Friday 25 October 2019

Fwd: OWT 104 October 2019

TEL 01938 555574   07804 520730  
     OCTOBER  2019

   The 2020 reunion will take place on Saturday March 14th at Clarence House, a week earlier than usual.  I think this might be because Leicester are playing away that weekend...  We are working on the arrangements, but meanwhile if you fancy giving a short talk please let me know.

NEW BOOK   (This item was sent to me from a facebook post by John Offord - Ed)  One of our former pupils, Bharat Patel (1964-71) has written a book and ALL profits are going to Hope Against Cancer, a research charity.  You can order copies direct from the charity by calling 0116 270 0101 or e-mail  The cost, including postage, is £11.50.  If you wish to round up the figure the additional money can be gift aided.  Indian Takeaway is the bewildering experience of a boy who, by the age of eight, has lived on three continents.  At twenty one he returns to the land of his birth where his formidable grandmother has lined up an arranged marriage.  To find out what happens next... please buy the book.  You will have guessed the boy is Bharat, and the book is full of stories you could not make up but happen to be true - with the caveat there is a bit of journalistic embellishment.  Thanks for your support, and enjoy the book.  (I understand the book covers Bharat's time at City Boys, though some names might have been changed - Ed)

FROM ORSON DUNCAN LUCAS  (1940-)  Hon Alderman of the Borough of Oadby & Wigston, Freeman of the City of London, Past Chairman of Leicestershire County Council, Rotarian since 1962 - His Early Life pre-1946.  This item is transcribed from Duncan's hand-written notes, some of which are difficult to decipher, so apologies for any errors - Ed)    City Boys' School, Years of Turmoil 1940 on (Continuing Duncan's memoirs - Ed)  My small stature was not helped by my misuse of dinner monies.  We had an elderly teacher called Miss Mearns, and we boys could be cruel to lady teachers.    We had Bull Smith, physics; Bud Fisher, scripture; Mr Hackney, art; Mr Carpenter, maths.  He was a big man, of the Sergeant Major sort.  He was not one of my teachers but he saw my attempt to draw a chair and played hell and gave me a Saturday morning two-hour detention.  Did my paper round first, and after detention went to the market where my Uncle Ernie had his butchers stall.  Did my round of his city customers, and home just before the evening papers were due.  I was frightened of Mr Carpenter and hated him.  Mr Hanson, the history teacher, was nicknamed Avro Anson after the training aircraft.  He was an air raid warden and some days fell asleep at his desk.  His own history book was used in class.  We respected Mr Hanson, and never played up while he slept. 
School meals were mediocre, and lots were wasted.  Bud Fisher took the scraps home for his chickens.  We emptied salt and papper pots into the waste and reckoned the eggs would come out hot!  The caretaker was Mr Grundy.  He lived in the small lodge at the entrance.  When Mr Grundy discovered I came from Wigston he used me as a carrier to bring pies from Mr Burdett's shop.  Mr Burdett was a relative.
I believe a Mr Kersey was the physics master.  One day he got all the lads to hold hands.  I held back, as I saw a magneto with wires leading off.  He nodded at me and spun the cog on the magneto, and a yelp came from the boys as the spark travelled round them.  I was told to inform the lads why I had held back.  I helped out on the farm and had such a shock when cranking a tractor.  The handle kicked back and I lost my front teeth.  I enjoyed singing the old songs and can still sing many music hall ones to this day.  Some are in my book Duncan's Ditties of Leicestershire.  It is difficult recalling school details, but my memories of the blitz are in One Man's Wigston.  Every day, after a sleepless night, I did my paper round on my ten shilling bike and earned five shillings a week.  We all sat up during the night, seeing the red glow over Leicester and hearing the explosions.  Then off to school next day.  To my mother it was a sin to miss any schooling.
A vivd memory is of a big building in Charles Street.  It was still burning, and a fireman guided us round the debris.  There was smoke and dust everywhere.  We walked to the hot dog stall on Humberstone Gate where the massive Freeman, Hardy & Willis building was a smouldering ruin.  Went on to school.  County Boys we shouted to the Door Monitor, which excused us being late.  However we abused that privilege on many occasions.  We lads did not understand the perils of war.  After Dunkirk we saw troops arriving at South Wigston station.  They walked, not marched, to the nearby Glen Parva barracks.  The LDV, later the Home Guard, built barricades across many roads.  Very few had rifles.  Some had shotguns or - yes - pitchforks.  We played sports, football and cricket on the Grace Road playing fields  (To be continued - Ed)

FROM DAVE POSTLES 1960-67   Reference to Ken Witts in OWT103 reminds me of A-level geography, which was my sole contact with him.  Ken gave instructions in the climatology component, and WAG Pace was responsible for geomorphology.  There was a distinct contrast in their teaching (and our learning) styles.  Whereas WAG expected us to take voluminous notes, Ken insisted that notebooks remained closed, and no notes taken.  If I remember correctly, Ken directed the field trip to the exotic Wreake Valley, walking from Frisby to Hoby.  There was an intermission on the terrace between Rotherby and Brooksby to make sketches.  WAG, rather severely for his usual demeanour, took leadership of the other field trip through Bradgate Park. 

OBITUARIES   Alan Pantling,  1941-46, passed away on April 25th aged 88.  His daughter, Alison Watts, writes:  I meant to write down some of his memories, and still can at some stage.  I have his school bible and reports and even his blazer badge, which he had kept safely all these years.  The school certainly had a very lovely and lasting place in my Dad's heart, and he spoke of it frequently throughout my whole life  (Ediror's note.  Alison gives Alan's dates as 1939-44, but that seems incorrect.  Alan told me 1941-46, but I suppose it's not too important now)
Brian Screaton informs us that the Rev Gerald Rimmington  (1941-48) passed away earlier this month aged 89.  When Wyvernians had the memorial boards restored some years ago, Gerald performed the re-dedication ceremony.
Don Wright tells us that Neville Jackson (1942-47) passed away in August.  He and his wife lived in Hinckley for many years.  Neville's main hobby was photography, including 3D, and he was a prominent member of local clubs.  Until recently Neville was a regular attender at our reunions.

For my sins I am a life member of Leicestershire County Cricket Club and pay several visits to Grace Road, our former playing fields, during the season. Earlier this year I was informed there was to be a re-union of former pupils of the school at the ground. This took me somewhat by surprise as the only re-union I am aware of is the annual one in March at Clarence House for which I have a 100% attendance record. The explanation came later when I learned that the re-union was for former pupils who had played for the school cricket team. Naturally this would not include me as my cricketing skills ( if I had any ) were far below those required to play for the school team. I wonder if any Wyvernians can throw any light on this second re-union. For information I do see Frank Whitelam at the ground from time to time. From memory Frank was a fine opening bat for the school team.

FROM RICH WAKEFIELD  1961-68   So, here I am sitting in the warm with music playing drowning out the sound of the rain hammering violently on the window panes (Incidentally and irrelevantly the music is Country Joe and the Fish) I decide to put figurative pen to figurative paper and write something for the Old Wyves columns. Just at the point when I thought I may have to invent a memory, inspiration struck.   I had been telling a couple of stories to a pal a few days earlier, they came back to me now.
So, gentlemen, let me transport you back the the Biology Laboratory at Humberstone Gate. A motley collection of 4th year boys are sitting at the benches with their note books, text books and pencils all ready.  We are looking vaguely at an empty blackboard and a total lack of teachers, awaiting the arrival of the redoubtable Mr Flo Willan.
In due course he sailed in, resplendent in his gown and clutching a bundle of books. He announced briskly we should turn to a particular page in our text books, and that today we were going to be dealing with reproduction.  There was a murmur of joy, followed by a murmur of disappointment when we saw the text book was dealing with rabbits. To be fair, I understand they are fairly adept at this particular subject.

Flo turned to the board, his cape spread behind him rather like a cormorant drying its wings, and feverishly drew or wrote on the board.  None of us could see what he was drawing or writing at this stage.  He then moved away from his now complete masterpiece to reveal a chalk diagram of the appropriate organs on the board.  Then he spoke.  "Copy the diagram into your notebooks, we will add labels later.  Don't be afraid to draw your testicles nice and large like mine." We all found it hilarious, but daren't laugh until after the lesson and there were a good few yards between this redoubtable biologist and ourselves.  Only in later years, indeed at a reunion in Humberstone Gate, did it dawn on me, whilst recounting the tale to another former pupil (who had heard the very same statement a year or two earlier)  this was his little prank or icebreaker!  There was another incident with this man. I want to say it was on the same day, but I am not sure.  You may recall he would stand with his back to his table, place his hands on the edge and raise himself up and sort of hover for a second or two before dropping onto the table. This day we  were interested.  He had his geography wrong. He was standing directly in front of a gas tap. Did we call out and warn him?  Er, no. He dropped onto the tap and stoically remained there for a couple of minutes before standing up again and wandering to a safer spot where he repeated the manouevre, with a tad more dignity and less discomfort.

FROM KASH SAHOTA  1974-81   This anecdote relates to c1979, when any young lad with a few quid in his pocket could walk into a shop and buy an air rifle, with few questions asked.  You could then take it on a bus to school (in a case) and use it on the range under the stage in the main hall at Downing Drive.  Here the supervising teacher would leave the group to their own devices.  Mmm, how times have changed - I hope.  Some of my recollections have been corrected by Andrew Holmes, we attended the school at the same time.  We were friends, but after this incident perhaps he should have been my best friend.
Had I asked my parents if I could have an air rifle the answer would have been NO, and I would probably have received a good thrashing for even suggesting it.  So I obtained one without their knowledge.  To get it out of the house one morning per week I sneaked it into the porch before going into the kitchen for breakfast, then collected it as I left for the bus stop.  On the morning in question my mother, in between me sneaking and collecting, decided to put the milk bottles out and found the case containing the rifle.  Needless to say, I s**t myself, but denied any knowledge.  After a brief exchange of words I headed to the bus stop.  'What now, what now, help, panic' would have been my only thoughts.  I don't know where the inspiration came from, but it did.  I ran down the street to Andrew's house and asked him for a massive favour, and between us we concocted a story.  He knocked on our door and told my mother the air rifle was his, and he had got drunk the night before and left it outside the house as he knew I lived there.  My mother's English was not the best, and although I imagine she gave Andrew some stern looks he was able to convince her of his honesty.  He retrieved the rifle, and gave it to me at the bus stop.  I am not sure if you can have a hero in such a tale of lies and deceit, but if you can then Andrew played that role and saved the day.  Nice one, Beastie,  as he was known at the time.

FROM ANDREW HOLMES 1974-81   (I forwarded Kash's e-mail to Andrew, who sent this reply - Ed)  Ha ha.  Yes, I remember that.  The school had an air rifle club, but I never had one myself.  But Kash lived up the road from me, and we knew where each other lived.  One morning,as I was getting ready for school, my mother said, 'There's someone at the door for you.'  I went to see who it was - Kash.  I asked him what was up, and he explained he had left his rifle and case on his own doorstep the previous night and could I come and apologetically pick it up and say it was mine.  Otherwise his mother would kill him because she did not know he had a rifle.  So on my way to the bus stop I did as he asked.  I apologised to his mother, for something I had not actually done, and for something that did not actually belong to me, and let me tell you it felt ** embarrassing.  But I got the rifle back to Kash at the bus stop.  It had been a rather hairy moment. I used to have long brown hair and they called me The Beast,  that being after Mr Burden, the biology teacher, had named me The Wild Man From Borneo.  You should have seen the look on the mother's face.
Thinking about this reminds me that a group of us were heavily into The Beatles at that time.  Does Kash recall me recording a cassette of Rossini overtures for him?  He asked me to do that because he had seen the Beatles fim Help, and the credits had a number of Rossini overtures like The Barber of Seville and he wanted to know more about the music.

AND FINALLY   After one hundred and four OWT's I am running out of my personal anecdotes, so will repeat one.  I was never a fan of PT, swimming or games and occasionally resorted to a risky manoeuvre to avoid them.  This involved me sneaking downstairs in the early morning, finding the Basildon Bond writing pad, and in what I hoped looked like adult writing composed something like the following;  Dear Mr Gilman, please excuse Dennis from PT/swimming/games today as he has a bad cold/hurt his ankle/sprained his knee etc (choose one from each section)  Yours sincerely M J Duggan (Mrs)  Each morning, either before or after assembly, Jock Gilman stood at the door of the staff room to receive excuse notes from the little queue of boys.  After glancing at the notes he initialled them, job done.  That entitled the bearer to sit on the balcony at Vestry Street baths, sit out the PT lessons, or go into the library instead of Grace Road or Rushey Mead.  I still recall the feeling of apprehension as Jock perused my notes, and looking back it seems inconceivable he was taken in by them.  My theory is that he simply could not be bothered with the trouble that would ensue if he rejected the notes, so it was easier to accept them.  Happy days!

Dennis J Duggan   October 24th 2019


Saturday 13 July 2019

Fwd: OWT103 July 2019

TEL 01938 555574   07804 520730  
     JULY 2019

EDITORIAL      It is a quiet time of year for Wyvernians.  The dust has settled after the March reunion, and arrangements for the next one will not begin until after Christmas.  I hope you enjoy reading this OWT, and that it will encourage some of you to respond.

I was looking at the pictures on Wyvernians (and at the Old Wyvernians and COLS FB pages) just as I was typing this. You may be interested to know that I took the time to read through all the old PDF files online, discovering who was still with us (amazing!) and who, alas, is not.  I was saddened to hear that both Ken Witts (whom I myself never actually had for regular lessons, but just occasionally such as when covering for an absent colleague) and Mr. Michael Wood, who became the headmaster and appears to have finished at COLS the same year as myself, are no longer with us. From my own experience, I don't think that either of them really deserves any negative comments.
In perusing the PDFs earlier this week, I noted the editor's mentioning that some comments from former schoolboys (inmates?) about their teachers had not been included at his discretion, owing to the fact that they were not entirely kind to the people concerned. I can certainly understand this, but I would say that in the fullness of time all these things have been filed, in my mind, under the category of "it is what it is" (a remark often used by ex-US soldier and online entertainer Terrence Popp) and often simply forgotten. It was a different (and arguably better, in terms of discipline) age, in my opinion; the teachers were doing their jobs as best they could, and my own teaching experiences in Taiwan and South Korea make me think that perhaps we should look back on them with at least some sympathy.
Let me tell you that one possible job that I have always avoided here in Korea is teaching in middle schools. Whereas in former times the people here were generally of diminutive frame, the better-nourished students of today are often much larger; and a few years ago I was sitting at my desk in an elementary school in Yangsan (north of Busan) when a young South African lady I knew (now back at home in SA), who at the time just happened to be teaching at a boys' middle school, reported on FB that a vicious fight had just broken out in her school's lobby between one of the PE teachers and a rather well-built student! She never did tell me the result, but that persuaded me that Korean middle schools were definitely not the way to go!
At the moment, I have just begun a new session teaching groups of Korean would-be TESOL teachers (Yes! I am teaching the teachers!!! I can hear your collective jaws hitting the floor...), having spent another year working with the military in the form of the Air Force Aviation Science High School - I had worked as a TESOL teacher trainer at the Times Media office in Daegu previously in 2017, but my stay there was cut short by needing hospital treatment for colorectal cancer, an experience I would not like to repeat... I say this not because of the severity of the condition, as the surgery seems to have been relatively straightforward in my case, but I shared the (very small) ward in the hospital with six other cancer-stricken men, all of whom seemed to be in much worse condition than myself (I received the distinct impression that long-term exposure to tobacco was often involved...). I was only there for about nine days as I recovered well and did not need chemotherapy; and just a couple of weeks ago, I was back at the hospital (as our office in Daegu is literally about three minutes walk away - these places are all part of the same university) and received the news that neither the serological analysis nor the CT scans showed any indication of metastasis, so that's good. I couldn't do the final endoscopy, as it happened, due to the purgative coming back up as an emetic... so the surgeon, Professor Kim, said he would arrange for me to have it done at another hospital later... with a less noisome purgative!
Going back rather a long way in time, when I left COLS in 1981 having failed my A-levels, I had no idea what I wanted to do and basically lived with my parents for about three years, until one day I had to go to my old GP, Andrew Cull (whom I believe is now working in London), and he said: "I thought you were going to university?"
"Ah, but I failed my A-levels." I replied.
"Well," he said, "did you never think about un-failing them?"
That got my mind going... to cut a long story short, I interviewed at Charles Keene College, enrolled in a one-year part-time course studying biology and chemistry (again) and in the end, managed to scrape one Grade E in biology; why can I never pass chemistry exams?
The results of this, however, were twofold: firstly, I got a whole load of offers from all over the country to do biological science HND courses, and I picked the South Glamorgan Institute in Llandaff, Cardiff, which was actually a great place to study. When this course was nearing its end, I re-applied to the Cambridgeshire College of Arts and Technology and got unconditional second-year entry to the B.Sc. (Hons) Cell and Molecular Science course: "Hey, we remember you!" they said... and in 1990, I graduated with a Lower Second. Would you believe that I was able to get mandatory education grants for a full five years? And would you further believe that the year I graduated (1990) was also the last year of said grants? Talk about good timing!
Things have all rather changed since then, but I have to say that it was never possible to get remotely close to the kind of biology-based career that I had had in mind originally; unfortunately, with the HND course being a thick sandwich with two six-month work experience periods, the first of which was at the old analytical laboratory at Texaco's Pembroke Refinery on the Milford Haven, this "chemical" association stuck with me until I finally left the UK. There is a "story" associated with this, but maybe I will write about it at length some other time. What happened was that secondly, my last full-time job in the UK (working as a chemist for the Royal Air Force) bore unusual fruit in the form of becoming a published chemistry writer (!!!).
At the moment, the big surprise about being in South Korea is that I am still here at all - at the grand old age of 56, in both a country and an industry with a reputation for "ageism" and even despite having had treatment for cancer, I find that I still get plenty of job offers (although not always at well-timed intervals), and that there are other fogeys here as well. But as time has passed, I have definitely shied away from teaching children and steered erratically in the direction of adults. My manageress, who is much younger than me and had only just started her new post when my cancer was detected, is still here and told me that she wanted me to stay for a long time in this job. I shall try to grant her wish!
I could go on all night but it's already the early hours of a Sunday morning (and I don't always sleep well these days). Please pass my regards to all my old teachers, and my hope that they are all well. You can read about my adventures here at greater length by going to my private blog at ("The Eastern Horizon: My account of life in East Asia"). Be warned - it is highly opinionated, and not for the faint of heart!
PS - Does Bill Mann still have those shorts? I'm just asking for a friend, you understand...

FROM BRIAN COPE  1954-62   I write in praise of Bill Varley, who taught Art at CBS for a few years before moving to Newcastle University.  I was lucky enough to attend his Art History classes in the sixth form, where be brought Giotto and Masaccio to life in an extraordinary way, and two years later led this spellbound student to Padua and Florence.  Years later I bumped into him outside the Tate, and he 'showed me round', making sense of abstract art to me for the first time.
Steve Buckley was one of his CBS pupils, and Sean Scully amongst many others he mentored at Newcastle.  Bill has been a major force in the artistic life of the north east for decades, without ever becoming an establishment figure.  His essay on how the Baltic in Newcastle has failed the city is a classic statement of artistic values against mere novelty.  We were lucky to have him at CBS, if only for a short time.  I believe Bill is still going strong, his zest for life undimmed.

FROM ORSON DUNCAN LUCAS  (1940-)  Hon Alderman of the Borough of Oadby & Wigston, Freeman of the City of London, Past Chairman of Leicestershire County Council, Rotarian since 1962 - His Early Life pre-1946This item is transcribed from Duncan's hand-written notes, some of which are difficult to decipher, so apologies for any errors - Ed)    City Boys' School, Years of Turmoil 1940 on.  I was born in Wigston Magna 13th March 1929, the first son following three girls with two brothers to follow.  The first memory I am able to date was a Sunday morning when we missed Sunday School to listen to the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain.  He told us that because Mr Hitler had not replied to his letter a state of war existed between us.  As a ten-year-old the significance did not sink in, although my mother was crying.
We lived at 10 Bell Street, at the rear of a draper's, in one room and a small pantry, two bedrooms and an attic.  How we all crammed in I can't imagine now.  Marion, my eldest sister, went to South Wigston Intermediate School.  Audrey, the next eldest, went to Wyggeston Girls and used to cycle home with a lad called David Attenborough.  She died of meningitis.  Another sister (Name unclear - Ed)  also went to Wyggy Girls, but I failed the 11 plus.
Mother was determined we should have a top education, even though we were poor.  At that time Father had a small van, hawking clothing and shoe repairs round the villages.  A poor existence.  I often went with him to open the gates, many roads were still gated.  An uncle, who was a butcher, served on the Urban Council, and also on a local charity.  I duly got a grant for a grammar school education, five guineas per term.  Ironically, many years later as a councillor, I was elected as a trustee on that same committee, and I still serve on its successor.
So my mother and father, and me,went to City Boys' School, Humberstone Gate, in the little van.  We were shown round by a tall, mean, master wearing a gown.  'My name is Mr Carter,' he intoned.  We were joined by other parents and boys.  We went in via the present entrance, to me it was a church-like building.  Turning right we were shown the Headmaster's study.  Mr Crammer was a stern gent wearing horn-rimmed glasses.  He had, I later discovered, a powerful right arm.  The showcase room was reinforced with steel pillars and struts in case of bombs exploding nearby.  The windows had sticky brown tape on them to prevent flying glass.Then we went outside to the underground shelters.  They could not accomodate everyone, hence the reinforced room.
The daft things boys did.  There was McDonald, who played silly tricks.  One day he was showing off by skidding his bike and went down the shelter steps.  He burst through the door at the bottom and lay inside the tunnel groaning.  He also showed off by skidding into the tram tracks.  We were terrified of the shiny cobbles surrounding the tracks, especially near the cattle market.  There were air raid shelters on waste ground at the rear of Clarence Street.  On the opposite corner was Challis & Allen, wine and spirit wholesalers, with the Sally Army citadel nearby.  Another important building was Hannam Court, a large block of flats on Charles Street. Important?  Yes, because it also housed Bayliss the bakers, where we lads used our dinner money to buy stales.  The savings could be used in amusement arcades or chip shops. 
There was a school tuck shop, but everything was rationed so it was a poor supply of grub.  Next door was the Lost Property room combined with the Prefects' room.  My parents struggled to equip me with a uniform, but I found that so much property was never claimed I was able to help out and my mother never had to purchase any school clothes.  I, along with my mate Maurice Cattermole, were the last in the class to wear short trousers.  Clothes were rationed, and coupons were withheld for we two shorties.  Mr Crammer noted on one of my reports, 'Does he feed properly?'  (To be continued - Ed)

FROM BRIAN SCREATON  1959-65   I have collated all the information we have about the seventy seven names that appear on the Second World War memorial board.  I have written it out, and Frank has added it to the web site.  I will add more cuttings, letters and other information as time permits.  Go to:   Several died on D-Day so I thought it appropriate to do this now in the 75th anniversary year.

  On moving up to CBS from primary school (1965, the first year at Downing Drive) I was deeply curious as to why a selection of boys were filtered off into the "Blue Room" at every morning assembly. I had come to CBS from a Church of England junior school, my exposure to people of a Catholic belief being non-existent, and I continually asked myself " Why are they different?" ..... "What do they do in the blue room?' ..... "What was I missing?"
I can't remember who eventually gave me answers to these questions but the mystique of Roman Catholicism didn't trouble me for too long. Maybe it was my mother who put me right, although I have a vague recollection of a conversation on the matter with Bill Mann during my year in 1A. Either way, my mind was put to rest that there was no fundamental difference between the blue room boys and the rest of us. I can't imagine that such segregation takes place in today's schools. I sincerely hope not.  This could have encouraged some deep divides and unjustified animosity during my CBS time, especially as my time coincided with the height of what we generally refer to as the troubles in Northern Ireland but I cannot recall one incident during all seven years when anything of this nature surfaced. I can, regrettably, remember issues of a racist nature against boys from black and Asian backgrounds but never anything that was sectarian, Protestant/Catholic related.   Remarkable really in terms of the deep-rooted issues that continued to surface for a further 15-20 years thereafter.

FROM STEVE MELLOR  1959-66   In reply to the entry by Dave Wait (who I must confess not to have any recollection of) although I was an avid motorcyclist for several years, I was never a "rocker" per se, my interest being mechanical and performance orientated, not simply image. I did, and still do, enjoy rock music, but that is incidental. Dave's mention of stales and bowling alley rang loud bells however, as I was a Bayliss customer and too frequent a client at the Top Rank alley for the teaching staff to ignore, so detentions did ensue. The relocation to Downing Drive was an unwelcome and unforeseen termination of those activities and did result in a personal benefit of raising my educational standard a little, although I still avoided virtually all extra-curricular events organised though the school itself.  I read this at home here in Ontinyent, in the company of Richard "Mac" McMorran, another Old Wyvernian, who has remained a close friend since junior school. He has been over for the weekend again and, as usual, we have been reminiscing over a bottle or two of vino tinto, so the times at CBS came up, although the accuracy of some of our recollections may often be open to legitimate challenge – as would be the case with most of our contemporaries, I'd guess. Reading through the various entries, names float in and out of the conversation, some with less affection than others, but all with some appreciation that we may have made the "three score and ten" which we never foresaw all those years ago. About the only conclusion we reached was that we had little to say as meaningful contributions to OWT, other than hoping that those of us still around all manage a few more years without undue health or other detrimental issues  We agreed that although very few of us may have fully appreciated the school, the teachers, or the education process at the time, it all combined to stand us in good shape to handle life – for my part, work and travel to more than 60 different countries, ending up with leaving the UK in 1991 for good, spending my time since then in Mauritius, Singapore, Thailand and Australia before retiring to Spain with my 3rd wife, post-stroke and cardiac surgery, in 2013. I still return to the UK occasionally, most recently for my mum's 100th birthday last year, but realise that I could never settle there again from choice, being too set in my ways and probably unsuited to life there in the 21st century – I would probably end up either arrested or beaten up for being too outspoken on matters which are regarded as controversial or too sensitive to raise in public nowadays, so best that I stay in this quiet backwater and view things from afar, still ranting at the TV, but harmlessly and out of earshot of all except my very tolerant third wife, an Uzbeki national I met via a then mutual friend in Dubai – so proving that travel can be beneficial.

FROM BRIAN STEVENSON  1959-65   I was sorry to learn of the death of Roger Rimington in OWT102.  Roger was the second rhythm guitarist in The Jades, a beat group of Wyvernians founded by Dave King in 1963.  Both Dave and I have written about The Jades in OWT issues 61 and 90, about our appearances in school concerts and elsewhere.  As there has been no reaction whatsoever I conclude that either no one remembers us from Adam or we were to embarrassing to mention.
As well as his ability on the guitar, Roger brought something quite unusual to The Jades - a sense of style.  He was an early example of a Mod, and impressed the rest of us with his trendy wardrobe which was mostly purchased from the Irish on High Street.  I can still recall him in a pale blue shirt with a long, pointed collar, thin tie and faux leather waistcoat.  No doubt it would have been a real leather waistcoat if he could have afforded it.  He was in the habit of rocking on his heels as he played, his freckled face grinning across at the rest of us.  Sorry to see you go, Rog.
Roger's predecessor had been John Farter Marney, so-called because of his habit of breaking wind in class.  This was mostly ignored by the teachers, possibly out of embarassment, but I recall that on one occasion he was taken to task by Ken Witts - never a man to see his authority questioned, however unorthodox the challenge.  I believe that Marney became some sort of naturalist on local (possibly national?) TV, but as I have not lived in Leicester since 1971 some of you may know more about this later, more respectable, phase of his career.  John's stint in The Jades was short-lived, as his parents were not too keen on allowing him out for rehearsals.
Rog's successor, and The Jades final (current) rhythm guitarist, was the redoubtable Keith Duguid.  Although Keith's dress sense did not match Roger's (he seemed to possess an inexhaustible supply of identical grey tee shirts) he could kick ass with the Chuck Berry rhythms so essential to an early sixties band so we decided to overlook his lack of sartorial elegance.

FROM FRANK SMITH  1959-66   I remember Brian Stevenson.  He came to a reunion a couple of years ago and reminded me of my first-ever swimming lesson at Vestry Street.  Jock Gilman told us non-swimmers to float on our backs with knees tucked up under the chin.  I tried this, and sank in a panic.  Brian was on hand to rescue me by lifting my head out of the water.  Over the years I had come to believe it was Mick McLoughlin who saved me until Brian put me right.


Roger Rimington 1948-2019

As I previously reported my friend Roger Rimington passed away on the 29th January. I had known Roger since we both started at City Boys in 1959. We were close friends whilst at School and for quite a few years afterwards, although our paths had diverged. I went to the Leicester College of Art and Technology (now De Montfort University) whilst Roger got a job in what would now be called the IT department at G. Stibbe & Co on Vaughan Way in Leicester. But we were united in a love of live music and spent many happy evenings at local venues like the Il Rondo, the Latin Quarter, the Casino and the Couriers Folk Club, as well as many of the great gigs put on by the College, either in their own buildings or at the Granby Halls and the Palais.
I also joined a band whilst at college, and got Roger involved as well. He was a gifted guitarist, and until I read Brian Stevenson's piece I had forgotten that Roger began as a member of the 'Jades' who I remember rehearsing at the Uppingham Road United Reformed Church.

In later life Roger worked at the Grand Hotel and then went to the 'Art and Tech' himself to study art and design, gaining a degree in Graphic Design. In more recent years Roger, who was unmarried and claimed to have no relatives, became something of a recluse which was a worry to his friends and neighbours. So much so that the Police were sent to his flat twice to check on him. Even so his sudden death from an aortic dissection still came as a shock. He died at Glenfield Hospital.

This sad event prompted Roger's friends to come together to try and deal with his affairs. However we rapidly discovered that friends have no rights in this territory, and it looked as if it would have to be handed over to Social Services, meaning that Roger would have a 'Hospital Funeral' (i.e. what used to be called a 'Pauper's Funeral') and that all his assets would go to the State, as he had not left a will.

Obviously this was not what we wanted. We needed to find out if Roger did have any relatives, as only those who are related to the deceased can act in such a situation. I have a friend who is an expert on family history research and I asked him to see if he could find any relatives. Within 24 hours he reported back and had found that Roger did indeed have relatives, one of whom lived only a mile down the road from me. He was the son of Roger's cousin, David Rimington, who was in Leicester, only about three or four miles from where Roger lived.

I contacted David and although he had not seen or heard of Roger for over forty years he agreed to come with me to the hospital so that we could collect Roger's effects and also the cause of death certificate which is needed to register the death. We then went on the Registrar's Office where I was asked to sign the Death Certificate as I was the one who had seen Roger most recently.

Armed with this certificate we could then set about arranging Roger's funeral and appointing a solicitor to deal with Roger's estate. He had a fair amount in the bank but few other assets – but as he died intestate the estate has to be divided accordingly to a legal formula so we thought is best to hand this over to an expert.

We could also set about clearing his rented flat which was a mammoth task. Roger was a hoarder and his second and third floor flat was crammed with his possessions. One of the rooms we couldn't even get into. Even with the help of a hard core of friends and neighbours and a husband and wife team of house clearers it took four full days to clear the flat. Two of his neighbours worked there until one o'clock in the morning on two nights. The flat was converted out of a large terraced house so there was no lift, just several flights of very narrow stairs. Anyway, a mighty sigh of relief was given on the late afternoon of the fourth day when the place was clear and I could hand the keys back to his none-too-pleasant landlord.

We then organised a Celebration of Roger's life at the South Leicestershire crematorium, after which his ashes were scattered at the Scraptoft Natural Burial Ground, to the east of Leicester. His ashes were scattered along with those of his great friend Russ Middleton who had died a little while ago.

Sadly David Rimington also passed away recently having suffered a heart attack. He died in the same hospital as Roger.

One of Roger's friends, Alex James wrote the following poem about Roger, which he read at the cremation and also at the scattering of ashes:-

Roger Roger
a man who held a Beacon in esteem, if not the bar hours

A historian

A historic collector of everything, especially Barclays pens, copies of the Merc and microwaves,

Cared for others but not himself,

Bottle of red for my birthday,

Picture of Maz on a mad dash,

Pictures of Leicester past

Great target for young pub cat Edna and Mark's newspaper

Fanatic bus pass user,

Frequenter of Kieran's bar,

Looks at life through a broken magnifying glass,

He's going to be jealous of the buffet.

Roger Roger, over and out

AND FINALLY   Brian Cope's item about Bill Varley (we knew him as Charlie Varley) took me back to the art room.  I have no recollection of what I created in the lessons, what sticks in my mind is mixing the brightly-coloured powder paints with water.  I think there were three rows of benches, and as the end of the lesson approached we went to the sink at the back of the room, one row at a time, and washed our brushes and other implements.  I recall the art sessions as very relaxed, with Charlie walking round offering comments and advice.

Dennis J Duggan  July 13th 2019



Friday 12 April 2019

Fwd: OWT102 April 2019

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From: Dennis Duggan <>
Date: Fri, 12 Apr 2019 at 14:22
Subject: OWT102 April 2019




TEL 01938 555574   07804 520730  
APRIL 2019

EDITORIAL   I think we can safely say the 2019 reunion was the usual success.  Difficult to say exactly how many were there, because we always have some no-shows and some people just turn up.  Also some do not stay until the very end.  But I reckon that seventy would be a reasonable estimate, a good number considering we are a finite group with a preponderance of elderly members.  Lunch was excellent, sixty four meals were booked.  The AGM passed without problems, with me, Brian, John and Frank re-elected unopposed.  We had two excellent speakers, John McAngus and Bob Childs.  Thanks are due to Age UK, who go way beyond the call of duty to accomodate us, and to those who brought raffle prizes.  We must also thank Brian, Frank, John and Stephanie, because without them we would not have a reunion to attend.

FROM SIMON PARTRIDGE  1966-72   (The final episode of Simon's memoirs - Ed)  The sixth year found me elevated to the status of Prefect.  I was very proud, but in all honesty I failed to see the reason, my only contribution to school life being a bit of acting.  So questions were asked of our man in the staff room, whose integrity I cannot fully vouch for, but for whom such a story would surely be too far-fetched to concoct.  Apparently, Mr Bell went through the list of every boy in the Lower Sixth, and when he reached 'P', no doubt with his concentration starting to flag, he made an objection about  me.  It seems I was felt to be unreliable, and could not be trusted.  This was not an issue about honesty, rather my inability to be in the right place at the right time.  This valid point was made in a lengthy and detailed manner, but it seems that Mr Bell was either not listening or for some reason ignored what was said in my favour.  But Partridge was duly added to the list, though no one was prepared to point out the glaring inconsistency in the Head's decision making.  I was not there so cannot vouch for anything.  But I can say that being a Prefect turned put to be very useful.
It all turned out well in the end.  I attended University College, Cardiff, for three years, whilst teaching and having a family (Not recommended!) in order to continue making up lost ground.  When my first school closed I asked to be redeployed as an RE teacher at a high-status school in Penarth, from where I went on to be Head of RE in a Carmarthanshire school.  Here, after six years, I was allowed to combine the role with being a Head of Learning (Head of Year) which, since my school days, had become a cottage industry.  I was able to retire at 55, then spent six and a half years as a postman which I thoroughly enjoyed.  While on a Royal Mail management training course, which because of cuts was eventually abandoned, my 1969 'O' levels in English language and maths were deemed invalid.  Subsequently at age 58, I passed GNVQ Level 2 literacy and Level 2 numeracy, in addition to Level 3 in First Line Management.

FROM STEFAN WOZOWCZYK  1965-72   I would say I had a very good education at CBS, bit did I enjoy it?  No!  Hate is not the right word, but I was not happy for most of the seven years.  I started in 1 Alpha.  At the end of the year the classes were reshuffled.  The first nineteen went to 3 Alpha, I came twentieth.   It meant I was the best of the rest.  In 2A I did not need to work hard to be top of the class.  Of course this was pleasing for my parents, but I just wanted to be one of the lads. So I began to make deliberate mistakes in class, or with my homework, making sure I got 8/10 instead of 10/10 and coming third or fourth.  One term I came seventh, which was too much for my mother, so the following term I was first again.  You don't make many friends like that.
I elected to join CBS because it was a soccer school.  I was clever on the field as well as in the classroom.  Unusually I could play with either foot, so I was often on the left wing.  There was no soccer team in the first year, in the second year we went for trials.  It was something like seventeen-a-side for the first half, so no surprise it was nil nil at half time.  I played my heart out, and say that soundly.  I was the best player on the pitch, and the one closest to scoring.  The coach was the English teacher, and he disliked me.  To this day I have no idea why.  He picked on me in class.  'To be or not to be...come on Wozowczyk, how does it go?'    'Sorry, sir, I don't know.'    'Villagers, the two or three - you'd know where that comes from?'    'Sorry, sir.'   There would be a dismissive pffff to show I was incompetent.  After half time the trials went to eleven a side, those not required went to get changed.  I was the first.  But worse was to come for three others.  My friend Ian was a talented goalkeeper, and had played well.  My friends Nick and Tony had done enough for the second half.  We had come from the same junior school and hung around together.  I wonder if their association with me had them tainted.  I was distraught.  Some said it was unfair, I had played a blinder, but that was small consolation.
I have seen it stated that 1967 was the year CBS fielded a rugby XV.  But I was in it, and believe it was 1966.  Geoff Elliott, a great bloke, was the coach.  We lost every match.  Next year we lost every match.  Let me introduce a name I am surprised has noot cropped up more often.  The Chairman of the board of governors had an unfortunate name.  Mr Bell referred to him as Lt Colonel B'Starred.  At the prize giving he noted the school rugby XV had lost every match.  He went on to say this was good for us, it would teach us how to lose gracefully and strive to be better.  The following year we drew one match, against Linwood.  We should have won, but the home referee cheated and would not allow us a try.  Then two very talented players came along, and we began winning a match or two.  I have lived overseas for decades, but have been a Tigers man since my teenage years.  Should I thank Geoff Elliott, the school, or even the English teacher who did not like me?
After Geoff left, the coaching went to Mac Bryan.  He would have been in his thirties, a beefy bloke with very mature whiskers.  Sometimes it was difficult to field fifteen players, and one Saturday Mac decided he would have to turn out himself.  The opposition ref even asked if we were all under sixteen, and we all squeaked YES.  I don't think Mac said anything.  Ludicrous!  We played Wyggeston for three consecutive years, losing 44-0, 33-0, 22-0, so we were definitely improving.  We also played Hinckley Grammar and lost 66-5.  I think our scorer was Eddie Gadd, a sprinter if ever there was one.  He got on the end of a loose ball and no one could catch him.  Remember that a try was only three points in those days.

FROM BOB CHILDS  1976-2009   Over the winter the Old Lennensians  (The Kings Lynn equivalent of Wyvernians) has avoided dissolution by those of us aged sixty-plus stepping forward to form a new committee.  Thus we can maintain an annual reunion, in July, and other activities.  They are working on a new web site, and I have recommended they look at the Wyvernians site as a good example.  Like CBS the school still has its original 1906 building as a focus, and it became a comprehensive in 1979.  I am working with Mike Walker, a former Head and local author, on the archive material.  I have dug deeply into WW2, and how the grammar school (King Edward VII, or KES) shared its facilities with Hackney Downs grammar until 1942/43.  Hackney Downs was evacuated from London in 1939.  Their alumni include Harold Pinter and and Sir Michael Caine.  The latter arrived aged 7 as Michael Micklewight, from a poor family, with rickets.  He lived at North Runcton, just ouside Kings Lynn, and was schooled at the primary school there.  He was the first ever pupil to pass the 11+, and under London CC rules had to attend the nearest evacuated grammar school, which was Hackney Downs.  The school was there until the end of the war.  As Sir Michael often says, 'Not a lot of people know that...'

FROM DEREK COLE  1950-58   I enjoyed reading Stefan Wozowczyk's piece about Mr Wardle'comment 'I'm getting you an 'A' level in Economics, not making you an Economist.'  It brought back Basher Brewin's introduction to 'O 'Level maths when I was in 5L during 1954.  'You're here to get the 'O' level maths you'll need for university entrance.  I'm  here to make sure you do.'  And we did, all of us.  I can still do Pythagoras' theorem and trigonometry but, as it did then, algebra baffles me.  My granddaughter, now 23, attempted to teach me when she was doing GCSE but, like Basher, she failedMind you, she has more hair than he did!
We called Mr Wardle The Count on the grounds he resembled Dracula when he strode along a corridor with his gown billowing round him.

FROM DAVE WAIT  1958-63   (Continuing Dave's musings.  If Dave was in the sixth form do I have his dates wrong? - Ed)  In to the first-year sixth, with the redoubtable Steve Mellor, the original rocker on his motor bike (Alright, mate?) we vaccilated betweenn British stuff and US black genres.  At the back of the classroom was a little store cupboard which contained, of all things, a record player.  Vinyl was brought in, and listened to at every opportunity, not least The Kinks.  As a variant a large group frequently ventured to the County Arms, Blaby, by bus, where the standard fare was soul.  I guess we were all heterodox.  One consequence was the general response to Ding Dong's invitation to a representative from the South African embassy to address the sixth form about apartheid, which ranged from rational hostility to quiet bemusement. 
In the second year sixth we all became Mods, with renowned centre forward Geoff Pullen in the vanguard.  How far were we duped?  The anthem of The Who, My Generation, seems dissimulation now.  Hope To Die Before I Get Old?  I suspect that Geoff, like me, has become an old codger.  However, he also favoured the Small Faces, inspired by the late Steve Marriott.  I recall being admonished by Geoff as we attempted to sell tickets to the convent girls on a bus into town.  Geoff was a close friend, but he was equalled by that football legend Bill Dixey, the advocate of real Blues constantly evoking Big Bill Boonzy in the same sentence as Leibnitz - or was it Spinoza?  Whilst we conformed, Bill was sui generis.  What does this random, self-absorbed narrative mean for life at CBS?  It certainly indicates some amour-propre, some of the chip on the shoulder, the revolt against the cultural imposition of a dominant institution.  The faux renegade, of which there were many.  Sales of stale cakes, anyone?  Nipping off to the bowling alley?  More importantly, it reveals how our lives were joyously enhanced in the face of educational adversity by the camaraderie of small groups, affinities which worked outside the curriculum.  Those figurations (Norbet Elias) changed constantly but were vital support networks.  For many of us, learning at CBS was a permanent challenge, one often not met successfully, and it is to athose mates that we owe our negotiation of the difficulties through collective avoidance, resistance and occasional collaboration.  In retrospect I salute you all.

FROM IAN NEIL  (DATES UNKOWN) VIA DAVE ZANKER  1957-62   This refers to Alan Mercer's item in OWT101, in which he described how the 'staggers' for a sports day had apparently not been measured properly.  It might have been 1961, at Grace Road.  Dave Dagger Clarke was in my elder brother's year.  He was drawn on the outside lane for the 200 yards and won the race by twenty yards in world record time.  He steadfastly rejected the notion the staggers had been for the 400 yard race.

FROM JOHN OFFORD  1958-63   I wish to correct Alan Mercer on his piece about the staggers on sports day.  He might be right about the 220 and 440 yard races, but for the half mile and one mile races there are no staggers.  All competitors begin on the same start line.

Thank you for the latest edition. I do enjoy reading the tales and wish I had more to contribute myself. 

Your "And Finally" brought back memories both old and new.  Unlike you, I am very keen on sports, in particular football, and am still playing 5 or 6 a side in Harrogate at the age of nearly 73 with much younger players who now include my middle son.  In my first year at City Boys', when other pupils had moved on to cross country, members of the football team continued to play football on games day as the schools' league had not yet finished. When I did have to do my first run, I was at the front alongside Gez Fitzpatrick, our star centre forward, and Newton Mills, the best runner, who was showing us the way as Gez and I were unfamiliar with the route. Nearing the end I must have been the first to see Mr Gimson calling to us across a field so I shot off and won the race. Apart from football, I was also in the cricket team and I recall that both teams were Leicester school champions that year.  Being late to develop physically, other boys became stronger and faster than me so I was never so successful in subsequent runs, and I could not retain my place in the football and cricket teams.
So on to the new. I did return to running, but for fitness rather than racing, and between 1989 and 2003 I ran the Great North Run Half Marathon 10 times plus 4 Marathons, all abroad. So having not run for 15 years, how was I talked into doing the Leicester Half Marathon, the course of which was in the direction of Rushey Fields, on 14th October 2018?  I think it was something to do with my brother-in-law having entered and my youngest son saying he was coming up from London for the run, plus a need to do more exercise to lose a few pounds. As it happened, my son didn't make it because of guess what, a football injury, but my report and photos can be found on .


Cliff Dunkley  (1949-57)  Passed away January 24th 2019 Read below a tribute to Cliff from old school friend Richard Thompson.

Roger Rimington  (1959-65) passed away January 29th 2019, aged 70.  Brian Screaton  (1959-65) writes:  I am sad to report the death of my oldest friend from City Boys.  Roger and I became friends when we sat next to each other in 3 Alpha in 1960, and we lived not far from each other - he on Goodwood estate and me on Thurnby Lodge.  Roger never married, and had no close relations, but he did have good circles of friends, especially at the Black Horse on Braunstone Gate, and also from the days when he and I were in a band in the late 1960's.

FROM JOHN RUDGE  1951-58   I was very saddened to read in the last OWT that Bill Lally and Andrew Radford had died.  Bill started in September 1951, the same time as me.  We were both in 1 Alpha and stayed in the same class through to the fifth form.  I remember the Radford boys, particularly Andrew.  He sometimes played the organ during assembly.  He did it quite often when Mr Sykes was ill for a period  (Even I got roped in to play at that time - I played at a local church)

Clifford Michael Dunkley 6 November 1938 - 24 January 2019.  I first met Cliff in 1949 when he and I were both in 1A in our first year at  City Boys.  My birthday was quite early in the term and my parents suggested I invite some of my classmates to a party, so I invited Cliff, John Page, and John Tilbury. The four of us stayed in contact till Cliff's death, and all of us got jobs in education, Cliff in University Administration, and the rest of us teaching.  After leaving City Boys' Cliff read English at St. Catherine's Oxford. The school usually sent students of English to Cambridge, but in those days the Cambridge English Faculty was dominated by F. R Leavis, whom Cliff abominated, so he went to St. Catherine's Oxford. While at Oxford Cliff amused himself by looking up details of Oxford graduates who taught at the school. When he checked Mr. Franey's record he discovered that Franey had studied not English but History. The discovery reminded Cliff of a conversation he'd had with Franey before leaving school.  In those days undergraduates studying English at Oxford had to take a course in Anglo-Saxon in their first year, so conscientious Cliff had asked Franey for advice on Anglo-Saxon text books. Instead of saying that as a student of History he hadn't needed such a text book, Franey had said 'I can't remember what book we used'.  Cliff never felt quite the same about Mr. Franey after that.
Cliff liked dressing up. At his 11th birthday party, the first occasion I visited his house, he wore an academic gown borrowed from a neighbour who had recently graduated - I don't remember from where or in what, but she had a gown and let Cliff borrow it. Much later Cliff built up a remarkable collection of hats. Sometimes when I had visitors Cliff would join us and entertain the gathering by modelling his hats. I can't remember them all, but recall a cardinal's hat, a WW2 gas mask, a yellow hat in the style favoured by some buddhist abbots, a skull cap that he wore when eating pork, a blond wig that was useful when he wanted to impersonate Boris Johnson, and a doctoral bonnet with detachable bee that could be added to signify that he had a bee in his bonnet. Once when I was expecting a visitor to arrive in Leicester by train Cliff volunteered to meet him at the railway station and appeared on the platform in the uniform of a naval chaplain. Sometimes Cliff would dress as a druid. He once appeared on Bob Gregory's doorstep thus attired, and when I had my house extended Cliff performed a druidic blessing of my enlarged kitchen. An excellent opportunity to dress up was provided by a group of Morris Dancers Cliff joined. He didn't dance but he provided the musical accompaniment on his violin. Morris dancers turned out in force at Cliff's funeral.  Cliff was fascinated by academic dress, and was a member of the Burgon Society for which he wrote a paper on academic dress in the University of Leicester, where he worked as an administrator for many years and was involved in designing regalia for various degrees. I once accompanied him on a visit to Ede and Ravesncroft, a Cambridge firm that supplies academic dress for hire. They allowed Cliff to model numerous gowns and hoods so I could photograph him to provide illustrations for his paper.  Cliff used to produce special Christmas cards showing himself wearing various hats and robes. Often he didn't have the necessary robes so he'd give me photographs of an appropriately robed functionary that I could edit by replacing that person's head with Cliff's. Making one person's head fit seamlessly onto someone else's body is quite tricky, and I laboured for hours removing errant pixels. As well as dressing up as other people, Cliff invented various personae holding offices in fictitious organisations. I produced letter heads for, amongst others: The Viscount Boddinick of Fowey: The Society of King Charles the Martyr, Leicestershire and Rutland Cell: Clifford, Archdruid of Mercia: Mr. Clifford M. Dunkley 'Keeper of the Cultures': The Society for the Suppression of Cruelty to Bacteria.
Cliff was fascinated by words and often outraged by clumsy or ambiguous phraseology and by the mixture of cliches and platitudes that often passes for thought. Woe betide anyone who in Cliff's hearing referred to a student of English as 'an English Student'. Whenever the waiter in a restaurant said just 'enjoy' Cliff would wince, and on the rare occasions a waiter said 'enjoy your meal' a delighted smile would spread across his face, and after the waiter had moved out of hearing he'd say 'A transitive verb!'  He wrote a booklet entitled 'Let's Talk Leicester' describing local speech patterns. He published it himself and it was a moderate success. The local bookshops and the Information Office all stocked it, and the first edition of 1000 copies sold out so Cliff had more printed.  Cliff liked to make up nick names for people, such as 'The Wicked Witch' for the Dean of Leicester, and 'Franey rabbit teeth' for the Senior English Master of our day. When we were in 4 alpha sometimes, just before one of Franey's lessons, unkind people would write on the blackboard 'Dunkley said Franey Rabbit Teeth' (I suspect the punctuation was incorrect, but Cliff would have been too fearful of detection to bother about that) so when Mr. F entered the room he'd find Cliff frantically cleaning the board. Franey used to greet the scene with an indulgent rabbit teeth smile, so I suspect he knew what was going on, though he never let on.The wording of notices was often closely scrutinised. I recall Cliff changing the punctuation of a notice in Newark castle exhibition centre - I don't recall exactly what he did but think it involved changing a comma to a semi-colon, or vice versa. Cliff was most indignant when the Leicester U3A, of which both he and I were members, adopted the spelling 'convenor' for the people who run study groups. At the time I was U3A web master, so in Cliff's honour I changed' convenor' to 'convener' throughout the website. Another of Cliff's hobbies was amending roadside signs by adding supplementary material. There is a village in Leicestershire called Sinope, and one day it struck Cliff that is the name of the Greek town in Asia Minor where the Philosopher Diogenes the Cynic used to live in his barrel. Cliff got me to print 'Birthplace of Diogenes' on a sheet of A4 paper in the largest available font, he then laminated it, and attached it as an amendment to the sign outside Leicestershire's Sinope. It stayed there for several weeks though I don't know whether it persuaded anyone to search Leicestershire's Sinope for relics of Diogenes.  One often sees wayside notices indicating the twinning of some place of no particular significance with a similarly insignificant place overseas. That inspired Cliff to modify one of those wayside notices saying just 'Potatoes' by adding the words 'Twinned with Pommes de Terre'. We had difficulty in carrying out that project. We found a notice ripe for modification, but the farmer was pottering about in the vicinity. Cliff parked his car a discreet distance away and we waited for the farmer to go away, but formed the opinion that he was waiting for us to go away. In the end I photographed the sign and later digitally edited the photograph so that it appeared the sign had been modified.
Cliff was also a collector, not of things but of experiences of places visited. It was his ambition to visit as many prisons, crematoria and steam railways as possible. In the case of prisons a visit just amounted to getting sufficiently near the place to see it, but crematoria could be examined more closely. While I was accompanying him on a tour of Welsh steam railways we made a detour to inspect Colwyn Bay Crematorium, where Bertrand Russell (one of Cliff's heroes) was cremated.  Cliff's funeral was a wonderful celebration of his many interests. It was held in the Norman church of St. Mary de Castro, where Cliff used to be vice chairman of the PCC. I estimate there were at least a hundred people present. The Lord's Prayer was said in Cornish, and there were tributes from his daughter and from a former colleague, and readings from Shakespeare and Tennyson. After the ceremony there was Morris dancing on the Castle Green. I think Cliff would have been delighted.

  FROM JOHN GRAHAM  1956-63   I hated Leicester at first. Injury to my father forced us to leave farming and move into the city. I arrived at City Boys in that classic situation of being the first in my family to enter a grammar school, so I was already heavily burdened with the high expectations of parents. However, City Boys was good for me. I had first class teachers and splendid class mates. The only item that I continued to hate was that wretched cap. There was a brief moment of elation when Mr. Bell announced a possible change in headwear, followed by horror and disbelief as he suggested that a boater might be acceptable. Odd memories still pop up. I loved the staircase with stone steps worn concave by the passage of past students.  I passed through the Lower School reasonably successfully. I was never particularly good at anything, but was a really boring, conscientious, hard-working pupil. In those days hard work could overcome limitations in ability, so "O" levels brought great joy to the parents. I even passed Maths (45%), thanks to the patience, ability, and determination of Mr. Remington. However, this fired the imagination of the parents. I had Maths and "an 'ology". The world must be my oyster. In the 6th form I was blessed with three exemplary teachers in Messrs. Franey, Smith, and Pace. English was my first love, but proved to be out of reach, so I switched to seeking to graduate in Geography.  
It is odd the way things work out. I remember Stephen Buckley arrived inauspiciously from the "B" streams, but went on to become Professor of Fine Art at the University of Reading. I left Leicester to study Geography in London, while my future wife lived in London and moved to Leicester, also to study Geography. One of her fellow students was John Kirby who had been a classmate of mine at City Boys. John was immensely likeable, with a passion for railways which he could make interesting to everyone. While engaged in my post-graduate course, I came out of the ULU building and bumped into Mr. Pace. We had a delightful chat and discovered that he had completed his teaching course at the same college. I drifted into teaching Geography, first in London and then in Gloucestershire. It was a secure job, sufficiently respectable, and carried a pension. You were unlikely to be sacked unless you molested a pupil or upset the Head or vice versa. Moreover, I did not know what else I wanted to do. It served us well. I retired as Deputy Head of a lovely rural comprehensive which has left good memories. A star 6th form girl, who has become quite famous, wrote an essay for the ecosystems paper. For 3 sides of A4 she consistently misspelt the word "organism". In retirement I have found what I really enjoy. I volunteer as a Cotswold Warden and spend happy hours in conservation work and learning new skills like hedgelaying. My wife has become an enthusiastic artist, while I have moved back to my artisan roots. We live on a former smallholding and keep busy spoiling the livestock, especially the grandchildren. Little Joseph has just returned from the woods, barefoot and carrying his "Star Wars" wellies because they are full of frogspawn for the ponds. We are determined that our brood will not grow up suffering "nature deficit disorder". Life is good....."

AND FINALLY... It would have been around 1962/63 when this rather unsavoury incident occurred. After almost sixty years I still think about it occasionally. For some reason we had been left temporarily unsupervised in the class room, and talk turned to 'What did your dad do in the war?' Most of us read comics featuring fearless, battle-hardened veterans and probably had a rather romanticised view of warfare. I was on safe ground here. My father, like most ex-servicemen in those days, never talked about the war, but I did know the basics. He was a Lance-Sergeant in the Grenadier Guards, the equivalent to a Corporal I believe, and had seen active service in Italy and North Africa. Blenkinsop (not his real name) was a rather tubby lad, hopeless at sport and not terribly academic, who kept himself to himself. He took no part in the discussion, but inevitably someone asked the question. Blenkinsop waa reluctant to answer, and could have invented a suitable reply, but under pressure revealed his dad had served in the Pay Corps. This produced much hilarity and contempt, along with accusations of cowardice. I remember feeling deeply disturbed and uncomfortable about the situation, but did nothing. Blenkinsop began to sob, tears running down his cheeks, and still I did nothing. That day I learned something about myself, and it was not good. My memory of the event ends there. Dennis J Duggan April 12th 2019