealt with during the first term. At the eleventh hour he distributed cyclostyled fact sheets on subjects such as The Great Elector ( a historical figure who we had never heard of) and told us to just memorise them in case the topic came up in the exam. Indeed in desperation I did actually answer a question on the Great Elector on the day. I assume I got away with it, as I somehow got a B - my best 'A' level grade.  But what I feel most gratitude to Michael Palmer for is the lengths (ultimately unsuccessful I'm afraid) he went to to get me to go to university. At the end of the sixth form I was one of a handful of pupils who didn't bother applying for university.  At the time I was a quiet and unconfident boy to whom the thought of living away from home - in another city! - was unthinkable. In addition, my working class parents, who had barely been won over even to the idea of me staying on into the sixth form, were keen for me to join the real world and start bringing home some cash. This I duly did, and was soon enjoying myself enormously working in the Central Library.
However, for some reason, just before Christmas, I decided to return to the school for a social event - a dance I think - held at the new Downing Drive establishment.  Skulking round the edges of the dance floor, I was waylaid by none other than Mr Palmer, who soon established that I had not gone on to university.  He seemed incredulous at this, and from then on made enormous efforts to get me to apply. He assured me it was not too late to reconsider. He personally sent off for a whole range of university prospectuses in my name, and in due course these plopped on to the domestic doormat. I wavered. By this time I had begun to feel that not going to university had been a great mistake. My sixth form mate Geoff Maisey and I spent whole evenings wandering (undisturbed, I have to say!) round Leicester University campus, reading notice boards in corridors and speculating about university life. But my insecurities were still strong, and I couldn't quite bring myself to take the plunge. Nonetheless, I have always been deeply grateful to Mr Palmer for his efforts. Eventually I went on to pick up a degree from the Open University while developing my career (a far tougher route!) but I have often reflected on the time when 'two roads diverged in a wood, and I I took the one less travelled by.'  And that has made all the difference' (acknowledgements to Robert Frost)
FROM RICH WAKEFIELD  1961-68   It's a cold wet Sunday afternoon, and I'm thinking back to the sixties and my time in the gold and black colours of the old school.  Normally at this stage anecdotes come to mind, and I can scribble them down for Old Wyves Tales... today I am drawing a bit of a blank.. Which is almost appropriate, as my mind drifts to similar afternoons, I think Tuesdays, and the wait for the bus to take us to games lessons.  Now, like many, I enjoyed my afternoons wandering around aimlessly in my yellow Charnwood football shirt and occasionally hoofing the ball in the direction of a team mate.  Bur on those damp afternoons the wait for the bus was always a tad nerve wracking.... which way will the bus turn... towards Grace Road or towards Melton Road, where we faced the horrors of a cross country run. Now, I've never considered myself to be the athletic sort... indeed I ran for a bus in 1968, missed it, and have never done anything as rash as running since.  And for me, cross country was an ordeal beyond endurance, and I suspect I am not alone in thinking that way.
There were two courses at Rushey Mead, the long and the short. Now for me the short was long., the long unattainable. But knowing the area there were shortcuts that a rather portly, lazy and unathletic youth could take, which meant Iwas usually back and changed in good time to get the bus back without  needing to run!..
Of course, teachers do not achieve that level for nothing.  They are always able to spring a surprise on any bunch of lads, and for me the buzz of arriving at Melton Road and changing in those old huts to hear the announcement "football boots.. football today" was more than countered by the horrors of arriving at Grace Road and being despatched on a rather pointless series of laps around the edge of the ground.
FROM DAVE ZANKER  1957-62   I think it fair to say I enjoyed my time at City Boys, and made some very good friends during those years. That enjoyment was based more on sporting and social aspects than academic achievement. Having gone through the Alpha stream I was still only fifteen after completing my 'O' level examinations, and therefore forced to complete at least two terms in the sixth form. That was sufficient to convince me that, in spite of reasonable success to 'O' level, the academic life was not for me. I therefore gave notice of my intention to leave and suffered a memorable counselling from Dr Arnold Burrows in a vain attempt to dissuade me.  At that time I had only two career ambitions – to play football or music. Both of these appeared to be viable options at the time. However, my mother persuaded me that I should get a 'proper job' and I was accepted as a junior clerk at the East Midlands Electricity Board. It should be noted that my initial weekly gross wage was the same as I could earn in one night playing my guitar, or my expenses for playing one match for my football club's first team. Time soon proved mother to be right. Injury put paid to my prospects of serious football, and the trend to disco music made the live music field increasingly difficult.
The Electricity Board offered to put me on the trainee accountant scheme, and I then spent the next ten years gaining qualifications. (You may recall that I had previously rejected the idea of further academic study). After five years I moved to the British Shoe Corporation where I spent twenty-two years in a successful career before radical changes forced out most of the senior management. It is sad to relate that not only did the business subsequently cease to exist, but the massive office and warehouse site has now been completely demolished and cleared.  Future years saw me stay in accounting in an administration field with Benson Shoe (now Shoezone), Sears Clothing and finally British Precast Concrete Federation.  I have now been retired for five years and still live in Leicestershire (Glenfield). Contrary to popular suspicion I have never been bored, spending my time on DIY and other projects around my house and those of my children, time with my grandchildren and holidays with my wife Judith. We have both recently started volunteering on a heritage project at Mountsorrel. You may have seen it featured on television news recently when we enjoyed a visit from Prince Charles.
FROM JOHN F SWEENEY  1963-70   From 1963 to 1970, I was a pupil at the City of Leicester Boys' School and as such experienced school life in Elbow Lane, Humberstone Gate and Downing Drive campuses. My first recollection of the school as an entity was trying on the new uniform, purchased I believe from the High Street branch of the Leicester Co-operative Society where my mother had an account. On wearing it to church, I was informed that the badge featured a creature I had originally thought to be a dragon, but was known as a wyvern, and I should be proud to be admitted to such a fine school on passing my eleven-plus.  For the first day at school, my father accompanied me and we travelled by bus from our home in Humberstone to St Margaret's bus station, then walked past Corah's factory and St Margaret's Church to the entrance on Elbow Lane where he shook my hand and wished me a good start. Around a hundred of us first years milled around and were gradually called by, I believe, Mr Wardle, the junior school head, into classes 1α, 1a and 1b. Another boy beamed and said 'Do you know what that means that we are in 1α?' to which I shook my head. "It means that we are in the top class because we are the brainiest!"  Little did I realise on that day what the implication would be of moving directly from 1α into 3α, such was the newness of everything – moving between classes, taking on different subjects and trying to remember the names of all the masters and making new friends. I recall the beautiful garden at Elbow Lane and the shout "Look out – here comes a prefect!" if there was any rough and tumble or horseplay in the warmer months. It was strange to have to report in 3α to Humberstone Gate for German lessons with Mr Gimson. The upper room passing panelled staircases and the prefects' door slightly ajar with larger fellows, snatches of conversation. Mr Gimson gave us a test every day of ten new words crammed the night before, and we had to write out any mistakes ten times as I recall.  It was highly competitive, each boy trying to get a perfect ten or at least a nine. When the bell went a sea of boys paraded down the alleyway to the playground, and were marshalled back to the next class or marched in crocodile to Elbow Lane by tall prefects. Prefects who shouted, "Cut along boy!" past masters who sternly reproved, "Walk don't run boys!" 
My memories of life at Elbow Lane are few, but among them I recall being sent by Wally Wardle to his office to fetch the portable duplicator from which maps of Britain, the world and the various continents rolled to the accompaniment of his sonorous commentary "Capital city, principal ports, chief exports…"  Homework was sometimes to be accompanied by an illustration of a Masai hut or temple in India – text and artwork marked with comments for improvement in both. Mr Orton's great French classes, in which he had us improving pronunciation "An, en, in, on, un!". I enjoyed woodwork classes with Bunny, and was intrigued that as we worked with saw and screwdriver, learning the rudiments of carpentry and making a coffee table that wobbled, Bunny painstakingly made up shotgun cartridges, sharpened chisels for us, checked measurements and gave us encouragement.  It was in the fourth or fifth form that I developed a love of geography from a teacher who was very well travelled and regaled us with tales of eating cherries in southern Germany and Austria, and of peaches dripping from trees in the Po valley. After chemistry and biology classes at Elbow Lane, science subjects held no interest for me - yet when I did General Science in 5L, the teacher Mr Lawson(?) taught it with such enthusiasm, that I regretted not choosing 5S.  
Alas in the Wyvernians' excellent history of the school I was briefly mentioned in only a couple references, nor was any prowess on the sports field recorded in Bill Mann's excellent photographs that evoked names from the past. Being worse than useless at soccer, cricket, tennis, swimming and athletics, I was exhorted by Mr Gilman to take up the cross-country circuits, but only came to enjoy this at Downing Drive, running a circuit towards Evington and Stoughton villages and returning via a very muddy bridle path towards the new school.  In fact at the end on my lower sixth year I came second in the annual cross-country race behind Alan Chapman, who ran for the Leicester Harriers. This was thanks to wearing not running shoes but heavy football boots – the last half-mile through the muddy bridle path allowed me to sail by all the elite sportsmen in my year who slid from side to side. That honour led me to be asked to accompany the famous Conrad Mainwaring on his training circuit, and we shared many happy conversations on Wednesday afternoons striding around the nine-mile circuit. He later went on to great success locally and internationally, and was an altogether wonderful sportsman and human being.  I was briefly a sub for the chess team, but did enjoy a certain success in the Atticus Society when, as secretary, I wrote up and read aloud the minutes in humorous fashion and also invited John Cleese to be Honorary President for a year. Graciously he visited the school, and addressed the society to great amusement as all of us were mad about Monty Python and he  even took off the speech of the Head, EJW Bell, without his realising he was being sent up.
Another milestone was joining 51 Squadron (detached flight) of the Air Cadets founded by the wonderful teacher, and our commanding officer, Pilot Officer Bill Mann. (It's a pity there are no photos from the ATC in the school record!) Despite hours of square bashing, we learned morse code and attended annual camps, went gliding and took part in rifle shooting and map reading exercises – grist to the mill for young teenagers of the day. For me a highlight of the camp at Church Fenton as a lowly corporal was to guide my troop of three through ditches and fields to 'capture' the officers during a night exercise, when we had to penetrate an airfield defences and outwit the guards. At another camp in Lincolnshire, one of my pals decided to spy on the women WAAFs in their hut, and was returned sore and shamed, naked after being caught by the women and given a cold bath and scrubbed down with Vim to teach him a lesson! 
Later, I was fortunate to be the first cadet in the school to win an air training scholarship to Perth aerodrome, where I spent a month learning to fly and passed the Flight Training Exam. I had to undergo rigorous tests – mental, physical, medical, psychological and political at Biggin Hill to win the scholarship, and when I was asked in the final interview after days of examinations and practicals "Are you now or have you ever been a Communist?" I drew on knowledge of current affairs from the Head himself, and spoke about the importance of the SALT disarmament talks and importance of the NATO alliance. 
Meanwhile, passing up the alpha stream to 5L and doing reasonably well at O-level, I made the momentous decision to combine languages – French and German - with Pure Maths and Statistics along with Russian and Latin' O'-Levels.  My teachers counselled against this choice but my dad, who was once first in Ireland in Maths, spoke to the fabulous Tony Baxter who I believe rallied to my cause. Needless to say, I should have taken another arts subject – English literature or history, but what with interest in girls, running a disco for schools and lack of attention to study it came as a shock when I barely passed my 'A'-levels with D, D and E grades – no chance of university with those! A stern talking to by my father reminded me of the poor example I was showing to younger brother Denis, who was at City Boys four years behind me. I was to concentrate on my studies! Well study I did and was rewarded by grades B in French and German, C in General Studies and D in maths with stats.
Throughout these years at City Boys I remember a number of classmates and pals, contact with whom has been long lost having moved away from Leicester - first to Berne for four years then back briefly to Leicester before jobs in Manchester, Northampton, Leicester Polytechnic and recently University College Cork, Ireland.  Dave Felstead, Alan Barrow, Michael Mann, Phil Perry, David Morrison, Eddie Gadd, George Bradley, Douglas Grace, Rob Lee, Mike Maloney and Keith Duerden to name but a few. Several of us were fortunate to be in the upper sixth when a female French and female German assistant were on exchange to CBS, and we had wonderful conversation classes with them – it was like living in a French movie until m'amselles' boyfriend turned up in a sports car to whisk her away! The German assistentin came from Duisberg and spent many hours talking to us about Mercedes Benz trucks and cars.  Looking back I admired Mr Haddon for German,  Mr Scott for history and RE, Mr Orton for French and Mr Elliott for diverting us in lower sixth when translating Le Noeud de Viperes with instruction on how to chat up girls, find out if they fancied you during a dance and other vital life lessons interspersed with tales of Rugby. It would be great to catch up with any who remember me, including the masters.
My career included volunteer house parent and woodwork workshop manager in Camphill Home, Berne. Nurse training  and work in mental health care and intellectual disability settings, nurse tutor and lecturer, senior lecturer in nursing in U.K. And Ireland. 
FROM JOHN BENNETT  1956-63   Iain Tweedie's piece in OWT93 brought back memories of Prize Days at De Montfort Hall. I was one of the boys in the Leicester Mercury photo that Ian mentioned, along with Christopher Smart who, at that time, was one of my best friends. I can't remember what prize I received at that Prize Day, but I was awarded the Headley Prize for public speaking on a couple of occasions prior to 1962, and I've still got the books (Shakespeare's Complete Works and G.K. Chesterton's Father Brown Stories)  I think I got the prizes as a result of my performing in various plays directed by Chas. Howard and, consequently, I was called upon to do recitations at Prize Days, one of which was a poem, possibly by Dylan Thomas, which I tried to recite in a Welsh accent and failed miserably.  I suppose it's the plays the school put on which stick in my memory more than anything else: A Midsummer Night's Dream, Richard II, King Lear, Cymbeline, St Joan, School for Scandal. I acted in many of them, and would love to know whether anyone has programmes or photographs of those performances.  Does anyone have contact with Christophe Smart or my other friend from both school and Oxford, Pete Storry?
FROM TREVOR LYNE  1953-58   After sixty years of waiting for the police to knock on the door, I think I might have got away with my illegal gambling.  It started like this: I, Trevor Lyne (aka Eric) unwittingly staged a maggot race on Sir's desk.  You see, I was a keen angler.  On this particlar day, with some Bayliss stales for sustenance, I purchased some maggots at lunchtime for 6d.  I put the grubs in my desk, and went to answer a call of nature.  On my return I was shocked to see the grubs on teacher's desk, engaged in a race.  Some scholars had named their maggots, and offered odds to win.  Suddenly the door burst open, and in came Sadie Thompson.  His face became contorted with rage as he demended to know what was going on.  I stuttered the maggots were mine, and they must have escaped from my desk whilst I was in the toilet.  'Don't be ridiculous, they have been deliberately put on my desk.  You can all have a detention, except Lyne who is clearly innocent.'  I felt a right creep, so asked for a detno for myself.  I invented a cock and bull story about my mother inviting Dave Walker for tea.  She thought hom a good Christian scholar (wrong)  In fact he lived only one hundred yards from our house, and we had known each other for seven years.  But Sadie accepted this strange offer, and I duly served detention with my classmates    This story is true.  Some of the players: David walker, Albert Dixey, Derek Bolton, Alan Mecklenburgh, Dave Sharp.  And by the way, why was I known as Eric??
AND FINALLY...   Hope you have enjoyed this latest OWT.  A couple of items have been held over until next time.
Dennis J Duggan
April 30th 2017