Fw: OWT82 April 2014

OLD WYVES' TALES 82

FOR WYVERNIANS 1919-76

EDITED BY DENNIS J DUGGAN, ROCK COTTAGE, BROOK STREET,

WELSHPOOL, MONTGOMERYSHIRE. SY21 7NA

TEL 01938 555574   07971 282356  

www.wyvernians.org.uk

www.facebook.com/oldwyvernians

APRIL  2014

 

REUNION 2014   The 17th annual reunion was held at Clarence House (the former school building) on Saturday March 15th 2014.  We are fortunate that Age UK allow us to hire the premises for the day.  This year almost one hundred people attended, including several wives.  The oldest person present was 92 years old!  It was pretty much business as usual, though because the cafeteria was being refurbished we had lunch in two other rooms which Age UK kindly sorted out for us.

The latest batch of the memorabilia rescued from Downing Drive was on display, and proved very popular.  Of particular interest were the sets of index cards, one of these being made out for every boy who entered the school. 

Click on the photo to enlarge it
The pupil index cards (numbering several thousand) were available for inspection

My wife, Stephanie, looked after the raffle and helped Frank on the door.  We had twenty five raffle prizes, and £102 was raised.  Complimentary tea and coffee was available in the hall, along with an honesty bar.

Before lunch I gave a short talk, which was followed by the AGM.  It was a nice surprise(!!) that Brian and I were re-elected as secretary and treasurer!  As we had ten ex-members of staff present (unfortunately Bill Mann felt unwell and left early) Mike Ratcliff arranged a suitable photograph.  He described the experience as akin to herding cats! 




Click on the photo to enlarge it
Ex-staff at the 2014 Reunion - Can you name all of them?

 After lunch, which everyone agreed was excellent, we re-assembled in the hall to hear an amusing presentation by Tony Baxter.  Tony was both a pupil and a teacher at CBS, and his talk was called 'A View From The Other Side of the Desk.

Brian Screaton then gave an account of two ex-pupils who were killed on active service in World War II, and whose names appear on the honours board.  By 4.30pm it was all over, and God willing we can look forward to next year's annual gathering.  My thanks to Stephanie, Brian Screaton, John Offord and Frank Smith for their continued support, without them the reunions would not happen.

 

AGE UK   The news of the Age UK cafeteria refurbishment came as a last-minute shock to us, and for a while we feared the reunion might not happen.  But thanks to Antony Foster, Centre Manager at Clarence House, and our own John Offord (1958-63) alternative lunch arrangements were put in place and worked very well.  As a gesture of appreciation, Wyvernians made a donation of £50 to Age UK, and the following response was received from Antony:  Thank you for your letter and donation.  It's really appreciated, and we are pleased the reunion was a success.  I apologise for not acknowledging you sooner; the restaurant is finally finished and I can return to my normal day job (Whatever 'normal' means!)  We look forward to seeing you all next year, and hope that members of Wyvernians will visit us between now and the next reunion.

Thank you to John Offord for the kind words in the Leicester Mercury, it was totally unexpected.

Leicester Mercury 26/3/14

 

 

FACEBOOK PAGE   Thanks to the good efforts of Frank Smith (1959-66) we now have a very successful facebook page.  The address is www.facebook.com/oldwyverniansor you can reach it via the web site.  Simply click on the big blue/white F on the left-hand side of the home page.  You will find a guest logon for those who have not already registered with facebook, though Frank tells me that registration is quite painless!

 

FROM J ROBERT CLIFFORD  1950-57   (Continuing Robert's school memoirs - Ed)  German: Herr Hantusch and Herr Mollenauer.  The latter was an exchange, or student, teacher.  He was short, thin, blond and wore rimless glasses.  However he did not last long with 3 Alpha, as he was unfamiliar with the English concept of respect earned, rather than respect demanded.  I had German in 1 Alpha and 3 Alpha with Herr Hantusch.  My exercise books had more red ink than blue, and I was so discouraged I considered I was hopeless.  In 4 Alpha we had to choose between German and geography, and it was no contest - WAG Pace won hands down.  Totally unexpected in the wandering course taken by my life, both career and private, the German language played an incredibly important role.  Without further formal schooling in the subject, the resurrected memories from those far-off days have led a number of people in Austria, where I am now happily settled, to ask if I am Dutch.  Not sure how to take that!

Mathematics: Horse remington and OFT Bob Roberts.  The Christmas party we laid out in the staff room on the last day of the 1957 school year was only possible because it coincided with the retirement of Mr & Mrs Grundy, the long-serving caretaker and his wife, so they had left the lodge.  This enabled some of our number to remain in school overnight and access the canteen and its crockery and cutlery.  Only the teachers' nicknames were used on the place cards, and staff would sidle up to a pupil and ask which one of them was Horse.  On hearing it was Mr Remington they asked why.  It was blindingly obvious to us - he had a mane of hair and a centre parting.  I note my conclusions on the aptitudes of people to acquire particular skills.  Some become proficient in one or more languages, and to keep them separate.  Others are able to learn large amounts of dialogue then discard it, like repertory actors.  There are many other illustrations.  I found it easy to visualise three-dimensional products from two-dimensional engineering drawings, and to use pure maths.  Such skills are not universally given.  They are not something to boast about, it is just the nature of things.  It is on that basis that my opinion of Bob Roberts should be viewed, and explains the diametrically opposing views held by others who endured the chaos of his classes.

My greatest regret is that I did not have the grace or generosity to overcome my antipathy to school in time to thank him for the education he gave me in pure maths.  His teaching was so effective that during my first year at college the head of the Maths Faculty tried to poach me from my chosen course.  In later years I recognised its value in problem solving, which has been a large part of my life.  Even today, Bob's last words ring in my ears.  What the merry hell have you been playing at all these years, Clifford?'  This was shouted across the entrance hall as I saw the 'A' level results, finding to my disbelief two distinctions.  Three times per year, in every report, Bob's comment had been Does not seem to have grasped that which he shoud have learned long ago.  It seems the penny had finally dropped!  The chaos in his classes disguised his determination to convey the abstract concepts of his subject to those who, by a quirk of nature, had the ability to absorb them.  He probably recognised those who could not, and endured the disorder caused by their frustration.

Founders Day.  I remember this was introduced by Mr Bell.  To me it seemed a pretentious construct, not in keeping with the CBS ethos.  The school's modest approach led to results which challenged those of brasher establishments.  It did not sit well with the fifth and sixth forms to be marched from school to cathedral in double file, exhorted by Hoppy to keep in step.  After a while I remarked that since we were treated as children we should hold hands, and the idea was quickly taken up.  Hoppy, glancing back, nearly had a heart attack.  The whole thing was manufactured, and the cathedral staff seemed oppressive.  The final straw was the collection, which was conducted with a menacing air.  The phrase shooting fish in a barrel came to mind.

Jazz band  1956/57.  In the sixth form, a number of us decided to form a jazz band.  There was no encouragement from the school, but that did not matter.  We bought our own instruments.  Richard Tansley was on clarinet, Pooch Pearson on trumpet, Midge Midgeley on tea-chest bass.  I can't recall if another Pearson was on trombone or not.  I was on drums, totally miscast.  Enthusiastic, but too shy and no sense of rhythm - enough said!  At the Christmas concert our renditions of St James Infirmary Blues, Cherry Pink & Apple Blossom White, When The Saints Go Marching In, Basin Street Blues called up a storm, with five hundred comrades on their feet cheering.  Our encore of Tiger Rag threatened the structure of the building.  It felt good!  (The Final instalment will appear in OWT83 - Ed)

 

FROM COLIN MUNRO  1943-46   (I was not sure if I should publish this item or not, as its content is somewhat risque.  Hopefully no offence will be caused - Ed)  Most of your correspondents seem to have gone to university and reached eminence in various professions. I was one of the scruffs from Belgrave, whose parents  could not afford to keep me on in the sixth form, let alone support me through university. Will you allow me to lower the tone of OWT with an anecdote?   One day in 1943 I was in the bogs in the back yard when in came two six ft-tall prefects. As they enjoyed the flow one said to the other, What's the difference between a British soldier having a pee and Yank from Texas?  The other played the stooge, I don't know....etc.  Well, when the Tommy finishes he gives it a shake, the Texan taps it with his boot. They both found that hilarious.  For my part I couldn't see anything funny at all. I envisioned the Texan standing on one leg and trying to reach with the other.

Eight years later I was in the Royal Air Force, stationed in Gibraltar.  A friend and I had taken the ferry to Algerciras, and were hitch hiking back along the road to La Linea when we heard a horrendous noise from an adjacent field. Looking over the fence we saw a jack donkey in an advanced state of sexual excitement, his elongated member almost touching the ground. In that moment I saw the point of the joke.

 

FROM GRAHAME HURST  1955-60    I have been meaning to contribute for many years, and at last I have got round to it. By and large I enjoy reading Old Wyves Tales, but I do get very hot under the collar when Basher Brewin is denigrated in these pages. From memory Basher taught me maths in every year from 1A to 5L with the exception of 3A, when Larry Lawson took over. In my first term I was 25^th out of 28, but from 2^nd year on I was never out of the first three. I remember well in my first year myself, Colin Smith and Geoff Wright, who came from Woodstock Junior School on Stocking Farm, were christened the The Woodstockians  by Basher because we had not done fra_ctions or decimals before. We would be made to stand at the front of the class, and Basher would tap us on the head with his thermometer case until we got the answer right. I think that experience made us all determined to do better. I managed to get an 80% GCE pass, so he couldn't have been all that bad. I always found Basher to be a good teacher, and I think if people have nothing good to say about any of the masters who taught them they should keep quiet. I have nothing but good memories of City Boys, and I thoroughly enjoyed my school days and  am not looking back through rose-tinted specs. I have nothing but respect for the masters who taught me, and  believe I owe them all a great debt of gratitude. Unlike our esteemed Editor I did enjoy games, playing in the school soccer teams in years 1 through 5 with Dave Atton, John Blaikie, Graham Walne, John Whalley, Geoff Wright, Alan? Watson, Rocky O'Grady.  Sorry, I apologise to those I have missed. I also played cricket, captaining the Junior XI and playing for the second XI in year 5. After 'O' levels I left City Boys and became articled with Hopps & Bankart in Friar Lane, where I met John Rudge, Albert Witherington and Denis Kilburn,  all Old Wyvernians. I qualified as a chartered accountant in 1966. In 1983 I left Leicester for Kidderminster, then Gosport in 1986, Sheffield in 1997 and finally settling in Shropshire in 1999. Now retired, I keep busy doing volunteer work, Scottish Country Dancing and umpiring cricket on the Shropshire Premier League panel.

 

FROM PAUL JOLLEY  1961-67   I was caught up in the alpha stream during the same years as Andrew Tear.  I think I was promoted beyond my abilities, and it did me few favours. Because my birthday was in late July I was always going to be among the youngest in any form, and I ended up taking my O levels at age 14 and my A levels at 16.  It became obvious fairly quickly that I was not Oxbridge material, and I botched my 'A' levels fairly badly so I stayed on in third year 6th to retake them.  I was taking physics, chemistry and biology, and this led to a bizarre and rather comic situation.  No one else was doing biology in the third year 6th, so I became a form all by myself.
For that year I was 6Sc3 (Bi ) I was absorbed into the second year sixth for chemistry and physics, but Bob Dennis and Flo Willum had 6Sc3 (Bio) on their timetable so I had to be taught.  Needless to say a number of lessons ended up with the master coming in, making sure I was occupied for 40 minutes, then going back to the staff room to put their feet up and have a fag!  It all worked out pretty well, as I scraped through my 'A' levels second time and got a place at Birmingham University to study dentistry. I spent 36 years looking after the dental condition of the good citizens of Leicester before retiring 6 years ago.  I do sometimes wonder if I was unique in the history of the school, being a one boy class!

 

FROM ROGER PEBERDY  1950-57    I very much enjoy reading the newsletters -and was amazed to see myself mentioned in a recent article (by J Clifford, who I remember well)  As I seldom travel anywhere these days, and have not visited Leicester since my mother, my last link with the city of my youth! - died in 1993,  I shall not be attending the reunion, but my good wishes go to all who do and all connected with its organization, especially any of my 1950 to 1957 contemporaries  (I did 3 years in the sixth, as Birmingham Medical School wouldn't let me in when I got my A levels at 16, insisting that I must be nearly 18 to be allowed on the course!)  As I had guaranteed my place I spent a happy year enjoying myself rather, messing around and became genuine friends with Flo Willan....   But I did have to do the 'A' level exams a second time in order to be able to get a grant from the LEA, which was a bit of a bind!

 

FROM RICH WAKEFIELD  1961-68   So there I was, sitting moodily in my armchair as the rain pounded on the windows behind me.  I had planned a walk in the woods, but the inclement weather put the kybosh on that.  So I fell to musing, which is, I believe, a very respectable pastime for a fellow of a certain age.  My mind sought sunnier times, and strangely it alighted on the glorious summer of, I believe, 1966, the third term we had been ensconced at Downing Drive.  The sky was a clear blue, and the sun shone energetically on the pristine paintwork - the very same paintwork which I suspect still graces the building until it finally goes.  I was feeling quite relaxed, even though we had the delights of a French lesson with our own, our very own, Mr E S Orton, to look forward to first period after lunch.  We were relaxed because we were about to wander round to the classroom and copy the dictation which Mr Orton had written up for the morning shift, prior to cunningly revolving the board so it was hidden.

We had latched onto this idea a couple of weeks before, and made a practice of copying the dictation which we reproduced with a few errors both accidental and deliberate.  We reasoned, sensibly I think, that Mr Orton might have been a tad suspicious had we all scored 100%.  So having made usable copies we ambled smugly back to our form room and lounged around for the rest of the break.

The bell rang, and we trooped to the form room.  You know the one, upstairs in the science block with a commanding view of the gym.  Oh, the sights you could see from that window.  Groups of human flotsam, some not natural athletes nor blessed with simian qualities, were being mercilessly chivvied up ropes for no apparent reason - once at the top, the only thing to do was come down again.  We felt smug because it was not us being chivvied, though we knew that tomorrow it would be our turn.  We had considered various ways of breaking a limb in such a way that we could not climb a rope, but could still play football.  Alas we never found such an injury.

From that same window on a good day one could witness the stately, though businesslike, stride of EJW himself, his gown billowing behind like a latterday superhero intent on stamping out all crime and malpractice.  Or as we saw it, stopping our fun.  His inexorable march along the covered way was indeed impressive, spreading fear into the hearts of those who had been less than angelic recently.  Let's face it, that was 95% of the pupils (the other 5% being absent for one reason or another)

But we were discussing Franch dictation.  You might recall we had already copied it, and were confident of obtaining our standard mark of 8/10.  Our taskmaster announced the dictation, our already-completed version was ready, but when Mr Orton began to read the passage we realised that something was wrong.  Knots formed in stomachs, you could feel the communal knots in the room.  What we were hearing was very different to what we had written.  We tried frantically to catch up, but the man was a vertitable Sherlock Holmes of the teaching trade.  The task was beyond us, the bounder had seen through our ruse and outflanked us by giving a different dictation.  I can't remember the marks, but it was somewhat less than 80%!

 

FROM CHRIS PYRAH  1964-69   Size mattered.  Or at least, so it seemed to eleven-year-old fags,  above whom all masters appeared to tower. However, as time took them towards senior school, relative heights changed and some pupils found themselves growing level with - or even taller than - a number of the teachers.  Here are a couple of recollections relating to two of City Boys' shorter masters, both of who, as it happens, taught music.

 Bill Sykes was a school treasure, the Mr Chips of the City of Leicester Boys School, a man who had not only been born back in Victoria's reign but was still teaching in the year of the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night.  He had famously written and composed the words to another well-known song, one which we belted out each morning in pride and fitting praise.  Whether it was down to his advanced years or not, to the eyes of the boys and most masters Mr Sykes seemed rather short.  With that low, querulous voice that put me in mind of Albert Steptoe, his stop yer messin' was growled out with almost enough menace to cut the noise that was beginning to build up from the back of the room.  Each first-former had to endure audition by Bill at his old upright piano in his attempt to winkle out any likely recruits for the school choir.  Being rather shy, as well as short, I had no wish to join in any such public display of singing, so I performed my test piece in a cracked, tuneless manner.  He saw through my ploy.  You've got quite a nice voice, he observed, if only you'd stop messin' .  Not nice enough, thankfully; I never was called up for choir duty.
 Possibly the shortest of all the short masters that I came across, Dick Cleverley, appeared a few years later than Bill Sykes, who had decided to call it a day rather than make the move from the Victorian building on Humberstone Gate to the Wilson-era superficiality of Downing Drive.  Dick had introduced some wishful experiment that he called Music Appreciation, a once-a-week  period in which he attempted to interest uninformed youth in the somewhat arcane delights of classical music; to put things in context, the year was 1968 and although Flower Power was definitely wilting, the Vietnam War raged on.  One of the more progressive pupils in my form at the time was Kev Gorringe, who decided to stir Music Appreciation up a bit by bringing in Disraeli Gears, Cream's latest L.P, to be played on the hallowed school gramophone.  Perhaps due to a misplaced sense of fair play and tolerance, Mr Cleverley agreed to play one side of the album; half an hour or so later he complained  it all sounds a bit the same to me,  evidently unmoved by the glories of Sunshine Of Your Love and Tales Of Bold Ulysses.  Curiously enough, many of the boys seemed to agree with him, but then again, Clapton, Baker and Bruce were surely better appreciated outside the classroom.  The following week, Dick was back to his beloved Bach,  Beethoven and the like and the wild woods of rock were never again visited during class time.

 

FROM ALAN PYKETT  1959-66   As always, I enjoyed reading the last OWT.  I took particular delight in the reminiscences of Trevor Dixey and Dennis, our editor, about games, PE and swimming.  I have mentioned some of these points before, but I think they are worth repeating.  Regarding games, although never good enough to play for a school team I enjoyed the house matches played by the also-rans  (Abbey, Bradgate, Charnwood, De Montfort)  I got very excited when I scored a goal, which wasn't very often!  Whether at Grace Road or Rushey Fields, I believe there were three pitches.  One was used  by the team for the particular year and reserves, the other two for the games between houses.

As with football, I was never good enough to play for the school cricket team, but can't recall much cricket between houses..  It was not possible to play a full game in the time allotted, especially with limited-overs cricket being in its infancy.

I could tolerate cross-country, but was always disappointed when it replaced football.  Usually that was because of bad weather.  I always managed to complete the course without cheating!  I believe the distance increased as we moved up through the years: short for first and second years, medium for third and fourth years, long for fifth and sixth years.  Moving on to PE, I generally enjoyed it apart from the detested game of Pirates.  If Dennis had been at the school in 1965/66 his ruse of being out early in the proceedings would not have worked.  Mr Read was the master that year, and during one game I decided not to move so was caught early on.  This was noted, and Mr Read sent me outside to run round the perimeter of the playing field for the remainder of the lesson.  To me that was preferable to another thirty minutes of Pirates.  Of course that was the first year at Downing Drive, and I believe that for the first time in the school's history the playing fields were adjacent to the main building.

Finally, swimming.  I dreaded swimming lessons - but were they lessons?  I can't remember being taught to swim whilst at the school.  When we arrived, aged 11, you could either swim or you couldn't.  Like our editor, I spent the 'lesson' splashing about in the shallow end at Vestry Street, and neither Jock Gilman, nor the resident swimming coach, seemed to take any notice.  I think that by the fifth year I could just about manage half a width.  That is possibly the only negative aspect of my time at CBS.  I really enjoyed my education there, and feel very proud to have been a pupil.  So much so that, picking up on Brian Screaton's sttendance at the funeral of Mike Hutchings, I have also requested To Be A Pilgrim and I Vow To Thee My Country, another school favourite, be sung at my funeral.  But I hope there will be many more reunions before my final event!

 

FROM BRIAN COPE  1954-62   Living now in Cumbria, I noted recently that schools in West Cumbria were performing so poorly they were to be closed or replaced by new academies. Apparently the proportion of pupils achieving 5 A*-C GCSE grades (incl Maths and English) in Cumbria as a whole is approx. 56%, and these schools were well below this standard.  Well, I could not resist looking at 'O' Level exam results at  CLBS in the 'golden years' and here are the results using the same criteria:- 1957 50% of intake achieved at least 5 O Levels incl Maths and English,  1958 52%,  1959 48%.

If we assume we were an average Grammar School intake, and therefore among the top 20-25% in the city, then we may say that only about 12-14% of that school year reached the standard now regularly achieved by 56% of Cumbrians!!   I should also add that some of the pupils who failed English or Maths first time went on to Oxbridge Firsts, PhDs etc, so it's a  fairly odd set of criteria one might think. If exams are now 'easier,' and statistics  massaged, then one might think this a rational response to the setting of impossible targets.  Of course it may well have been that education in Leicester then was in crisis...but it didn't feel like it.

 

AND FINALLY...   A very interesting submission from Grahame Hurst in this issue, it certainly made me think.  If we have nothing good to say about a teacher, should we keep quiet?  Over the years OWT has printed items giving both points of view. For every teacher criticised, there is another who receives the highest praise.  Clive Davies (1950-57) has just sent a piece which will appear in OWT83, and he makes the comment that what some of us experienced at the hands of some teachers would be considered as assault today!  That is not to say it did us any long-term harm, in fact it probably did many of us good!  Times change.  Certainly the respect for authority instilled at CBS - and by my parents -remains with me today.

 

Dennis J Duggan

April 16th 2014

 

 

Fw: Old Wyves Tales 81 January 2014

 

OLD WYVES' TALES 81

FOR WYVERNIANS 1919-76

EDITED BY DENNIS J DUGGAN, ROCK COTTAGE, BROOK STREET,

WELSHPOOL, MONTGOMERYSHIRE. SY21 7NA

TEL 01938 555574   07971 282356   www.wyvernians.org.uk

JANUARY 2014

 

FROM J ROBERT CLIFFORD  1950-57   (Continuing Robert's school memoirs - Ed)   Physics and Mr Philips.  Like many of his colleagues, Mr Philips taught his subject far beyond the minimum requirements.  His lessons on optics, X-rays, spectometry and diffractometry - amongst many others - turned out to be invaluable in resolving technical problems with equipment at a number of American universities.  There, professors of departments assumed, incorrectly, that I was fully qualified in their specialities.

Mr Franey, Macbeth and The Play.  I remember similiar experiences described by others concerning the line-by-line nitpicking of English classics.  However, one hot lunchtime the sixth were anticipating another mind-numbing session of Macbeth, under the direction of Mr Franey.  Amidst the groans someone said, Whoever gets the roles let's ham it up in the Richard Burton/Lawrence Olivier style.  Those who don't have a part can do the noises off.  And so it was decided.  Mr Franey allocated the parts, named the scene and told us to begin.  We launched the play as planned, and a few moments later noticed Mr Franey look up to see who was taking the mickey.  But the class had Macbeth by the horns, and in that and subsequent lessons there was no further analysis and we, as a class, gained a great deal more from EngLit.

During my time at CBS the Little Theatre was hired, along with costumes from Stratford, for a few nights each year for the school play.  It seemed an ambitious project, but the execution bordered on the professional.  For some reason I vividly remember the production of Macbeth, but less so King Lear.  However the blinding of Gloucester stays in my mind; the throwing of two grapes to the floor and stamping on them, whilst very dramatic, provoked considerable discomfort in the audience.

But back to Macbeth.  Having a very poor memory for lines I was recruited to man the spotlight at one side of the balcony.  On the first night, as Macbeth was delivering the line If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly (referring to the murder of Duncan) a burst of laughter from Bob Roberts in the audience caused a disruption.  Mr Franey was furious, and asked him later what was so funny.  Bob explained that as the line was delivered extras were seen carrying mockups of haunches of meat in preparation for a banquet at the back of the stage, and he had associated the words with beef.  The next night the sequence was changed.  Later the lad playing MacDuff blanked his next line, and the prompt gave it to him as What?  All my chitty dickens in one swell foop  which was delivered as prompted - no one seemed to notice.  The following day I was approached by a third former who said, My mum was at the play last night, she thought it was a bit off that you were reading a book through the whole performance.    In fact it was my copy of the play, with my hand-written directions for manipulating the spot!

Sport.  Jock Gilman and Hoppy Bufton.  I can confirm that Jock was a partner in his brother's second-hand car business, on Humberstone Gate near The Fountain pub.  As I waited for theNo 37 bus at lunchtimes I would see him manning the stock.

I don't suppose the records mention the strike, or mutiny, which took place at Grace Road during 1956/7.  It came to pass that on an extremely unpleasant day, when games would normally have been cancelled, that the sixth were loaded onto two corporation double-deckers and taken to the sports ground.  The heavy sleet was driven by a cruel wind, and the glum silence was broken by the comment This is madness.  At Grace Road Hoppy, in his ringing Welsh tones, said, Alright, boys, upstairs and changed as quick as you can, and we noted the sleet was worse than ever with a heavy mist descending.  We trooped up to the changing rooms and someone said, What have we done to deserve this.  We'll be lucky if we only die of pneumonia  (Hypothermia had not been invented at that time)  Contemplating sitting in the sleet on soaking benches , while the captains made their choice of teams, someone said, I'm not getting changed.  The hell with it, and there was immediate unanimous agreement.  We sat there, and when the Welsh voice said, come on, boys, and did not receive a response Mr Bufton came upstairs to find a strike, but from the other side of the fence to those he had seen in his formative years in the Welsh coalfields.  Right, everyone back on the buses, followed by his most bloodcurdling retribution, We'll go back and do mathematics.  We remained impassive at this good news, and returned to school.  Next morning Mr Bell asked the sixth to stay behind after assembly, and referring to an incident yesterday went on to tell us how fortunate we were to have the sports facility etc etc.  His words failed to impress, and we recalled how the staff had kept on their duffel coats, scarves, gloves and hats.  Our guarded e_xpressions did not entirely conceal our contempt, his voice tailed off and we were dismissed.

RE and Mr Holman.  I seem to remember he was referred to as the Rev Holman, but he was one member of staff who did not prosper in teaching the fifth year.  In his teaching of Comparative Religion we had been outraged at his denigration and superficial treatment of the subject.  We were so incensed that, in our own time, we undertook to investigate more thoroughly.  One of our number was already very interested in Egyptology and hieroglyphics, others looked into Buddhism, Islam, Taoism etc.  So when Mr Holman said he wanted us to write an essay on Why I Am A Christian this arrogant assumption and intrusion into our private beliefs caused an explosion of anger of which he was totally unaware until he read the essays.  Mr Holman was shaken to the core, for regardless of our own beliefs we had all agreed to write as though we were anything but.  He was visibly shaken at the next RE lesson, and told us he was appalled and would only return our excercise books after he had received individual apologies.  We never saw the books again.

 

FROM ANDREW TEAR 1960-67   I was at City Boys from 1960 to 1967 and went from 1B to 3 Alpha and then 4 Alpha and then 5S (Science) I had gone to a primary/junior school in the county called Revenhurst Road, as my parents lived just outside the city boundary. But we moved in September/October 1960 to inside the city boundary.

So I had passed the 11plus at junior school, and I guess my mother put me down for a city grammar school. It was to be City Boys and Form 1B, and on top of that I was in De Montfort House which I was quickly told was the worst of the four (This might, or might not, have been correct?)  I was terribly unhappy, as I knew no one and seemed to be at the bottom of the pile. However there were exams at the end of the first year (and by the way I had been coming near the top of 1B) my memory is that the same exam was sat by all 3 forms. I assumed the top 30 went to 3 Alpha, the next 30 went to 2A and the the last 30 to 2B. so yes we did  'O' levels in 4 years instead of 5 years. I heard it was scrapped a few years later,  Educationalists thought that the lack of vocabulary and general immaturity of 15-year-old boys did not substantially improve their 'O' level results. I never found out if this was true or not.  It did mean that  we were, by the 5th year, a mixture of 15 and 16 year olds.

On into the 6th form, and it meant that those with aspirations for Oxbridge (entrance exams held in December) were able to get their 'A' levels BEFORE they did those entrance exams. It probably helped indicate who had a realistic chance by what 'A' levels they achieved. and it meant there was a focus from September to December just on those Oxbridge entrance exams. I didn't focus enough, or was not good enough, as I didn't even get called for interview!!

But the question asked of what happened in the 3rd year 6th as it was called, was partly that, Oxbridge entrance. I did some innovative organic chemistry with molecular models with Doc Burrows that I found useful for my future biochemistry course at London. And I played a lot of tennis and other sports that did not help any Wimbledon career at all. Some boys in the 3rd year 6th thought it pointless and got a job, which Clanger Bell frowned on. In fact I was offered a job at Bostik in Leicester, and when I told Mr Bell I wanted to leave he put pressure on me to stay and phoned my parents!!  I stayed, a bit poorer, and did all that sport and chemistry. Head Boy Paul Warburton, a surprise choice at the time (beginning in September  66) defied the Head and went ahead either at Easter, or was it Christmas, and took employment. It felt like a minor scandal,  as the Head had to appoint a new Head Boy (I forget who!).

My own sons went through high school and on to university without any express stream, and I did not think it affected them either positively or negatively. My memory is that for me it was a bit of a privileged time, I learned a bit of independence that in the 60s was probably a good thing (my two sons had a similar level of independence, it could be argued, at age 10!!! - maybe not.) I didn't feel I was immature to do my 'O' levels at 15 - you just did what others were doing and it felt normal.  Interestingly, nowadays nearly 50% of young people go to university, whereas in the mid/late 60s it was under 10% - someone said even under 5%.

 

OBITUARIES   (The following was received from Dr Arnold Burrows - Ed)    Yesterday (November 30th) I received the December edition of the RSC News and , as always , turned first to the Obituary page.   There I found  the announcement of the death of Dr Neil Anthony Bailey  MRSC , retired Senior Lecturer (Chemistry) at the University of Sheffield      

 I  remember Neil very well for two reasons; firstly because he was the  first lower Sixth Former at CBS to whom I taught Chemistry  (1957) – and he was top of the class!  Secondly he was the Captain of Swimming.   I recall very clearly being told off by EJWB because I had not influenced him to try for Cambridge or Oxford  (both EJWB and I had London degrees!) and he went to University College London for his degree; I believe he did well there, but  I then lost touch with him until this Obit.  I am surprised that he did not stay in the University of London; I am sure it would have been to his benefit.   No dates were mentioned, but from the above I deduce that at the time of his death he was 73-74 years of age; it makes me feel older than ever!

(The following was received from Brian Screaton - Ed)  I recently attended the funeral of old Wyvernian Michael Hutchings (1943-48), who died on the 11th October. He was 81. Mike was always an enthusiastic supporter of the reunions, and this was mentioned by his brother Roy Hutchings in his tribute to Mike at the service. Roy is also an old Wyvernian (1949-56) and he recounted that both he and Mike had Basher Brewin as their maths teacher in their first years – Basher was still setting the same homework in 1949 as he had in 1943, so Roy resourcefully found his brother's old maths books and simply copied out the answers. By this ruse he came top in maths, but his true abilities were unfortunately revealed in the second year when Nobby Clarke took over maths duties, and Roy was relegated to a much lower place in the rankings! One of the hymns was one of the school assembly favourites, To be a Pilgrim which was particularly appropriate. If any one would like to make a donation in memory of Mike, the chosen charity is Crossroads Care (East Midlands), 19 Pelham Road, Sherwood, Nottingham, NG15 1AP. A donation has been sent from Wyvernian funds.

(The following was also sent in by Brian Screaton - Ed)  My brother noticed an obituary in The Guardian for an ex-City Boy called Tony King.  He was 72, and at some point moved to Norwich and then Ipswich.  According to the index cards he was Reginald Tony King, and attended the school 1952-58 .  The address given is Glendower Close, off Averil Road.    His brother, Dave, was at CBS 1958-65 and was, I think, in the band formed by Brian Stevenson.

Also, Graham Wilford, 1932-37, passed away November 27th 2013

 

FROM TONY 'FRED' INGHAM  1953-58   I have read OWT for years and contributed a couple of times, but the gang of young people I ran around with in my youth never seemed to contribute. I often wondered if they had ever been aware of it, because being one of those who moved from Leicester at the age of 19, and never lived there again, my attention was only drawn to it by an Old Wyggestonian of all people! I thought that perhaps a lot of them were like me and just lost touch. I did travel to Leicester to attend two reunions and once met a couple of classmates from the fifth year, and we actually had our photographs taken and compared, in print, to a class photograph from that old photograph year and they were put onto the School DVD.  People I spent years with, playing very poor-quality guitars (I made my own, and what a thing that turned out to be) and zooming from the Melton Road side of the City in fleets (flocks? What is the collective noun for a large crowd of teenage boys on fixed-wheel racing bikes travelling to a city-centre school, at speed, and back every day?) . Well reading OWT80 caught my attention because there was Chub Chambers who, although I do not remember him as a regular member of that cycling crowd, was certainly a friend for years whilst at City Boys' and who I thought was lost for ever in obscurity.

I last saw Dave when I was in my twenties and my family and I popped in to see him and his family in Nottingham, when we were living in Worcestershire, so we must still have been in touch then. He was always a zealous Elvis fan (sorry Dave, no secret is safe) and I remember his brother Gwynne too as we all shared a common occupation at that time. I was in touch with Roger Marston in Hastings for years, and last saw him when I spent an intoxicated day with him there on the day of Prince Charles's first marriage, and Ken Kelham and I still exchange news by e-mail, he has been in Canada since his twenties. He met Bruce Wood once when visiting Leicester, and Paul Putnam lived in the East Goscote area and I did bump into him several times years ago. The group of boys that Dave and I were part of were largely good, decent people and thinking back most of them must have been slightly shocked at some of the things a couple of us  (not including Dave) got up to. The fact that we were not totally ostracised is pleasing in retrospect, and they must have been better friends than we deserved at that time. My life was back to front because I stupidly did things in the wrong order –  family very young, struggled for years in a poorly paid profession, then rapid promotion in middle life alongside years of catching up on education to MA standard and then old age and increasing infirmity (and moderate affluence thank goodness). Being away from Leicester since the age of 19, and moving around a great deal through my occupation, I couldn't put my son through any City Boys link but at least everywhere I went in those days he was able to transfer to a good grammar school and then went to university in Birmingham in his mid-twenties, thus bettering my back-to-front system of university late in life. AND the icing on the cake is that his eldest son is doing a four-year Physics Masters at Hertford College, Oxford right now, straight from school.

I have always bored the family stiff with how good my education was, and how much I neglected my chance badly and only appreciated it in later life. It is true and I wish I could do it again with a large slice of hindsight guiding me. Nevertheless these glimpses back give pleasure so thanks to Dave Chambers for tipping me out of my bath-chair for five minutes.

 

FROM J RICHARD THOMPSON  1949-56   I was puzzled by one statement in Robert Clifford's reminiscences.  Robert said that Spiv Beaumont was form master to 1 Alpha in the year 1950 to 51. However I was in 3 Alpha in that year, and Spiv was our form master then.  I well remember Mr. Bell's claim that the sky is blue because it reflects the blue sea below.  I think he made it in the RE class he took in the hall with second and third year sixth together. I think I was in the third year sixth, and Robert in the second year at that time. Several of us tried hard to explain blue skies but, as was often the case, Mr. Bell was impervious to reason.  Incidentally, I've  just remembered that OFT Roberts once referred to Bell as The Abominable Showman, alluding to Bell's love of publicity.

FROM TREVOR DIXEY  1956-61   Thank you for the latest addition of OWT80 in which you again request more material. I feel a little guilty having not contributed in recent memory, so I offer the following in an attempt to redress a little of the balance.  Robert Clifford's recollections of our headmaster rang a Bell with me, as his memories closely mirror my own. I too hated sport (as I believe did our editor) and dreaded Fridays (I think) when games afternoon came round. I probably expended more energy in devising ways of avoiding it than I would have done had I participated. This wasn't an issue with EJW – he probably wasn't aware of my existence – until at the age of thirteen I wished to earn a few shillings doing a paper round. At that time written permission was required from your headmaster, as well as approval from your parents. EJW gave the impression (at least to me) of an impersonal ogre, and I approached his study to request said permission with a deal of trepidation. If you weren't one of his jolly good chaps in one of the 11's you knew you were in for a rough ride.  What do you do boy, football?  No sir. Cricket?  No sir. What do you do then? Are you a cabbage?

Two weeks earlier, having retrieved a dilapidated violin from my grandfather's attic, I was under some pressure from my mother to enlist in the school orchestra. It proved a godsend.  I'm in the orchestra sir, I said brightly. He signed the form immediately.  Mission accomplished; the downside was a spell as a violinist of dubious talent under the watchful eye of the maestro, one Mr H. H. Sykes, but that is another story. 

Back to games avoidance. Although I found cricket mind-numbingly boring (and still do) summer cricket wasn't too bad for skiving opportunities. We were taken to Grace Road by bus. There were enough of us for two matches to be played, with teams chosen by lads keen to be captains, with a handful left over which almost always included me. We were sometimes allowed to simply spectate, which was fine by me, but on other occasions we were told to jog around the field perimeter which wasn't so clever. On the odd occasion I had to get involved with one of the matches, it wasn't too difficult to engineer a position of double long stop which brought me close to one of the site screens. It was quite easy to slip behind this to light up an occasional woodbine. I cannot recall ever having to retrieve a cricket ball. When it was our innings I was always close to the end of the batting order, and time ran out before I ever had chance to wield a bat.

At least it was usually warm. My recollection of school football is shivering on a foggy, frost-hardened pitch at Rushey Mead, in kit with boots two sizes too big, trying to keep as much distance between myself and the ball as I was able. It didn't help that the teacher refereeing (I think it might have been Isaac Newton) was muffled up in overcoat, scarf, gloves and hat. This cemented my hatred of football ,and I've despised it ever since.

From the fifth form onwards, we were allowed to cycle to Rushey Fields instead of using the bus. (In the sixth form I used a motorcycle I had purchased from Bunny Hutchinson). This meant I could go straight home from there without the need to return to school. We also had a choice of football or cross-country running (mercifully, rugby was never part of the curriculum) No contest! Since the latter was largely unsupervised, all manner of skives were available.  Not that I was a runner. I could manage a 100 yard sprint, but any more than a few minutes prolonged jogging and I was doubled up with an abdominal pain we used to call stitch. We were allocated both long and short cross-country courses, which both started from Rushey Fields and went along Melton Road. I believe the long course went through Thurmaston, but I never did it. A few of us soon found a shorter-than-short course. It entailed turning right immediately past the Thorn Lighting factory (recently demolished), over a stile and across the corporation landfill site (now a housing estate) dodging bulldozers and flocks of squawking gulls to reach the railway bank bordering Barkby Lane.  By the railway bridge we would have a smoke and wait until a few of the keen runners appeared down Barkby Lane, when we would join them to jog the few hundred yards back to the sports field. Why on earth we smoked Woodbines and pretended to enjoy them I don't know. They were vile. I suppose we imagined it made us look grown up and sophisticated.

Other dodges included pedalling like mad to arrive well before the bus, donning kit, feigning a sweat and swearing that we'd already done the short course and could we go home sir? If Jock Gilman was in charge, he always said yes.  I remember hitching a lift (with a few others) on the back of a pickup truck on one occasion, and on another freezing cold day I completed the short course fully clothed including gloves and bearskin motorcycle coat which weighed about 3 kilos.

Very difficult to avoid was the annual cross-country run, when the whole school had to take part. The route had checkpoints manned by sadistic teachers, so short cuts were out of the question. Not even a freshly-forged note from your mum would get you out of this one, leave alone the dog-eared copy you'd had in your pocket all year. The one exception was the boy chosen to wield a camera to record the event for the school film. He shall remain nameless, but there was a fair amount of resentment that he got away with it.  It was resentment at this compulsory torture which culminated one year in a few like-minded individuals deciding to walk the entire course at an exaggerated leisurely pace, despite some encouragement from checkpoint marshals wielding knotted ropes behind us. It was almost 6pm before we got back to the sports field, only to find everyone had gone except the deputy head Mr Nosebag Remington, who had been compelled to stay to supervise our return. Suffice it to say that he wasn't best pleased!

 

FROM JIM JOYCE  1951-59    I remember clearly in the early day in 5S a teacher I didn't know coming  into WAG Pace's classroom and asking us all whether anyone was taking more that 8 GCE's.  Being by then generally disruptive I put up my hand, and amazed myself by announcing that I was taking history and art.  This was duly noted, and my name was put forward for these two extra subjects.  No one seemed to question my decision.  Of course, I had no lesson space available to study these two subjects.  Art was no problem, as I could creep into any art lesson and do my painting at the back.  I had an easel constantly set up, so I would creep in for the odd half hour.  I was given the text book for history and studied it by making copious notes on the floor of my mother's front room (the one that you were never allowed to use)  I had zero contact with the history teacher.  Came the time for the mocks, and suddenly the teacher remembered that I was doing the GCE.  I was called to the staff room door and informed that I would have to do the mock like everyone else.  OK I said, and proceeded to sit the mock.  You came top, a perplexed history teacher said.  I never saw him again, and sat and passed both.  So, I had minimal help in art, and no help in history, and still passed them both!  Incidentally I understand that I was the first student at the school ever to pass 10 subjects at GCE.

 

AND FINALLY...   Trevor Dixey's item about the horrors of sport (see above) certainly rang a bell with me.  Over the course of 80 OWT's I have oftem mentioned my aversion to sport, and the incredible lengths that Peter McDermott and myself would go to avoid as much PT, swimming, football and cricket as possible.  In fact it would have been less bother, not to say less risky, to have taken part in sports and simply accepted we were useless.  I quite liked cross-country, cricket was just about bearable.  As Trevor points out, if you were one of the last batsmen the session was invariably over before it was your turn, and I think I only had to bat once.  When fielding it was a simple matter to place oneself in such a distant position that contact with the ball was extremely unlikely.  Football was a nightmare, during one match I was briefly knocked unconscious when the heavy, wet leather ball (accidentally) connected with my head.  Nowadays the paramedics would be called, an inquiry held - and perhaps a compo claim from my parents would be considered - but after a quick once-over by the ref (Mr Sweet, I think) we just carried on!  Worst of all for me was swimming at Vestry Street.  I could not swim, and still can't, as for some reason I do not float and just sink to the bottom.  I spent my time clinging to the rail, praying for Jock's whistle to signal the end of the purgatory.  Probably my crowning glory was to forge a permanently excused note for awimming, citing asthma, which allowed me to sit on the balcony with my fellow skivers.

Boys fell into one of three categories:  those who loved sport, those who were indifferent, and those who hated it.  Personally I have never been a team player, which is why the only sport I liked was cross-country.  As regards PT, Pirates was OK because it was easy to be quickly touched by the chaser and be out, and with a bit of luck the game would go on for ages.  As I have said many times, surely there was no way that Jock Gilman was taken in by those pathetic forged notes?  Can one of our teacher readers comment?

 

Dennis J Duggan

January 12th 2014

 

Fw: OWT80 October 2013

OLD WYVES' TALES 80

FOR WYVERNIANS 1919-76

EDITED BY DENNIS J DUGGAN, ROCK COTTAGE, BROOK STREET,

WELSHPOOL, MONTGOMERYSHIRE. SY21 7NA

TEL 01938 555574   07971 282356   www.wyvernians.org.uk

OCTOBER  2013

 

EDITORIAL   If relevant, please note my new mobile number is 07971 282356.

 

2014 REUNION   Date for next year's reunion is Saturday March 15th, at Clarence House.  Invitations will be sent in January, we envisage it will be business as usual.  If it ain't broke, why fix it?'

 

OLD WYVES' TALES   Material for future OWT's is, as you see from this truncated issue, desperately short, but after 80 issues and over 1,000 items that is probably not surprising.  However many of you have never s_ubmitted anything, so why not get those memory cells working?  So long as its not libellous, hurtful or nasty, you are guaranteed to see your name in print!

 

FROM J ROBERT CLIFFORD  1950-57   (The first installment of Robert's CBS memories - Ed)  E J W Bell.  The headmaster and I had a mutual antipathy best illustrated be the last exchange we had in 1957.  Those leaving school were expected to attend him individually in his study to receive his best wishes for the future.  As I had not the slightest interest in sport of any sort he coldly told me he could not give me a reference for whatever purpose - 'as I had not been in any of the 11's'.  This did not disturb me one bit, for I knew a number of citizens whose words would carry more weight.  He then launched into a personal attack which I shall not detail, but he ended by asking where and what course I intended to study.  When I replied London, and Chemical Engineering, he said I was a fool and should stay on for an (unprecedented) fourth year in the sixth and try for Oxbridge.  'Good Lord, Clifford.  Engineering!  You'll get your hands dirty.'  My response that at the end of the day it washed off seemied to infuriate him further, probably due to the implied comparison with the law which he had studied.

His last words were, 'You don't realise, Clifford, that schooldays are the happiest days of your life!'  It was an unfortunate choice of words, for he was not to know that I had positively hated every day I had spent at both primary school and CBS.  I had done the werk and applied myself, but my heartfelt reply that day was, 'If that is true, hesadmaster, I shall be dead by my own hand before I am 21.'  That I am still around 56 years later is a fair indication that things looked up after that.

Mr Bell did not feature on the list of people I valued highly, particularly in comparison to his predecessor, Mr Pedley.  The sixth had General Studies with him (Mr Bell) and this only seemed to reinforce our views.  He told us of his wartime experience with Army Intelligence, when he was made Intelligence Officer for Derbyshire, given a bicycle and maps and instructed to survey the county recording all natural water sources 'in case Jerry dropped something nasty in the Ladybower Dam and wiped out Birmingham.'  He recalled leaning his bike by the dam on a hot summer's day to be questioned by the dam keeper, and on revealing his mission (wartime security) the man reeled with disbelief and laughter, finally asking if he had any idea how many trainloads of something nasty would be required to give the people of Birmingham a runny nose.

He had also been sent on a survival course with others, in case they ever found themselves behind enemy lines.  'We had to eat grass, to see if we could live on that,' he said, but it was insufficient to sustain them and they realised that cows and sheep ate the stuff all day.  Perhaps Mr Willan could have helped by explaining the five stomachs in herbivores.

Mr Bell completed his own reputatational demolition one day when he stated, 'Italy is a long, thin country, and the sea makes the sky blue.'  I failed my 'O' level General Studies exam that year.  I should record the disastrously stupid advice he gave us, though to be fair I discovered that heads of other schools had given the same to their sixth formers.  Recommending the joys of university life he said, 'You have a wonderful time.  In the first year you just enjoy yourselves.  You don't have to work, or even turn up for lectures.'  Of the thirty students starting the first year at college, after the first year's exams we saw and heard nothing of eighteen.  They were the ones who repeated the mantra they heard - that time spent attending lectures reduced the time available to spend at the bar.  Once thrown off one course in those days, local authorities were unlikely to offer another grant for a course.

As a number of Old Boys have observed, the first year at CBS was somewhat traumatic.  It was not so much the perceived physical threat posed by the masters - to a certain extent we had that at junior school- but combined with the nature of the building, even its colour scheme, it had a disheartening, oppressive, impact for some.  However at the time I could not know that which I came to appreciate, the superb education gained despite the total lack of pleasure in its acquisition.  I joined 1A in 1950, with Flash Gordon as form master.  Our 'form room' was the third-floor library.  During maths with Nobby Clarke he became enraged at the antics of one class member, and I clearly remember him holding the miscreant out of the window by his jacket collar suspended three floors up.  He aubsequently commanded a silence which was deathly!  We had Bull Smith for chemistry.  He was extremely intimidating, his nickname coming from the fleshy connection between chin and throat.  His roared command, Come here, small boy, and stand on that nail, accompanied by the swish of a length of red rubber tubing, ensured a rivetted attention.

After a month or two, and some tests, I was transferred to 1 Alpha without a by-your-leave.  This was a nightmares, as the two forms did not pursue a common curriculum.  Luckily Tony Baxter befriended me, and lent me his exercise books each night so I could copy them out.  I had to try and catch up, as well as coping with the new daily input and homework.  Paul Bond and Roger Peberdy were also companions.  The form teacher was Spiv Beaumont, so-called because of his long swept-back hair, corduroy clothes and suede crepe-soled shoes.  He was an inspirational history teacher, and once became carried away with his description of an early battle.  His launching of the window pole as a spear served to burn the lesson into our collective memories.

I am amazed at how much of the education proved relevant and invaluable to me, opening opportunities which would otherwise have been closed.  This was particularly true of some subjects I judged would not be useful in my intended career.  Physics, chemistry and maths were fundamental, but the role of biology, English Lit, German plus fragments of geography often proved pivotal in both my business and private life.  But that is another saga.

Biology, and Phlo (sic) Willan.  I shared the despair of other correspondents over Mr Willan until the five-year ownership of a small hill farm in the Peak District National Park brought the information back into focus.  It was the foundation of a highly beneficial co-operation with our vet.  It's perhaps time to give the background to his nickname.  At short notice he substituted for Mr Philips, who had suddenly been called away.  The topic he chose was the Phlogisten Theory, which was proposed in the 17th century and totally discredited in the 18th.  The words dephlogisticated air seemed to fesature regularly, and in our bewilderment we awarded Mr Willan his nickname.

Johnny Jeeves and Tweetipie Sweet.  I have very great respect for Mr Sweet, albeit based on a short contact.  To qualify for university, regardless of arts or science courses, we needed an 'O' level in one modern language.  We'd had four years of French, and in 4 Alpha and 5S Johnny had taken the mock 'O' level classes.  I don't think anyone reached 40% and most (me included) managed only a single figure.  We understood that this result was such a shock for Johnny that he was obliged to take an extended leave of absence  in France to recouperate.  For the next French lesson the tall, distinguished-looking gowned figure of Mr Sweet entered the room and, looking anxiously at the class, uttered the unforgettable words, 'Well, gentlemen, I think we have a lot of work to do.'  If I remember correctly, we all passed the 'O 'level exam later that year, though some just scraped through  (To be continued - Ed)

 

FROM GEOFF MANCHESTER  1961-66   A recent OWT set me thinking about how I was selected for each class.  My route through school was 1B, 2A, 3A, 4A, 5L and briefly 6A1.  Why did I start in 1B, rather than 1 Alpha or 1A?  Was it my 11+ efforts?  I recall that a league table was published in the end-of-term reports, and my position at the end of terms 1 and 2, in 1B, was close to the bottom of approximately thirty boys.  But at the end-of year exam I somehow managed fo finish in 18th place, and began my second year in 2A.  Was this because of the exam result?  Did the top ten go to 3 Alpha, 11-20 to 2A and 20-30 to 2B?  Whilst in 4A we were asked, without any warning, if we wished to pursue the arts or sciences route into the fifth form.  I can't think of any reason why I chose arts, as I did not have a career in mind.  Perhaps I just followed my chums.  I wonder if anyone can explain the selection process  (Perhaps one of our former teachers could answer Geoff's questions - Ed) 

In the And Finally section of OWT78 there was mention of cars driven by staff.  The only ones I recall are the headmaster reversing his black Rover (One of the P4 range, for the benefit of car buffs - Ed) into Clarence Street, and I have a mental picture of Mr Miller, the art master, using a hearse to travel to Downing Drive.He was on duty in the hall at Downing Drive where I sat my 'O' level art exam.  My vague recollection is that we had to make some sort of artistic creation around a given phrase.  The only detail I remember is the word yarn.  At the end of the session Mr Miller walked along the line of efforts, which had been propped against the stage.  He stopped at many of them, and made encouraging comments as we crowded round to listen.  He passed swiftly and silently past mine, and not surprisingly I failed 'O' level art!

 

FROM ALAN PYKETT 1959-66   I was interested to read the reference to the Alpha stream in the previous OWT. Not being of such ability to have experienced that stream I am not able to give any opinion to as to whether it had any benefits or not. However, related to that I have often pondered the following.  If boys in the Alpha stream took their 'O' levels after 4 years at the school and 'A' levels after 6 years, what did they do in forms 6A3 and 6S3 and what was their real purpose, though I realise they would have to have waited an extra year for university entrance. It would be good to hear from previous incumbents of those two sixth forms (or teachers) the answer or answers to this question.

 

FROM RON CUNNINGHAM  1943-48   It was pleasing to note the short attempt to introduce the game played in Heaven to CBS was recognised.  A couple of us had some experience of the game, but most of us were soccer born and bred - our knowledge of rugby came from watching one or two Tigers games.  After 60-plus years the abiding memory is of us being pushed back continually, until our fullback got his hands on the ball and obtaining some relief for us with his prestigious long kicks.  The result was meritoriously close, though inevitable.  It did encourage me to play for a couple of years or so with Aylestone St James (The Jimmies) after leaving CBS.  Thanks to all concerned with the production of the CBS history book, it is a remarkable and treaured memory chest.

 

OBITUARY   Michael Hutchings, 1943-48.  Passed away October 2013.  Mike was a staunch supporter of our reunions, and took a keen interest in OWT.

 

FROM DAVID CHAMBERS  1953-59   I am the David Chambers of Bradgate House, mentioned by Ivor Holyoak in issue 74.  My nickname was Chub and I did have 2 broken front teeth, though my recollection was that they were broken when they came into contact with the school playground. . I do remember Ivor and also Peter Bates who he mentions. Dave Ellicock was also a friend even after leaving school,  he joined City Boys from Northfield House School with me. How does Ivor remember all these details when I have trouble remembering what happened yesterday?

I attach the only 2 school  photos I can find. The first is of me in about 3 alpha posing in the library and the second is of 5Sc in about 1958  (Not attached to this OWT - Ed)  I am in centre front row with Ken Kelham, who is mentioned in an issue as a cyclist and trainspotter, on my left.  Others whose names I recall in the photo are John English, Roger Marston, Bruce Wood, John Binley, John Wardle, Peter Bates and Peter Woods. Not too bad for 55 years ago.  I did have some old school reports but cannot lay my hands on them, I don't think I was particularly proud of them so they may have gone.

I recall the usual gang of teachers mentioned in issues around my time, and in particular Mr Brushe, who taught languages but also managed the swimming team of which I was a member until training interfered with my paper rounds.. Chas Howard I remember as a bit of an anarchist who did not attend assembly, and to this day recall him telling our class of 12 or 13 year olds, tongue in cheek I hope, to aim to achieve the distinction of dieing owing a million pounds!!    I am part of a family with City Boys connections. My father-in-law Bill Johnson was a pupil in the 1930's, my brother Gwynne Chambers was a pupil from 1955 to 1960 and my brother-in-law Christopher Johnson was a pupil from about 1962 to 1967. I recall him showing me Sports Day programmes from the mid 1960s which showed me  as the school javelin record holder. I shall introduce Gwynne and Chris to Wyvernians, I am sure thery will be interested.  Gwynne and myself  both appear in the school panoramic picture in the CBS book. My parents did have a copy of this picture in its cardboard tube, but it seems to have disappeared.

 

FROM JAIME GILL  (NOT A WYVERNIAN)   My Father, Regnald Frank Gill, was a Wyvernian, and having been born in 1921 was  an exact contemporary of Prof John Harrison.  He won 1st prize in the Junior Dive Competition in 1936:  I know this to be so as I still have the inscribed bronze medal he was awarded.  There is no misprint in his name, the Registrar of Births missed the 'i' out and apparently it had to stand.   He became an electrical engineer and joined the RAF in 1941  (His RAF records have been corrected to reflect the Registrar's error)   He served as a RADAR Engineer for 35 years. Retiring in the rank of Squadron Leader  he died at the early age of 61 in 1982.

I also have an uninscribed City Boys'  (I was at Ashby and the s'  was also ingrained into us!!)   School silver medal from the same era.  It was for many years displayed in the top of a cigarette box in my grandparent's home at Grange Road, Wigston.  I have no recollection of the reason it was awarded.   The box eventually disintegrated as a result of overuse -  Dad died of lung cancer, but my eldest son carries the name forward.  When I look at your website I see that you have a panoramic school photograph.  Dad told me two stories about such a picture.  One was about the lad who ran round the back and beat the camera to appear at both ends..............the other was about the boy with the big nose who sneezed as the camera went past him and finished up with two noses!!

 

AND FINALLY...   Like many regular contributors to OWT I am running out of things to say.  So it is possible that the following amusing and true anecdote has already appeared, but it might be new to some readers.  WAG Pace was taking my class for a geography lesson, I think it was towards the end of my CBS career.  He had fixed a map of the world to the blackboard, and in view of what happened next he clearly suspected I had not been giving the matter my full attention.  The topic was the West Indies, and to my dismay WAG invited me to approach the map and point to the location of said islands.  The truth was I did not know, but had no option but to do as I was told.  I had a choice.  Admit I did not know, or make a guess.  Of course I had a good idea where the West Indies were NOT situated, but that still left a lot of scope for error.  Or I could simply admit that I did not know.  All that went through my mind as I walked to the front of the class, and a snap decison was made.  My finger made a random stab at a likely spot, at which point WAG  Pace apologetically told me to return to my desk.  My aim had been spot-on, and I was off the hook even though it was by good luck rather than good judgement.  A minor victory, but strangely satisfying, and incidentally I still remember where the West Indies are located.

 

Dennis J Duggan

October 13th 2013

 

 

.

 

Fw: OWT79 July 2013

OLD WYVES' TALES 79

FOR WYVERNIANS 1919-76

EDITED BY DENNIS J DUGGAN, ROCK COTTAGE, BROOK STREET,

WELSHPOOL, MONTGOMERYSHIRE. SY21 7NA

TEL 01938 555574   07985 405365   www.wyvernians.org.uk

JULY  2013

 

EDITORIAL   Brian Screaton tells me we have reached a milestone with the CBS history book, with the 250th copy sold.  There are just twenty five left, so if you have been prevaricating about placing your order now is the time to take a_ction.  All you have to do is e-mail Brian Screaton at brscreaton@dsl.pipex.com who will confirm postage costs etc, or you can go to www.wyvernians.org.uk and place your order online. 

 

FROM JOHN SMITH  1951-56   (The final instalment - Ed)  I note the name of our music master is mentioned several times in the history  book. That probably evoked happy memories among many a reader. Not that we were all happy about music or singing per se, rather that the periods themselves presented many opportunities for fun, all at Bill Sykes' expense. Speaking for myself and many of my fellow-kriegies, we did not take kindly to being expected to sing. Singing was for girls, we thought. Every lesson seemed to commence with a round of 'Moo mo maw, moo mo maw, moo mo maw'...and so on, starting with highish notes and grading down the scale until there was barely a whisper at the backs of our throats as we ran short of breath, the register meantime continuing to descend way down to notes we could barely reach until we were third years. We were not built for singing. It was definitely girls' stuff. We rebelled, led ably by some of those of whom I have previously made mention.  With Bill.at piano, we would start out in a reasonable facsimile of song, but gradually there would be introduced stray notes here and there, quite extraneous to the music, which most of us could not read anyway. The more enterprising among us would then groan mournfully rather than sing, up and down the tonic sol fa more-or-less at will. Then low-register muffled bellows would be introduced, supplemented by a few whole-hearted bellows after a brief period of time. Somehow we managed to avoid laughing at each others' efforts to ruin the lesson or show our delight at our own competence in the skilful destruction of the ambience and solemnity of the occasion. In short, we kept straight faces, and somehow contrived to deprive poor old Bill of the satisfaction of being able to pinpoint the fount of the trouble. There was not one fount, of course. They were legion. The pinnacle of this constructive (in our eyes) b_ehaviour occurred whenever we were obliged to 'sing' a song that our music master himself had composed.
Bill would eventually stop playing the piano, but shout at us to continue our 'singing '. He would pick up a heavy book in his right hand, and descend from his podium into our midst. We were divided down the middle of the class by a central gangway, along which he would ponderously wander, ears cocked for wrong notes. Miraculously, those nearest to him would seem to be able to pick up the proper tune again for a time. The epicentre of the cacophony of whining, wailing, groaning and bellowing shifted with an alacrity in direct proportion with Bill's attempts to get closer to his tormentors. Nevertheless his progress caused among us a concerted swaying away from the aisle, evocative of the description of the parting of the Red Sea as given in the Old Testament. Bill would lash about with his book (rumour was he had secreted a housebrick between the covers) in a wild and random manner, his targets being boys'- any boys' – heads. Sometimes he connected.  I fancy I can feel it even now...
I have been trying to find a way to relate one of my indiscretions without bringing down upon myself the full wrath of Mr Brushe who, I understand, receives copies of Old Wyves' Tales. My wrongdoing was of a similar type to that of McQuaid and Johnson, as admitted by McQuaid himself (and therefore I am not snitching, Sir). Neither was it habitual, as was the case with Duggan (again he has proclaimed his error many times over, so as to purge his soul) so naturally I feel quite free to refer to it and in doing so give that boy some relief from what must have been for him for many years' grievous inner torment.
All I can do is to plead that it was a minor, isolated lapse of judgement committed at a time when I may have been of unsound mind, although that may not necessarily have been the case. Who am I to judge?. On the day of the Annual Swimming Sports at Spence Street Baths – it may have been when I was in 4 Alpha or 5L – I had a previous engagement and was anxious to keep that rather than attend the Swimming Sports. Former participants may remember the event took place on a weekday evening, and on the same day we were given an afternoon off whether we were to be swimming or not. That may have been so that we could prepare ourselves mentally and physically for the forthcoming arduous trial of trudging up and down our aquatic environment for hours on end, or sitting by idly while others performed.  However, I think not. It seems to me that our masters realised the injustice of calling us in to work in the evening and could only salve their consciences and avert an industrial dispute by letting us have the afternoon off.  At lunch-time on the day in question I approached Mr Brushe, apprised him of my dilemma and invited him to sanction my absence from the Swimming Sports. Quite rightly, not to say reasonably, he enquired as to the nature of my alternative engagement. I should have said that my Grandmother's dog had died, but unaccountably I found the truth slipping out. I informed him that I had arranged to attend a Beetle Drive at a local Church School Rooms. The proposed event was in no way connected either with Volkswagens or motoring. The idea was for boys and girls to attend the said Church School Rooms, form teams and, with the aid of dice, pencils and paper bearing several spaces for ellipses in representations of beetles' bodies, (for which you had to throw a six to start), to complete drawings of such insects before the other teams could do so. Five for a head and so on down the scale to a one for each eye. The bodies were not divided into thorax and abdomen.
 Flo Willan would have gone mad! Now I couldn't have cared less about the entomological aspect of the exercise, but I did enjoy chatting up maturing Sunday School girls, so I was more than keen to put in an appearance.  Mr Brushe did not see it my way at all. The milk of human kindness, for which he was much noted, evaporated. He became utterly and completely unreasonable, to the point of actually turning down my plea out-of-hand. I even volunteered to attend school for the afternoon, although quite what I thought I could achieve in an empty classroom I did not know, and had to admit it. Probably just as much as I usually achieved in a full classroom, come to think of it, although I did not venture to say so at the time. I realised it was neither the right time nor the right place for me to risk any unpleasantness by introducing further contestable argument and thus ramp up the potentially volatile nature of the meeting. He gave me somewhat of a sharp look and I gathered that it was beneath his dignity to continue further to discuss the matter, so I indicated, with as much aplomb as I was able to muster, that I was willing to concede victory to him.  However, the matter festered away in my mind all afternoon. I considered appealing to the Director of Education, but thought that possibly there may have been an outside chance of his ruling in favour of Authority, as vested in our Mr Brushe. Eventually I decided that my best course of action would be simply to bunk off. A spectacularly cunning plan, was it not?
Prior to my turning up at the Church School Rooms, I cycled to Spence Street in order to investigate as to whether Mr Brushe was outside, machete in hand, looking for me. There was no sign of him, so I just turned around and cycled back to Birstall. The girls must have been well impressed by my perspiring presence when I turned up at the Beetle Drive but, girls being their usual cool and aloof selves, they did not show it.  There were no repercussions at all. The matter was not even referred to. I rather wish it had come out into the open and that it had been summarily dealt with at the time, for I have now had to bear in silence this heavy burden of guilt for something approaching 60 years. Perhaps that was the fitting retribution that Mr Brushe had planned for me all along. If so, it worked. I am relieved that I have now summoned the courage to grasp the nettle and admit all.
Sorry, Mr Brushe. I shan't do it again. In time for the next reunion, which is due to take place on 13th March 2013, I shall have completed in my best handwriting, 50 lines (I would have offered more than that statutory minimum, but times are hard ). I shall aver that : 'I must take more care to accept and obey regulations and orders lawfully given by my superiors and to understand they are so given for my benefit in particular and that of mankind in general'.

 

FROM IVOR HOLYOAK  1953-58   I enjoyed OWT78. With longish entries from Roger Gandy and Peter Bates it read a bit like Old Home Week,  Roger having been a contemporary in 6A1 and Peter having enjoyed pole position in my 1Alpha memoir.  I have recently been in regular touch with Ken Kelham and Wally Payne since the publication of my articles, and the recent reference to Geoff Dodd leaves me to wonder whether anyone knows the current whereabouts of his younger brother John, who was a close friend for many years whilst at school and some years thereafter. After Manchester University he spent a year with VSO. in Navrongo, West Africa, being sent on his way via a bibulous celebration in the old Spread Eagle pub, behind the City Police Headquarters, on the corner of Church Street and Colton Street. We shared many a hangover over a number of years. 

 

OBITUARIES   Roger Flowers (1957-63) advises the passing of Keith Ward (c1950-57) who for many years had an opticians shop in Queens Road.

Pat Burgess, a friend of Adrian Pilgrim for 40 years, enlarges on the sad passing of Adrian (1959-67)  I am very sad to inform you of Adrian's unexpected death on 22nd March 2013.  Prior to this he was in a very positive frame of mind,  just having undergone his check-up at Walton Hospital  following his recent serious illness, and given the 'all-clear'  for another year.  He was looking to the future and even considering planning a holiday.  Unfortunately, a fall on 14th March led to his being hospitalised, and he died  peacefully of pneumonia at 6.20 a.m. on 22nd March.  I apologise for the delay in sending this sad news (the message is dated May 9th - Ed)  but there has been much to be done settling his affairs and finding information, as his death was so unexpected.  I realise that some of you will be friends of Adrian's, and others acquaintances for various reasons, but as I have no means of discriminating I am  sending this to all those in his email address book who are not in the Isle of Man.
Should you wish to know more about Adrian's demise, please don't hesitate to contact me at jeeyl@mcb.net

 

FROM JOHN O'GRADY  1959-64   I related to many of the tales in OWT78, smiling and nodding in agreement as I read.  John Smith relates part of a saga and mentions my name - or rather, because of the era, my brother's name.  I would like to cast further light on John's thoughts.  Keith O'Grady (1953-58) was a sort of pioneer for our family, and began the CBS trek.  He was followed by Peter (1955-60) and myself.  I recall only too well a stern-looking Wally Wardle on the first morning, pausing after I had shrilled the answer to my name.  Without even looking up he asked if there were any more O'Grady boys still to come.  An advantage of having elder brothers at CBS was the prior knowledge of the masters' nicknames.

Keith went to Manchester University to study chemical engineering, but tragically died in a road accident in 1961 aged 20 whilst in the third year of the course.  At the time I was in 4 Alpha, and for a while all the teaxchers were quite nice to me.

 

FROM BRIAN SCREATON  1959-65  (1)    On Saturday 1^st June the Leicester Civic Society promoted a Heritage Fair at Bishop Street Methodist Church, facing Town Hall Square. After some e-mail discussion it was decided that it might be worth the Wyvernians taking a stand, to promote our organisation and hopefully pick up a few new members. A display was prepared, leaflets and posters printed, and so we sallied forth – John Offord, Frank Smith, Mike Ratcliff, Andy Marlow and myself. Our display was quickly set up (and if I may say so, with all modesty, it was probably the best of all the stands) and we awaited the visitors. Suffice it to say that we were not exactly overwhelmed, probably due to a lack of general publicity for the Fair – a criticism that cannot be levelled at the Wyvernians, as our own internal publicity machine probably produced more visitors to the Fair than any other source. It was particularly good to see John Lawson and Bill Mann there, as well as a number of other members, including Chris Jinks who was manning the Leicester Transport Heritage Trust stand, next to ours. In fact several other stallholders turned out to be ex-City Boys, including Stuart Bailey and Gordon Goode of the Civic Society, and the guy from the Industrial Archaeology Society, whose name I didn't get. Whilst we didn't manage to sign them up as members, hopefully a seed of interest has been sown, and they may come to the next Reunion. I took along a random selection of some class photos from the late 40's and early 50's that Rob Childs had given me a few weeks previously, and these provoked great interest, with many faces being recognised, particularly by Roger Brewin and Richard Thompson. The naming process has continued on Facebook with good results. The Methodist Church conveniently has its own café, so there was no shortage of tea, coffee, cakes and sandwiches during the day. With these and other diversions, such as the sale of three copies of the book and four DVDs of the School Films, the time flashed by. All in all a successful and convivial day, and photos can be seen on our Facebook page. Whether we would do it again will I think depend on assurances regarding better publicity from the organisers.

 

FROM BRIAN SCREATON 1959-65 (2)    When I was preparing the display for the Wyvernians stand at the Leicester Heritage Fair, I was trying to find two photos of identical forms, about thirty or forty years apart, as I thought this would make an interesting comparison. It proved more difficult than I expected, and the nearest I could get was a photo of Form 2A in 1937, and one of 2 alpha in 1967. I must admit that '2 alpha' didn't seem to ring quite right, although it was written on the back of the photo, but as usual I was in a hurry so I included it in the display with that description. 'Wrong!' said everyone who came to the Fair 'Never was a 2 alpha – must have been 2A'. Well that suited my purposes better, so before the roadshow's next outing at Downing Drive I altered the label on the photo to read '2A'.  But then along came former pupil Steve Thompson, son of Brian Sadie Thompson, who took one look at the photo and exclaimed, 'Wrong – that's not 2A, it's 2 alpha – I know because I was in that class!'  Not only that, but he proceeded to identify every person in the picture. Further questioning of Steve revealed that the alpha-streaming method of missing a year and going from the first form to 3 Alpha was abandoned in 1967 and the alpha class simply became the top form of that particular year – so there was a 2 alpha after all! This provoked some further discussion about the merits or otherwise of the alpha-stream method.  I must say, as an ex-alpha-stream pupil, it did not serve me particularly well, as I left at 17 after doing my A-levels in the second year Sixth, and went straight to the Leicester College of Art and Technology. However as I was only 17 it meant that I didn't get a grant (remember those?) until I was 18 in the following April.  So I had to do two terms without any financial assistance apart from a Saturday job and some money from my parents.  As these terms were financially the heaviest in terms of buying books, equipment etc it was a bit of a struggle. But then I suppose I was able to start work a year earlier than I would have done otherwise – although as I was only on £12 a week during my first year with Shakespear McTurk & Graham maybe it didn't make a lot of difference. Are there any other alpha-streamers out there who have any views?

 

FROM BRIAN SCREATON  1959-62 (3)   We really didn't know what to expect at the Downing Drive Nostalgia Evening on Wednesday 26th June.  Frank Smith and I arrived early to set up the Wyvernians Roadshow and found we had been allocated a prime pitch in the Hall of the Gill Building (ex-Spencefield Lane School) where a tremendous display of photos and memorabilia concerning the City of Leicester College had been put together by the staff and pupils.  Andy Marlow arrived, and our stand was soon set up complete with the school flag and a laptop showing the school films.  As soon as the doors opened at 5.30pm a veritable flood of visitors appeared, which hardly abated for the whole evening.  Of course, not all were Old Wyvernians, but a significant number of those came along, as well as former teachers Bill Mann, John Lawson, Tony Baxter, Doc Burrows and Bob Childs.  Another visitor was Steve Thompson, son of Sadie Thompson and an ex-pupil, who identified all his classmates on a 1967 photograph (See above - Ed)   

The majority of attendees were former pupils of the City of Leicester College, Spencefield Lane School or our own Downing Drive establishment  (Now called the Wyvern Building)  Over 900 attended, including 99-year-old Mr Gill, a former headmaster of Spencefield School, who had travelled from North Wales specially for the event.  During the evening there were conducted tours of the building (Andy Marlow went on at least three tours of the Wyvern Building) and we learned that both buildings are to be demolished in October after the new school is opened. Wyvernians were promised an invitation to the grand opening.  Jenny Sterland, School Business Manager, described the evening as a roaring success, and certainly there was an amazing buzz and atmosphere which only ended when the fire bell sounded around 8.45pm and the buildings were slowly vacated.  For us the time flew by, with people of all ages showing a great interest in our display and asking many questions.  Frank and I were both hoarse by the end of the evening.  It was a very worthwhile exercise, which raised our profile and further improved our already excellent relationship with the current school.  Lots of photos to be seen on our Facebook page.

 

FROM ANDY BOURNE  1965-70   Re. Visit to Downing Drive on 26th June 2013.  I visited the school along with two other former pupils, Dave Wigley and Phil Wain. It was a worthwhile evening attended by what must have numbered thousands of former pupils of both City Boys and Spencefield and of course the combined comprehensive they became. I think the organisers were surprised at the success of the evening, and it's a shame the event couldn't have been held over three nights and separated into age groups. There were simply too many people to have a chance of recognising anyone, particularly when they must look a little older than they did 43 years ago!
Some of the photos on the Wyvernian's stand were interesting, and I'm sure if they could be scanned into the website a lot of people could add names to faces. I bought the book and my wife thinks that if I'd spent as much time studying as I have reading it I might have done better at school.  If only we had our time again, I know I'd make the same mistakes.
The school itself was a mess, and I can see why it's got to be demolished. A typical example of the poor design and even poorer build quality of the 1960's. It also seemed to have shrunk since we were there, how did we all fit in?
 I had the honour of being the first boy to attend Downing Drive. I ignored the letter that everyone received, which advised of what must have been a Teacher Day, and arrived a day too soon.  I was greeted at the front gate by Wally Wardle, hand to his brow, eyes closed.  'Go home boy, read your letter, come back tomorrow.'  A wonderful start!

An oft told story in the pub, and best told with the lisp and a_ctions, concerns Flo Willan.  My trip around the school and the visit to the biology lab brought it back. Flo has his back to the class, and as always is drawing on the board and expects us to copy it in our books.  This time it's the reproductory organs of a rabbit, which apparently resemble the human (Lisp now) 'My penis reaches the top of the board, yours should reach the top of the page.'  Another tale he told was of the chickens he used to keep, and in particular a cock that accompanied him in his Land Rover. Apparently he had the most travelled cock in the country. As we assumed Flo had no sense of humour, we also assumed these were inadvertent and excellent faux pas.  No doubt, in reality, they were well thought-out jokes that he used to entertain himself and generations of pupils.

 

FROM ANDY MARLOW  1969-73   Having left the school prematurely, and in less than ideal circumstances, in 1973, I viewed the chance to take a final look round the old building with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.  What impact would it have on me after all these years?

Together with Chris Jinks from the 1967 intake (who was a mine of information) we joined the queue for one of the organised(?) tours of what is now known as the Wyvern Building.  As we walked across the yard of the old Spencefield School down the path that links the two buildings (in my day there was a wire fence separating the two playing fields, and no contact was possible) my sense of anticipation rose as we headed into the science block.  Viewing the junior and senior chemistry, physics and biology labs, gazing at the tables with their enclosed sinks, and the apparatus standing forlornly alongside, conjured up quite a ghostly feeling - you could almost see Flo Willan standing there drawing his anatomy pictures on the blackboard.

After that we were taken to the library, probably my favourite place when I was at school.  I often spent lunchtime in there, browsing through the books.  Alas it is a library no more. Gone are the shelves of books, now only tables filled with computers remain.  Exiting through the library (a practice previously allowed only for teachers to take a short cut between buildings, the pupils having to go the long way round) the rest of the building was inspected.  The geography, English and history rooms were viewed, the latter two being of particular interest as they were my favourite subjects then and now.  The memories came flooding back - waiting in line outside the classroom for the teacher before being allowed to enter, seeing the board where the detention list was displayed - yes, I was on it frequently for my almost-daily late attendance.

Then on to the rest of the school.  The Headmaster's study, now the Deputy Head's room, which was opposite the secretary's office, and just across to the right stood the dining hall and kitchen.  I have never had a school dinner in my life, but back in the day tales of their quality - or lack of it - had reached my attention.  Now I was greeted by a menu attached to the door, and FREE cups of tea or coffee were available during a brief refreshment stop.  The square tables, usually with a Prefect to keep order, had been replaced by small circular ones.  Another sign of the changing times were notices offering halal meat.  I didn't have a drink so, still the rebel, I compensated by taking two biscuits on the way out.

The hall was next to the dining room.  One thing that struck me was the classrooms seemed smaller than I remembered, but of course we saw them from the perspective of a boy.  So as we have got bigger everything seems to have become smaller.  I suppose it was similar with the teachers.  They seemed old to us, and some were indeed ancient, but many were in their twenties and thirties, and some only a year or two older than some members of the sixth form.

The hall seemed smaller than remembered because it actually was - a dividing partition had been placed across the back of the room, and access to the balcony seems to have disappeared.  The stage looked the same, the curtains looked like the ones there in my day!

Across the corridor to the changing rooms, where the strange smell remained.  I was never quite sure what it consisted of.  Benches and pegs seemed the same, but now with graffiti.  Surely that didn't happen forty years ago, or did it?  The showers looked the worse for wear, and reminded us of a dodge used by some after PE and games.  If you did not want to undress and have a shower you just ran through the water to get your hair wet, then donned the uniform and disappear.  The teachers didn't seem too concerned, so you invariably got away with it.  The gym looked like time had stood still.  Some of the ropes remained in place, amazing in these H & S-obsessed times, as did the benches round the room.  Also the basketball court marked on the wooden floor with nets high on the wall.. I recall the sound of pounding feet, the noise seeming to hang endlessly in the air.

Then to the junior classrooms - third and fourth years were on the first floor.  Rooms 1 to 6 also doubled as rooms for the maths department.  It was hard to realise how much walking was involved as we moved from one room to another for lessons.  In those days we didn't give it a thought, but next day I certainly felt the effects of the tour.

The rest of the party moved on, but John Clarke and I decided to climb a further flight of stairs to try and locate our old form room on the second floor.  We debated which room was ours, Form 1B with Mr Scott.  Eventually we ascertained it was Room 9, on the front right.  I could not recall the number, but on looking out of the window the view over the car park, lower playground and bike sheds (the latter two now succumbed to the builders) confirmed it.

We thought of the wooden desks, with inkwells, arranged in three lots of pairs across the room.  Five rows to accomodate the thirty pupils, which was actually thirty one in the first term.  No idea where they put the odd one.  My desk was quite near the back, by the door.  Not a good idea as it turned out, but that's another story.  Now there are long tables for maybe five or six pupils to sit together, much more informal.

Back on the ground floor we passed the staff room, what happened in there was always shrouded in mystery.  Unfortunately it was locked, but it did remind me of the occasions you had to go there for one reason or another.  You were greeted by a cloud of smoke - no smoking bans then.

Finally the art and woodwork room.  The former is now a sixth form room and has been extended.  The art and woodwork area is located in the newer Design Centre, which we also saw.  I was reminded of woodwork teacher Bunny Hutchinson, who stood no nonsense.  There were some real characters in those days, though the level of violence dished out would be unacceptable today.  Mind you, it seems to sometimes be the other way round these days.

I will remember the Downing Drive evening very fondly for a long time.  Thank you to everyone involved in the arrangements.

 

FROM MIKE WALKER  1949-56   I am quite certain that the 'unknown' boy on page 94 of the CBS history book, on the right hand side holding a cricket bat, is my good and long-time friend Geoff Morgan.  Geoff and I lived in Belgrave, and attended Mellor Street Junior School.  He was an excellent cricketer, particularly good with the bat.  After 'A' levels in History, French and German, Geoff took a degree at Queen Mary College, London, followed by a teaching diploma and two years National Service in the Navy, stationed at Portsmouth.  After a short teaching career in England he emigrated to California, where he mainly worked in the film industry.  After some tumultuous years, which included being attacked and stabbed almost to death,  Geoff returned to Leicester where he died aged 50.  He had great potential, but sadly never came close to realising it.

 

AND FINALLY...   The original Old Wyvernians faded away many years ago, to be replaced by the current Wyvernians in 1998.  From small beginnings we have grown into a substantial organisation, and the affection for our old school is still very much in evidence.  Almost by accident we began to accumulate memorabilia, and the collection is much enhanced by the recent additions from Downing Drive.  Old Wyves' Tales, which was originally designed as a simple newsletter, soon expanded to include lots of stories, memories, facts and figures, and incredibly has reached seventy nine issues and still going strong..  Now we have a superb history book, produced to professional standards, which is selling very well - 250 copies the last I heard!  New members continue to join Wyvernians, most via the web site, and we have arranged sixteen reunions.  Despite my theory that Wyvernians must surely begin to wind down (we are a finite organisation, as membership is restricted to pre-1976 pupils) we continue to go from strength to strength.  And who would have thought we would have a facebook page and an on-line shop? All this is down to the efforts of a very few committed people.  They do not seek, or expect, any medals for their efforts and probably will not thank me for naming them, but they are Andy Marlow John Offord, Mike Ratcliff, Brian Screaton, Frank Smith.  And let us not forget you, the readers of OWT and attenders at the reunions, without you Wyvernians would not exist.  Also I must mention Stephanie, my very helpful and supportive wife of 37 years.

Between us we have built up what must surely be a unique history of an ordinary grammar school, and we should be proud of that achievement.

 

 

Dennis J Duggan

July 19th 2013