1 Raymond Norris -- 1922 - 27 7 Tony Peters -- 1944 - xx 13 Paddy Carpenter -- 1954 - 62
The Light of Day My Eleven Plus Exam Mitcham - By Any Other Name
2 J B Pritchard -- 1935 - 40 8 D F Donovan -- 1944 - 51 14 Jim Anslow -- 1955 - 63
The Local Defence Group Memories of an Old Mitchamian Drew Pollard -- 1956 - 63
1950s -- 60's Memories
3 Ron Charles -- 1937-1941 9 Mick Barratt -- 1946 - 52 15 Ken Lavey 1956 - 63
a Mr Judge
b The Rebellion
4 Bill Hyde -- 1939 - xx 10 John Dunbar Walsh -- 1946 - 53 16 Trevor Jennings -- 1957 - 65
My Time at School School Days In Mitcham Memories
5 Ernest Potter -- 1940 - 47 11 Al Barclay -- 1946 - 54 17 Tony Gorton
Farm Camp My Time at School Our School Rooms
6 Wally Harbert -- 1943 - xx 12 Jack Simmons -- 1949 - 54 18 Ewan Green
Mitcham Grammar School for Boys – a A Memory of Mitcham Memories of going comprehensive
A wartime experience b MCGS for Boys Remembered
3 Ron Charles -- 1937-1941
I remember happy schooldays in forms JSA and JSC, but not so good after the war started - too much disruption with lessons in underground shelters, then evacuation to Somerset.
I remember Mr Doig and teachers Stephens, Clemas, Purbrick, Reed, Bottoms, Monnaie, Judge etc and can still recall many names from my JS class registers 1937/38 - Ayes, S Bell, A Bray, Chapman, Charles, Nigel Couch, Curzon, Dale, Ivor Gray, Harland, J Haslam, J Jover, Kensdale, C Liddiard, Mills, Reg Morgan, Les Pinchen, Ward, Wardill, Stan Warner, Whibley, L Wilkes.
Notables.
S.J. Ashby School Captain 1937. Won place at Keble College, Oxford - very rare in those days. I believe we had a half day off!
L. Jenner School Captain 1938 Killed in Second World War 1945.
P. Gifkins School Vice-Captain 1938
V. Jones School Captain 1940
Raf and Julian Jover - Brothers, Members of a famous Circus family, who became a well-known trapeze and acrobatic act during the 1950s and 1960s, and performed at Music Halls, and later on television. Julian sat near to me in class, but rarely talked about their family. Think they were in Australia at one time (1980s).
Ron Charles. (Birth cert says John)
I remember happy schooldays in forms JSA and JSC, but not so good after the war started - too much disruption with lessons in underground shelters, then evacuation to Somerset.
I remember Mr Doig and teachers Stephens, Clemas, Purbrick, Reed, Bottoms, Monnaie, Judge etc and can still recall many names from my JS class registers 1937/38 - Ayes, S Bell, A Bray, Chapman, Charles, Nigel Couch, Curzon, Dale, Ivor Gray, Harland, J Haslam, J Jover, Kensdale, C Liddiard, Mills, Reg Morgan, Les Pinchen, Ward, Wardill, Stan Warner, Whibley, L Wilkes.
Notables.
S.J. Ashby School Captain 1937. Won place at Keble College, Oxford - very rare in those days. I believe we had a half day off!
L. Jenner School Captain 1938 Killed in Second World War 1945.
P. Gifkins School Vice-Captain 1938
V. Jones School Captain 1940
Raf and Julian Jover - Brothers, Members of a famous Circus family, who became a well-known trapeze and acrobatic act during the 1950s and 1960s, and performed at Music Halls, and later on television. Julian sat near to me in class, but rarely talked about their family. Think they were in Australia at one time (1980s).
Ron Charles. (Birth cert says John)
4 Bill Hyde -- 1939 - xx
My Time at School
I’m pleased to be able to have another go at recording my time at the school during the war. My memory is still quite good and I think everything is true.
I joined the school right at the outset of the war in September 1939. Within a few months both Grammar schools were evacuated to Weston super Mare, most of the boys but very few girls. I was billeted in a hotel where all the other ‘guests’ were trainee pilots (I often wondered how many of those lads survived the war).
At Weston I had my first girl friend, Jennifer Doig, I was 10 and she 9, I was never too sure what the headmaster thought of that.
I returned back to Mitcham after a few months as I found living in a hotel unsettling. With the boys school closed I was seconded to the girls school on the other side of the common. We were taught by the sport mad Mr Helliwell and I believe a local vicar. Despite the boys being outnumbered about 10 to 1 things were generally harmonious. There was one story, said to reach the Surrey Education Authority, as to whether it was ethical for Mitcham when playing other schools to open the bowling with 2 fast bowlers both boys (it wasn't cricket).
With shortage of numbers we played soccer instead of rugby against other schools, remarkably I can remember our entire main team as follows:-
Alan Simpson(of scriptwriter fame). Alan Dawson, Geoff Parrott, Denis Ockenden, Geoff Searle, myself, Charlie Ward(who later played for Dulwich Hamlet), Ray Hampton, Peter Cox, Len Dunkley and Alan Atterbury.
After a few years the school returned from Weston, I seemed to remember the school there was bombed.
After returning to the boys school these are some of my memories:-
The sadness of Mr Doig as he read out the names at morning assembly of old boys who had been killed in the war.
The Gilbert and Sullivan opera performances. The red headed Brian Goldney was particularly good in the female lead.
I liked sport but was, not all that good at rugby. The only try I ever scored was over ruled by Mr Ayerst on a technicality. There was the annual relay race where about 40 boys from each house ran one lap each on the local athletic track. One year our house of average runners won despite another house having all the best runners in the school. They made the mistake of leaving them (which included a young Brian Hewson who later became one of the best middle distance runners in the World) until last by which time we had already finished.
Then there was the cricket match against the girls school (I can’t remember who won) when Hazel Saunders took 4 wickets in 4 balls (I was the 4th). She went on to play for and captain England.
By 1944 came the flying bombs, sadly ‘Wuzzy’ Waller in the class above was killed by one. My home was badly damaged and I spent the last year or so cycling to school from my grandparents house in South Norwood.
We did our Matric exams in the air raid shelters. My results were pretty average but I did get a distinction in geography which was exceptional as we didn’t have a geography teacher. In any event Alan Simpson, who statistically was always at the bottom of the class became the most famous and no doubt the richest.
Boys from the school spent the summer holidays farming on Lord Cowdray’s estate in West Sussex, camping on his polo pitch adjacent to Midhurst castle. Charlie Ward and myself cycled there keeping a watchful eye in the sky for doodlebugs. I think we were paid 4d per hour(old money) and worked pretty hard for it.
One highlight was to wake one morning to see Miss Jewett's (the popular history mistress) ‘unmentionables’ flying from the castle flagpole. You can imagine the smiles on us younger boys faces when eventually headboy Eric Humphries and headmaster’s son Noel Doig owned up to the deed.
Oh and the school was allowed sessions at the local swimming pool where it was compulsory to bathe nude. On one occasion there was nearly a problem due to an overlap with the local ATS.
Despite the war I was quite happy at school with very little bullying.
The teachers were generally liked.
Mr Hopton who was appalled by my poorness at science.
The earnest Mr Stevens who tried hard to help me with my Maths.
A frustrated Latin mistress (her name escapes me) who struck me hard on the face . (Nowadays infra dig).
Madamoselle (she insisted on being called this) who taught french (naturally).
Mr Gush who eventually married Miss Jewett.
Mr Rushworth (idolised by the boys because he played cricket for Surrey) whose forte was to fire elastic bands at boys to attract their attention.
I do hope this will all prove of interest.
Best regards to all
Bill Hyde
My Time at School
I’m pleased to be able to have another go at recording my time at the school during the war. My memory is still quite good and I think everything is true.
I joined the school right at the outset of the war in September 1939. Within a few months both Grammar schools were evacuated to Weston super Mare, most of the boys but very few girls. I was billeted in a hotel where all the other ‘guests’ were trainee pilots (I often wondered how many of those lads survived the war).
At Weston I had my first girl friend, Jennifer Doig, I was 10 and she 9, I was never too sure what the headmaster thought of that.
I returned back to Mitcham after a few months as I found living in a hotel unsettling. With the boys school closed I was seconded to the girls school on the other side of the common. We were taught by the sport mad Mr Helliwell and I believe a local vicar. Despite the boys being outnumbered about 10 to 1 things were generally harmonious. There was one story, said to reach the Surrey Education Authority, as to whether it was ethical for Mitcham when playing other schools to open the bowling with 2 fast bowlers both boys (it wasn't cricket).
With shortage of numbers we played soccer instead of rugby against other schools, remarkably I can remember our entire main team as follows:-
Alan Simpson(of scriptwriter fame). Alan Dawson, Geoff Parrott, Denis Ockenden, Geoff Searle, myself, Charlie Ward(who later played for Dulwich Hamlet), Ray Hampton, Peter Cox, Len Dunkley and Alan Atterbury.
After a few years the school returned from Weston, I seemed to remember the school there was bombed.
After returning to the boys school these are some of my memories:-
The sadness of Mr Doig as he read out the names at morning assembly of old boys who had been killed in the war.
The Gilbert and Sullivan opera performances. The red headed Brian Goldney was particularly good in the female lead.
I liked sport but was, not all that good at rugby. The only try I ever scored was over ruled by Mr Ayerst on a technicality. There was the annual relay race where about 40 boys from each house ran one lap each on the local athletic track. One year our house of average runners won despite another house having all the best runners in the school. They made the mistake of leaving them (which included a young Brian Hewson who later became one of the best middle distance runners in the World) until last by which time we had already finished.
Then there was the cricket match against the girls school (I can’t remember who won) when Hazel Saunders took 4 wickets in 4 balls (I was the 4th). She went on to play for and captain England.
By 1944 came the flying bombs, sadly ‘Wuzzy’ Waller in the class above was killed by one. My home was badly damaged and I spent the last year or so cycling to school from my grandparents house in South Norwood.
We did our Matric exams in the air raid shelters. My results were pretty average but I did get a distinction in geography which was exceptional as we didn’t have a geography teacher. In any event Alan Simpson, who statistically was always at the bottom of the class became the most famous and no doubt the richest.
Boys from the school spent the summer holidays farming on Lord Cowdray’s estate in West Sussex, camping on his polo pitch adjacent to Midhurst castle. Charlie Ward and myself cycled there keeping a watchful eye in the sky for doodlebugs. I think we were paid 4d per hour(old money) and worked pretty hard for it.
One highlight was to wake one morning to see Miss Jewett's (the popular history mistress) ‘unmentionables’ flying from the castle flagpole. You can imagine the smiles on us younger boys faces when eventually headboy Eric Humphries and headmaster’s son Noel Doig owned up to the deed.
Oh and the school was allowed sessions at the local swimming pool where it was compulsory to bathe nude. On one occasion there was nearly a problem due to an overlap with the local ATS.
Despite the war I was quite happy at school with very little bullying.
The teachers were generally liked.
Mr Hopton who was appalled by my poorness at science.
The earnest Mr Stevens who tried hard to help me with my Maths.
A frustrated Latin mistress (her name escapes me) who struck me hard on the face . (Nowadays infra dig).
Madamoselle (she insisted on being called this) who taught french (naturally).
Mr Gush who eventually married Miss Jewett.
Mr Rushworth (idolised by the boys because he played cricket for Surrey) whose forte was to fire elastic bands at boys to attract their attention.
I do hope this will all prove of interest.
Best regards to all
Bill Hyde
4 Ernest Potter -- 1940 - 47
Farm Camp
For several years a school farm camp was held to help with the harvest. This was organised by AJD under a government scheme. Transport was (15cwt Army trucks). Tents, equipment and supplies were supplied by the govt. The camp lasted for three weeks and was held for three or four years.
The first one was in Somerset, above Cheddar Gorge. It was great fun. I remember scrambling and sliding down a dry watercourse to the bottom of the Gorge to the back door of a pub to get a bottle filled with scrumpy (rough cider) from a barrel. Then we scrambled back up to the camp.
We worked in groups for various farmers. One day we were in a wheat field that had been cut and the farmer decided to burn the stubble. Unfortunately the wind turned 180 degrees and the flames rushed towards us. The fire brigade had to run hoses across several fields. No one was hurt but a corn stack and a reaping machine were burnt. When I returned to camp I found that my shirt was full of holes where burning straw had landed on me.
Subsequent camps were held at Cowdray Park. Mrs Doig did the cooking and we ate well. One boy remained in camp each day as camp orderly to peel potatoes, slice bread etc. One year I fell and injured my knee so I became the permanent orderly.
We went out in groups each morning, usually taking sandwiches but sometimes, on the nearer farms, Mrs Doig would bring sandwiches and tea out to the workers. Sometimes getting to the work site meant walking a long way, otherwise transport was provided. The farmers paid for our help. The money went into a central fund and we were paid weekly, including the camp orderly.
Work was varied. I remember going out, I think with Bill Woodhouse, with foresters who were felling oak trees. There were no chain saws and everything was done by hand. It was there that I learned how refreshing cold cocoa can be.
The staff were very good. They didn't work, so I don't know what they did all day, but they helped the camp to run smoothly. As well as Mr and Mrs Doig with Clive and Jennifer, Messrs Marsh, Lewis (and I think Purbrick) and Miss Jewett and Miss Whiteleg were regular helpers.
We enjoyed our recreation, much of which was in the Midhurst School swimming pool. There are many happy memories from those days.
Farm Camp
For several years a school farm camp was held to help with the harvest. This was organised by AJD under a government scheme. Transport was (15cwt Army trucks). Tents, equipment and supplies were supplied by the govt. The camp lasted for three weeks and was held for three or four years.
The first one was in Somerset, above Cheddar Gorge. It was great fun. I remember scrambling and sliding down a dry watercourse to the bottom of the Gorge to the back door of a pub to get a bottle filled with scrumpy (rough cider) from a barrel. Then we scrambled back up to the camp.
We worked in groups for various farmers. One day we were in a wheat field that had been cut and the farmer decided to burn the stubble. Unfortunately the wind turned 180 degrees and the flames rushed towards us. The fire brigade had to run hoses across several fields. No one was hurt but a corn stack and a reaping machine were burnt. When I returned to camp I found that my shirt was full of holes where burning straw had landed on me.
Subsequent camps were held at Cowdray Park. Mrs Doig did the cooking and we ate well. One boy remained in camp each day as camp orderly to peel potatoes, slice bread etc. One year I fell and injured my knee so I became the permanent orderly.
We went out in groups each morning, usually taking sandwiches but sometimes, on the nearer farms, Mrs Doig would bring sandwiches and tea out to the workers. Sometimes getting to the work site meant walking a long way, otherwise transport was provided. The farmers paid for our help. The money went into a central fund and we were paid weekly, including the camp orderly.
Work was varied. I remember going out, I think with Bill Woodhouse, with foresters who were felling oak trees. There were no chain saws and everything was done by hand. It was there that I learned how refreshing cold cocoa can be.
The staff were very good. They didn't work, so I don't know what they did all day, but they helped the camp to run smoothly. As well as Mr and Mrs Doig with Clive and Jennifer, Messrs Marsh, Lewis (and I think Purbrick) and Miss Jewett and Miss Whiteleg were regular helpers.
We enjoyed our recreation, much of which was in the Midhurst School swimming pool. There are many happy memories from those days.
6 Wally Harbert -- 1943 - xx
Mitcham Grammar School for Boys – a wartime experience
I attended the school from 1943 until 1947. I greatly respected the headmaster, Mr Doig and teachers like Mr Marsh and a Mr Hopton who instilled a sense of self-worth in their pupils. For many of us, teachers were our only contact with middle class people and this proved vital for social mobility later.
I vividly recall a visit to the Majestic cinema in Fair Green. A message, scrawled by the projectionist, appeared on the screen, “Italy has surrendered”. The audience went wild with excitement. The following year, a V2 rocket destroyed the post office close to Fair Green.
One June day, the caretaker kindly left his living room window open so that a group of boys could hear an update on the BBC news about the D Day landings.earlier that morning.
The day war broke out I had been evacuated with fellow pupils from Gorringe Park School to Marlow but, when my parents found I was sharing a bedroom with a man on the run from the police they brought me home. For the next nine months I received no schooling. The building was used by the army to store supplies.
In June 1940, the school evacuated me to Devon where one teacher taught four classes in the village hall. I lived on a farm and witnessed unprecedented change as the muscle power of men and horses was replaced by fossil fuel.
I passed the entrance examination to the grammar school because, unknown to anyone else, I had a copy of the questions with me in Devon. They had been set two years previously when my late brother, Frank, sat the examination in London.
I joined Mitcham Grammar School half way through the academic year so my first examination results were disastrous. I was dispatched to Devon once more when flying bombs and rockets descended in 1944 and lost more schooling. I never caught up and was told I was not good enough for the sixth form. But I am forever grateful to the school for introducing me to Gilbert and Sullivan.
With diligent use of Mitcham public library, I made my own way to university and a career in public administration where I undertook studies on a range of social issues for the Cabinet Office, the European Union, the World Health Organisation and the United Nations.
I have written ten books, including “Child of the War”, which is mainly about my life in wartime Devon.
A few copies are available for £10 including postage and packing. Write to me at 9 Button Street, Frome, Somerset BA11 3DR.
7 Tony Peters -- 1944 - xx
My Eleven Plus Exam
I was the token Protestant at a Catholic Primary School from the age of 6. My mother had gone to the Grammar School to ask which Primary School had the best record of success in the 11 plus exams...and was told St.Peter & St Paul’s School.
Despite being Protestant she took me off for an interview with Mr Bolsover the Headmaster. I remember this vividly to this day because Mr Bolsover was a very tall man with flared nostrils. I could see right up his hairy nose and was transfixed by the sight. Despite this he agreed to take me on as a pupil.
My progress proceeded smoothly as I was considered a model pupil with one blemish only on my record. I was amazed that whenever the teacher turned to write on the blackboard somebody would speak to their neighbour. This infuriated the teacher and she would start an escalating series of threats to find the perpetrator. “Who spoke?” she would demand.”If you do not own up it is a cardinal sin”….silence. In a louder voice “If you do not own up now it is a mortal sin”….silence. “ You now risk eternal damnation for not owning up”.
I wondered what on earth the punishment could be (for speaking behind the teacher’s back) that was worth the risk of eternal damnation if you could not get to confess in time to the Priest for absolution. So one day I said “I did” (when I had not spoken...just to see what the punishment was). I was caned on each hand which really hurt. But it did not make me a believer.
The day before the 11 plus we were given a new pencil, a protractor and a new ruler (rare in wartime) and told that “without these you will not be allowed to take the exam tomorrow...do not forget”. I went home to prepare. At about 5.0.am our house was flattened by a bomb. I was uninjured but only dug out of the rubble at 7.0.am. I was wrapped in a blanket and asked which school I went to. They then took me to the Priest’s house for shelter (assuming I was Catholic).
To this day I feel a little guilty because I did not like to tell the Priest I was not Catholic. He put me up for 2 nights...telling me that I did not need to go to school the next day. “But I do have to go to school because it is my 11 plus exam” I explained. Eventually he realised I was not “in shock”, and phoned the police. They came for me and took me to the Town Hall where a locked room contained discarded clothes..because I was of course in my pyjamas. I dressed in whatever I could find...but shoes were tricky.
I was then told that neither my mother or father had been found. However they (the police) would take me to the Grammar School for my first exam and pick me up again at lunchtime. I explained that I would not be allowed to take the exam because I did not have my pencil ,ruler or protractor. “Do not worry lad” I was reassured “just tell them what has happened to you”.I begged the policeman to wait outside the school until I was safely inside.
The was a queue of boys all clutching their pencils, rulers and protractors. When I reached the front of the queue and could not produce mine, the teacher flew into a fury and told me to go home. When I tried to explain it was to no avail, I was not listened to and sent away. Fortunately the policeman witnessed this and intervened, giving “hell” to the teacher involved. I was grudgingly given a stub of pencil and used other bits and took my place at the exam desk.
I now had to take myself in hand because I thought I could be an orphan. I decided I must pass because I owed it to my parents (even if they were dead). Concentration was still not that easy.
At lunchtime the policeman collected me (for lunch with the Priest) and said that my father was OK and had been putting out incenduries in the next street when our house was hit. This was the stage in the war when the Germans dropped incenduries at night to light up their targets. Therefore most adults would rush out of the shelters to extinguish the “fires” before the bombs arrived. This was a nightly occurrence in South London. No sign of my mother however.
The afternoon exam passed like the morning one and when the policeman came to collect me for my second night with the Priest he was able to tell me that my mother had been found, but was gravely injured and in an oxygen tent in the local hospital...but not to be visited. My father had gone off to stay somewhere and I could not speak to him either.
The final exam (3 0f 3) the following morning had me bidding farewell to the Priest being picked up by my father and put on a train to Swansea where I was to stay for 6 months with my mother’s brother and his son and daughter who were close to my age.
The 11 plus had been in February and in August my mother came out of hospital and we were moved into a requisitioned house with what had been salvaged of our belongings. Unfortunately all my pets, which included dog, cat, guinny pigs, rabbit and canaries had all been killed. However news came that I had passed my 11 plus exam and obtained a place in the Grammar School starting in September...so I had only missed the summer term.
My Eleven Plus Exam
I was the token Protestant at a Catholic Primary School from the age of 6. My mother had gone to the Grammar School to ask which Primary School had the best record of success in the 11 plus exams...and was told St.Peter & St Paul’s School.
Despite being Protestant she took me off for an interview with Mr Bolsover the Headmaster. I remember this vividly to this day because Mr Bolsover was a very tall man with flared nostrils. I could see right up his hairy nose and was transfixed by the sight. Despite this he agreed to take me on as a pupil.
My progress proceeded smoothly as I was considered a model pupil with one blemish only on my record. I was amazed that whenever the teacher turned to write on the blackboard somebody would speak to their neighbour. This infuriated the teacher and she would start an escalating series of threats to find the perpetrator. “Who spoke?” she would demand.”If you do not own up it is a cardinal sin”….silence. In a louder voice “If you do not own up now it is a mortal sin”….silence. “ You now risk eternal damnation for not owning up”.
I wondered what on earth the punishment could be (for speaking behind the teacher’s back) that was worth the risk of eternal damnation if you could not get to confess in time to the Priest for absolution. So one day I said “I did” (when I had not spoken...just to see what the punishment was). I was caned on each hand which really hurt. But it did not make me a believer.
The day before the 11 plus we were given a new pencil, a protractor and a new ruler (rare in wartime) and told that “without these you will not be allowed to take the exam tomorrow...do not forget”. I went home to prepare. At about 5.0.am our house was flattened by a bomb. I was uninjured but only dug out of the rubble at 7.0.am. I was wrapped in a blanket and asked which school I went to. They then took me to the Priest’s house for shelter (assuming I was Catholic).
To this day I feel a little guilty because I did not like to tell the Priest I was not Catholic. He put me up for 2 nights...telling me that I did not need to go to school the next day. “But I do have to go to school because it is my 11 plus exam” I explained. Eventually he realised I was not “in shock”, and phoned the police. They came for me and took me to the Town Hall where a locked room contained discarded clothes..because I was of course in my pyjamas. I dressed in whatever I could find...but shoes were tricky.
I was then told that neither my mother or father had been found. However they (the police) would take me to the Grammar School for my first exam and pick me up again at lunchtime. I explained that I would not be allowed to take the exam because I did not have my pencil ,ruler or protractor. “Do not worry lad” I was reassured “just tell them what has happened to you”.I begged the policeman to wait outside the school until I was safely inside.
The was a queue of boys all clutching their pencils, rulers and protractors. When I reached the front of the queue and could not produce mine, the teacher flew into a fury and told me to go home. When I tried to explain it was to no avail, I was not listened to and sent away. Fortunately the policeman witnessed this and intervened, giving “hell” to the teacher involved. I was grudgingly given a stub of pencil and used other bits and took my place at the exam desk.
I now had to take myself in hand because I thought I could be an orphan. I decided I must pass because I owed it to my parents (even if they were dead). Concentration was still not that easy.
At lunchtime the policeman collected me (for lunch with the Priest) and said that my father was OK and had been putting out incenduries in the next street when our house was hit. This was the stage in the war when the Germans dropped incenduries at night to light up their targets. Therefore most adults would rush out of the shelters to extinguish the “fires” before the bombs arrived. This was a nightly occurrence in South London. No sign of my mother however.
The afternoon exam passed like the morning one and when the policeman came to collect me for my second night with the Priest he was able to tell me that my mother had been found, but was gravely injured and in an oxygen tent in the local hospital...but not to be visited. My father had gone off to stay somewhere and I could not speak to him either.
The final exam (3 0f 3) the following morning had me bidding farewell to the Priest being picked up by my father and put on a train to Swansea where I was to stay for 6 months with my mother’s brother and his son and daughter who were close to my age.
The 11 plus had been in February and in August my mother came out of hospital and we were moved into a requisitioned house with what had been salvaged of our belongings. Unfortunately all my pets, which included dog, cat, guinny pigs, rabbit and canaries had all been killed. However news came that I had passed my 11 plus exam and obtained a place in the Grammar School starting in September...so I had only missed the summer term.
9 Mick Barratt -- 1946 - 52
Mum took me to Horne Bros in Croydon to be fitted out with my school uniform. The school colours were green and lavender, as Mitcham was renowned for its lavender fields which disappeared early in the war to grow food crops.
So,in September I joined with about 30 others in our brand-new outfits ready for a new life.
The school was so different to Pollards Hill. The three of us (me, John Barry and Jack Laming) who were pals from our infant schooldays, all started together. Over the next few years we drifted apart. Jack (no longer Jacky) was keen on sports and drifted into the rugby community. John and I remained close until I left school after which we had no contact.
We were divided into houses which seemed a bit odd at the beginning but later, with rugby matches, the competitive nature of house membership and loyalty became especially important. Academic achievements were also treated in a similar way to sports. I hated all sport activities and still do, over 70 years later.
New subjects were Latin and French, which I quite enjoyed. At earlier schools I was rather good at mathematics but now, we also had “Applied Mathematics” which had me confused for a while.
All the teaching staff seemed to have quirks, which made them memorable, but they all managed to give us boys a good education and preparation for later life. Here are a few examples. •Mr Marsh, our applied maths master was magical at getting the subject into our heads.
•Mr Judge, Latin, was a tall man with strict discipline. After my first year he disappeared and we were told he had a brain tumour. He had an operation which left him blind but he returned to the school in a very short time. He adapted extremely quickly to his blindness and could accurately hit a target with the black-board duster if someone was talking. •Mr Lewis, Latin and French, was always very well dressed and had a military type of erect posture. I do not know if he had a military background. •Monsieur Monnaie, French, was an elderly Frenchman who spoke poor English but taught us a variety of French swear words. •Mr Clemas, English literature, was of small stature and wore spectacles making him the image of his nickname “Dicky Bird”. The textbooks were kept locked in a tall, free standing cupboard which he unlocked at the start of each lesson. However, before his arrival in the room, several boys tipped the cupboard so that the books inside fell onto the locked doors. Consequently, on unlocking the doors, he was showered with a cascade of books. •Mr Woodiwiss, woodwork. This was another example of learning a useful craft for future life.
•Miss Whitelegg, Art. The only thing I remember about this only female teacher was when she supervised playtime breaks any boy caught misbehaving was slapped on the inner thighs (there were no long trousers then). •Mr Martindale, PT. He hated boys who were not able to perform all the athletic tortures. •Mr Cook, I cannot recall his subject but he was a kleptomaniac and often the Headmaster (Dr Doig) would come into the classroom, pick up Mr Cook’s nice wicker basket and instruct one of us boys to take the contents back to Woolworths. The store had an arrangement with the Head and everyone seemed happy with it.
•Mr Hopton, chemistry. There were several tricks we played to his Bunsen burner. He must have taught us well as we (out of class) often created explosives. I remember Nitrogen triiodide was stable in solution which we painted on the black board. As it dried it left a layer of invisible explosive crystals which resulted in satisfying sharp cracks when the master started writing on the board. The ultimate was when we made nitro-glycerine. Only an exceedingly small amount was made but it resulted in a good bang when we poured it out of the window. •Mr Whitely, physics. One experiment he was demonstrating required hydrogen. He had the usual setup of a flask containing pieces of zinc with a tube for adding hydrochloric acid to produce the hydrogen. He needed more hydrogen so reached out to pick up the hydrochloric acid but did not notice it was a bottle of ammonia solution. However, we boys did notice it and were aware of what would happen. As his face re-appeared from the large white cloud, he exclaimed “You saw I had the wrong bottle, didn’t you!” •Rev Ayerst, religious instruction. The least said the better. He soon disappeared after one boy reported him after he and a few others were invited to his vicarage at Titsey for a weekend.
In my early years at the school, I became interested in electronics. I built a “cat’s whisker” receiver at about 11 years old, managing to purchase a pair of headphones, the crystal (with the wire cat’s whisker which one could adjust to find the best spot on the crystal for reception) and a variable capacitor for tuning. I wound the coil with enamelled copper wire around a cardboard Bird’s Custard package. After this initiation I became hooked. I decided to “improve” my parent’s radio (or wireless as it was then). I made a small metal box with a chassis to contain parts of the power supply within the radio. I removed the mains transformer, the double-diode rectifier valve, and capacitors (they were called condensers then) and installed them in my new box with a multi pin connector connecting back to the radio. I thought this would then give me a general-purpose power supply for future projects. My parents were extremely tolerant especially when I often dripped molten solder on the carpet! What an idiot I was. I never used the power unit on anything else but it was good practice.
I regularly took bus trips to London visiting ex-government electronic stores in Lisle Street or Tottenham Court Road which were full of such wonders for extraordinarily little money. I used to buy all sorts of radio or radar units that were full of components. Some units were quite heavy but I cannot remember how I managed to get the home on the bus. At home, I used to carefully unsolder and store them. I still have some of them. I managed to get an 1155 aircraft receiver which I modified by including a power supply and amplifier. This was my pride and joy but stupidly I cannot remember what happened to it. I also built a super amplifier unit in an Imhof case with chrome handles using a matched pair of KT66 beam tetrodes, which was the crème of the crème in those days. That also disappeared with the receiver. Out of ex-government spare parts, I also built a lovely oscilloscope, all to my own design. I must have been quite clever then. All of the electronic work formed a firm base for my future. It would be possible to write a whole book about my years at Mitcham but I must limit it to one chapter. My later years at the school were marred by ill health and just before the A level exams I was hospitalised with abdominal pains. In my first year, I was admitted to the Wilson hospital as I needed to be circumcised (an embarrassing experience for a 12 year old). Of course, it went wrong and I lost a lot of blood. At least it excused me from gym for a while. Then in my sixth year, as a 17 year old, I was hospitalised again with recurring abdominal pains. It was quite an experience being in a ward with about 20 mostly old men in the Wilson Hospital. The first few days were filled by tests and theories of what could be wrong until they opened me up to have a look.
Apparently there was a great deal of infection from a rotten appendix so they removed it and gave a general clean-up. Some two years later after I had left school, I was still having problems so I was re-admitted to the hospital and they removed my gall bladder which had suffered from the infection. All three operations were performed by a Mr Mulvani (probably the wrong spelling) who was quoted to be an Italian count. He was also known as “The Butcher” which well described his surgical expertise. However, I survived. On release after this last operation, the young registrar explained to me that the rest of my life would be changed. If I avoided alcohol and fatty food I would probably live through my thirties. At that time of my life 40 seemed quite old anyway! I have enjoyed alcohol and fatty food since then with no obvious effects, apart from my weight. I was at least 5 weeks in hospital away from school and missed my exams. Also, I was in the middle of painting a mural on a wall by the gym. There were several boys involved on this project of painting murals around the school with a general theme of sporting activities (not my choice). My painting was about cycling and it was a country scene with bicycles laying on a bank of grass and the cyclists taking a break. Sadly, I decided to leave school then and I have no idea what happened to my piece of artwork. One of the last things I remember at school was in February 1952, during a Latin lesson by Mr Lewis, the headmaster came in, whispered to him and left. Mr Lewis stood there a while and then said “The king is dead. Please turn to page 56”.
The decision to leave school was not easy but the thought of repeating the year to sit the exams was rather a blow and I was being advised by my uncle John (Dr John Mills) to get some experience in the world. He was a scientific doctor in chemistry who had been a creator of melaminein aircraft propellors. He thought there were too many university graduates without any practical experience. My father then arranged an apprenticeship course for me at his firm where I would be in the research establishment with evening classes to get a BSc.
10 John Dunbar Walsh -- 1946 - 53
Schooldays in Mitcham
We soon discovered that you could divert Marsh from mathematics by asking for a synopsis of the plot of that year’s opera. My class, bred on MoF orange juice, possessors of our own National Identity Card numbers, shrapnel collectors, street-wise before the expression had been invented, found that you could also get him going on crossword puzzle clues. He used to do the Ximenes puzzle in “The Observer” and one Monday spent a good part of the lesson leading us to the answer “La Gioconda”, from a clue that included “motor car”. The car was of course the Lagonda, a model that, like “Boggy” himself, they don’t make any more.
1951 was the first year of the new GCE examination, replacing the School Certificate, and for no good reason it had a lower age limit. Four of us – Shulman, Steele, Stone and Walsh, had arrived too early. So we did our A levels while continuing in a dilletante sort of way to dabble in some more junior subjects, treading water till the tide of our years caught up. Four A-level subjects and four more at O level, and still time for diversions, in my case including the weekly crossword in the “Listener”. One memorable week I completed it for the first time, sent it in, felt sure I must win the prize. I explained all this to Purbrick, the English master. “Bloody obvious, George,” he said. He called all pupils George just as Sammy Cook called everyone Colonel – a total mystery. We called Purbrick Bill, that being his name, but my brother and his contemporaries had used Tuppence, for in those days when grassy Croydon had been London’s airport, Walls’s ice-cream had cost a penny a cornet or two-pence per brick.
I left Mitcham completely and immediately on leaving school, but there were occasional reminders. I thought I saw Jim Hubner at a Promenade Concert in 1954. In 1956, John Barry invited me to a party at the place in Kingston where he was studying architecture. In 1957 I had a postcard from David Rix in Colombo, saying he was finding it difficult to settle down: no address, which made his point. In the early sixties, I read of Ronnie Shulman (Jurisprudence, Oxford) having to leg it sharpish to Brazil after an affair reported in the popular press as the Nude-Photo-and-Shilling Will case. About the same time, I began to believe, and was later able to verify, that the Alan Simpson who wrote television scripts with Ray Galton was “our” Alan Simpson. I watched Geoff Reynolds nearly become “Mastermind” on television and in 1975 discovered that the young man called David Bishop who taught biology in Chelmsford was an old Mitchamian. Some time in the mid-1980s I met one of Bob Gillard’s research students on Reading station.
Crossword puzzles provided weft to this sparse warp. Purbrick continued to win book tokens from the “Listener” as did on a couple of occasions a certain Miss E M Whitelegg. Could it be she, scourge of Latin students and inamorata of Rushworth (woodwork), he who once played for Surrey second XI? Almost certainly yes, for she sported an address with “Magna” in it. In 1965, the thousandth Ximenes puzzle was published and we went to the celebratory dinner at the Café Royale, an event honoured by the presence of the great Stephen Sondheim. Much lower down the guest list I found my old headmaster and his spouse: Mr & Mrs A J Doig. He astonished me by saying that he had never actually been able to complete and submit a puzzle.
In 1972, staying in Reigate overnight, I went to Mitcham. I was surprised to find the school lit-up and busy at night; it was an open evening for the parents of new pupils. Surprise became amazement as I read the notice-board. The school had changed in every possible way: status (comprehensive for grammar), age-group (middle for secondary), religion (it was now Catholic), even sex (it was now mixed).
Two girls, thinking me there for putative-parental reasons, showed me round, and after a tour of all the buildings, “old” and “new”, I stood at that dead centre, on the brass compass inlaid in the hall floor below the bell-tower. Memories came from all directions. Over there had stood Monnaie, on a chair, to make his farewell speech. He began: “Old Monn is dead…”. Strong men would have wept. There strutted Ayerst, vicar of the village of Titsey, Frazer-Nash owner and paederast. How stunned we were to see this fat and odious man defeat the lean and gentlemanly Lewis at badminton, right here: were the gods sleeping? Up there, poor Hopton coughed away in the chemistry lab, still feeling the effects of the Somme gas after all that time. And next door, in the physics lab, Whitely coughed too, but only because of the herbal mixture he smoked in his pipe. He smiled once in seven years, when we offered him tweezers to pick up some spilt mercury: time stood still for a second. And there, the scene of our distress at the announcement of Doig’s successor, from Manchester Grammar School rather than the home-grown Lewis; and how right we were, for Courteney proved to be a thoroughly fatuous man, who told us that we should start a few school traditions, suggesting that one might be that the alley behind the laboratory block, (where one seldom needed and never wanted to go) should be called the Grecians’ Corridor, and restricted to members of the sixth form. What a toe-curler!
So there I stood, punch-drunk with all these memories. Then the girls came back with tea and a plate of biscuits. They were smiling and talkative. Their eyes were bright. Had I that grace, once?
11 Al Barclay -- 1946 - 54
I was very saddened to hear of the deaths of Ken Birch and Mick Smith. Ken and I had known each other since we were five and in the Infants at PollardsHill School. We were in contact a few months ago and he seemed quite upbeat about his health which had not been too good.
Two of my grandsons have been asking me to take them to Mitcham and show them where I went to school and where I used to live when I was doodlebugged in 1944.
My intention was also to take a photo of Ken's old house on Lyndhurst Avenue and present him with a copy at the next reunion.
You also mentioned Howard Lidiard who was someone I did not know too well at school but back in 1973 my wife and I plus our two very small daughters were holidaying in St. Andrews in Fife. We drove onto a deserted beach at a place called Kingsbarns when another car came and parked beside us. The driver turned out to be Howard who at the time was a lecturer at Glenrothes University. We were both still quite young at the time and I don't know how many more years he worked there but it could have been a good many years more. Perhaps the university would have some idea of his whereabouts.
I noticed also Brian Ward's name in the In Memoriam list. I knew Brian quite well. His nickname was always "Piggy" for reasons unknown. He was a really good cricketer who later played for Mitcham Cricket Club. We were prefects together and our two girl friends at the time were great friends.
Mick Smith was always one of the leading characters in the G and S productions. His best friend has always been Alan Hubbard and when Mick's brother was a neighbour of mine he and Alan would often call on me. The pair of them would write scripts which they sold to Alan Simpson who in turn sold them to Tony Hancock. They were also a comedy duo in their own right who appeared as De Havilland and Beck, a name they borrowed from a local building firm. They appeared at the old Nuffield Centre in London, a theatre which specialised in entertaing military personnel.
Donald Steel was always a close friend of mine. He was a brilliant scholar was always top of the class. His average in four A- levels was 86 per cent. He specialised in History and became a leading archivist who wrote many books. He had an older brother at the school whose name was Jim.
I was very saddened to hear of the deaths of Ken Birch and Mick Smith. Ken and I had known each other since we were five and in the Infants at PollardsHill School. We were in contact a few months ago and he seemed quite upbeat about his health which had not been too good.
Two of my grandsons have been asking me to take them to Mitcham and show them where I went to school and where I used to live when I was doodlebugged in 1944.
My intention was also to take a photo of Ken's old house on Lyndhurst Avenue and present him with a copy at the next reunion.
You also mentioned Howard Lidiard who was someone I did not know too well at school but back in 1973 my wife and I plus our two very small daughters were holidaying in St. Andrews in Fife. We drove onto a deserted beach at a place called Kingsbarns when another car came and parked beside us. The driver turned out to be Howard who at the time was a lecturer at Glenrothes University. We were both still quite young at the time and I don't know how many more years he worked there but it could have been a good many years more. Perhaps the university would have some idea of his whereabouts.
I noticed also Brian Ward's name in the In Memoriam list. I knew Brian quite well. His nickname was always "Piggy" for reasons unknown. He was a really good cricketer who later played for Mitcham Cricket Club. We were prefects together and our two girl friends at the time were great friends.
Mick Smith was always one of the leading characters in the G and S productions. His best friend has always been Alan Hubbard and when Mick's brother was a neighbour of mine he and Alan would often call on me. The pair of them would write scripts which they sold to Alan Simpson who in turn sold them to Tony Hancock. They were also a comedy duo in their own right who appeared as De Havilland and Beck, a name they borrowed from a local building firm. They appeared at the old Nuffield Centre in London, a theatre which specialised in entertaing military personnel.
Donald Steel was always a close friend of mine. He was a brilliant scholar was always top of the class. His average in four A- levels was 86 per cent. He specialised in History and became a leading archivist who wrote many books. He had an older brother at the school whose name was Jim.
10a Jack Simmons -- 1949 - 54
A Memory of Mitcham
I moved to Mitcham in 1941 as a 3 year old having been "bombed out" elsewhere. Many of the memories in these pages are similar to mine. But perhaps not this- As a ten year old my mate Tony Burls and I lived near the Swan Inn. We went for a swim in the Seven Islands one fine day. We hid our clothes and towels in some bushes and had our swim, more of a paddle really. Unfortunately someone stole our clothes and towels and we had to walk back home almost naked, past Fair Green and Monarch Parade. It still causes merriment to this day.
I lived at 2 Bond Road, the "Balsa Wood Factory", making Skyleada model airplane kits, was over the back fence. When the workers went home I used to jump over the fence and scrounge scraps from the incinerator and their dump to make my models.
We later moved to Maple Close where I found a friend in Derek Bentley, two years my senior. Derek was a great aeromodeller and I learnt much from him. We flew on the green off Oakleigh Way until the neighbours complained about the noise. We were banished to the Common, later Epsom Racecourse. The passion for aeromodelling led to a career in aviation.
I went to Mitcham County Grammar School for Boys between 1949 and 1954. The Headmaster was the haughty Mr Doig. My favourite was history teacher "Charlie" Madden. Others were "Rusty" Norton, Jones the French and Jones the Art, "Colonel" Cook, "Blind Pew" Judge. He was almost blind and once mistook a raincoat hanging up for a boy walking about. One very brave soul put him right. Mr Woodiwiss once attacked a boy with a piece of wood; he left shortly after with a brain tumour. "Podge" Ayerst left in "unfortunate" circumstances about a boy. I didn't understand then but I do now. Poor M. Debevere tried to teach French but couldn't control the class. Mr Doig swept into the room one day and nominated three at random for a caning. I was one. We never complained about anything, it was shameful to do so. M. Debevere lost his job.
We were always exercising and having showers, we were very fit and clean. I never really liked school but I now admit they did a good job of giving us a general education, fitting us for a varied life.
I also went to the Baptist Church on London Road, a very worthy institution. One of my favourite place was the Library. It was a lovely place, all polished wood and leather seats in beautiful condition. I loved the books and the Newspaper Room, I spent a lot of time there, reading, browsing, and dreaming.
I left for Australia in 1961. I visited Mitcham in 1995; it had gone downhill - too many cars, litter everywhere. Monarch Parade, once so fine, was more like a Third World place.
But I still think of Mitcham as home. An interesting place with many curious memories.
Apr 2nd, 2013
Jack Simmons -- 1949-54 - a Memory of Mitcham.
I moved to Mitcham in 1941 as a 3 year old having been "bombed out" elsewhere. Many of the memories in these pages are similar to mine. But perhaps not this- As a ten year old my mate Tony Burls and I lived near the Swan Inn. We went for a swim in the Seven Islands one fine day. We hid our clothes and towels in some bushes and had our swim, more of a paddle really. Unfortunately someone stole our clothes and towels and we had to walk back home almost naked, past Fair Green and Monarch Parade. It still causes merriment to this day.
I lived at 2 Bond Road, the "Balsa Wood Factory", making Skyleada model airplane kits, was over the back fence. When the workers went home I used to jump over the fence and scrounge scraps from the incinerator and their dump to make my models.
We later moved to Maple Close where I found a friend in Derek Bentley, two years my senior. Derek was a great aeromodeller and I learnt much from him. We flew on the green off Oakleigh Way until the neighbours complained about the noise. We were banished to the Common, later Epsom Racecourse. The passion for aeromodelling led to a career in aviation.
I went to Mitcham County Grammar School for Boys between 1949 and 1954. The Headmaster was the haughty Mr Doig. My favourite was history teacher "Charlie" Madden. Others were "Rusty" Norton, Jones the French and Jones the Art, "Colonel" Cook, "Blind Pew" Judge. He was almost blind and once mistook a raincoat hanging up for a boy walking about. One very brave soul put him right. Mr Woodiwiss once attacked a boy with a piece of wood; he left shortly after with a brain tumour. "Podge" Ayerst left in "unfortunate" circumstances about a boy. I didn't understand then but I do now. Poor M. Debevere tried to teach French but couldn't control the class. Mr Doig swept into the room one day and nominated three at random for a caning. I was one. We never complained about anything, it was shameful to do so. M. Debevere lost his job.
We were always exercising and having showers, we were very fit and clean. I never really liked school but I now admit they did a good job of giving us a general education, fitting us for a varied life.
I also went to the Baptist Church on London Road, a very worthy institution. One of my favourite place was the Library. It was a lovely place, all polished wood and leather seats in beautiful condition. I loved the books and the Newspaper Room, I spent a lot of time there, reading, browsing, and dreaming.
I left for Australia in 1961. I visited Mitcham in 1995; it had gone downhill - too many cars, litter everywhere. Monarch Parade, once so fine, was more like a Third World place.
But I still think of Mitcham as home. An interesting place with many curious memories.
Apr 2nd, 2013
I moved to Mitcham in 1941 as a 3 year old having been "bombed out" elsewhere. Many of the memories in these pages are similar to mine. But perhaps not this- As a ten year old my mate Tony Burls and I lived near the Swan Inn. We went for a swim in the Seven Islands one fine day. We hid our clothes and towels in some bushes and had our swim, more of a paddle really. Unfortunately someone stole our clothes and towels and we had to walk back home almost naked, past Fair Green and Monarch Parade. It still causes merriment to this day.
I lived at 2 Bond Road, the "Balsa Wood Factory", making Skyleada model airplane kits, was over the back fence. When the workers went home I used to jump over the fence and scrounge scraps from the incinerator and their dump to make my models.
We later moved to Maple Close where I found a friend in Derek Bentley, two years my senior. Derek was a great aeromodeller and I learnt much from him. We flew on the green off Oakleigh Way until the neighbours complained about the noise. We were banished to the Common, later Epsom Racecourse. The passion for aeromodelling led to a career in aviation.
I went to Mitcham County Grammar School for Boys between 1949 and 1954. The Headmaster was the haughty Mr Doig. My favourite was history teacher "Charlie" Madden. Others were "Rusty" Norton, Jones the French and Jones the Art, "Colonel" Cook, "Blind Pew" Judge. He was almost blind and once mistook a raincoat hanging up for a boy walking about. One very brave soul put him right. Mr Woodiwiss once attacked a boy with a piece of wood; he left shortly after with a brain tumour. "Podge" Ayerst left in "unfortunate" circumstances about a boy. I didn't understand then but I do now. Poor M. Debevere tried to teach French but couldn't control the class. Mr Doig swept into the room one day and nominated three at random for a caning. I was one. We never complained about anything, it was shameful to do so. M. Debevere lost his job.
We were always exercising and having showers, we were very fit and clean. I never really liked school but I now admit they did a good job of giving us a general education, fitting us for a varied life.
I also went to the Baptist Church on London Road, a very worthy institution. One of my favourite place was the Library. It was a lovely place, all polished wood and leather seats in beautiful condition. I loved the books and the Newspaper Room, I spent a lot of time there, reading, browsing, and dreaming.
I left for Australia in 1961. I visited Mitcham in 1995; it had gone downhill - too many cars, litter everywhere. Monarch Parade, once so fine, was more like a Third World place.
But I still think of Mitcham as home. An interesting place with many curious memories.
Apr 2nd, 2013
Jack Simmons -- 1949 - 54
12b Mitcham County Grammar School for Boys Remembered
Memory is a selective thing, the best is easy, but the mind glosses over the worst. Some things recollected as certainties turn out to be not quite so. These are things that I remember although I can’t guarantee their accuracy.
I lived in Bond Road behind the “Balsa Wood Factory” actually Skyleada Model Aircraft Kit manufacturers. I went to Bond Road Primary School then Western Road Secondary School. In 1948. I failed the 11 plus exam that year but my friend Howard Lidiard passed. In 1949 I scraped in after an interview with the headmaster, Mr Doig. It was quite an ordeal never having met such a lofty person before. Howard accompanied me on my first day for which I was very thankful.
Some of the boys in that 1949 intake.
Ralph Smith, Smith MG, Smith MJ, Ken Collins, John Davis, Jack(?) Davis, Brian Moore, Ken Meade, Michael Poncia, “Chick” Henn, Brian Foster, Harold Scotting, Robert Bristow, Fielder, Coward, Hunt, Skinner, Gillett, Watkins, Moyce.
Teachers.
Some of the teachers over my five years in descending order of preference-
Mr “Boggy” Marsh - Maths and General Science. A great teacher with relaxed control over the class. His interest was astronomy and he was easily led astray from the lesson to discuss his pet subject. I can still hear him saying “at last a red herring” as a question was deliberately asked which had a reference to astronomy.
Mr “Charlie” Madden - History. I don’t know why he was called Charlie, maybe something to do with the comedian Cheerful Charlie Chester. I liked his fresh and breezy manner; I like history to this day and am grateful to him for getting me interested. I would have got an “O” level easily but the GCE paper had subjects I had never heard of. I was definitely cheated.
Mr Hallam - Geography. No nickname! I liked geography and still do. I got an O level. A triumph for him more than me.
Mr “Rusty” Norton - English Language and Literature. We were fans of Geoff Duke and Ray Amm on their 500cc Manx Nortons in the TT Races, hence “Rusty”. Don’t know why. He must have been a good teacher because even with my apathy to study I got O levels in those two subjects.
Mr “ Tim” Harper - General Science. He had the habit of closing his eyes for several second whilst talking. There was a chemistry teacher who was a bit sleepy. They were known as Weary Willie and Tired Tim after two cartoon characters. Despite that he was an engaging teacher of an interesting subject.
Mr Holmes - Music. Taught classical music but did play a boogie woogie number once which went down well. We were assembled in the gym once for a musical treat. In came this stocky, bearded singer who sang “You’ll forget the Little Ploughboy” in soprano. It was so funny we got the giggles and we just couldn’t stop. There were mutterings of retribution but it’s just wasn't that easy to stop a whole row of us choking back the laughter. He was Alfred Deller. I heard a programme about him recently, apparently quite famous for his voice all those years ago. I still smile at the memory of that performance.
Mr Jones - French. Known as “Jones the French”. He was OK; we all struggled with interest as we thought that it would be more useful if the French learned English. We had a book once about some French criminal called “Slim Kerrigan”. I used to be known as “Sim” but Michael Poncia started calling me “Slim” a name that stuck. I’m not slim now.
Mr Jones - Art. Known as “Jones the Art”. Harmless but not very engaging. He had a 1920s Austin Seven, an open tourer. Somebody tied some tin cans under it and he clattered off down the road to hoots of laughter. Apparently he took it all in good heart and didn’t seek retribution.
Mr “Pepper” Wright - Mr Samuels. Maths. Can’t remember anything much about them. Couldn’t have been too bad. I did get an “O” level which was the most useful thing I got from school.
Mr “Pubby” Pirbright - I remember his voice but not what he taught.
Monsieur Debevere - French. He was Polish and just couldn’t control the class with many students getting silly, but not me. Mr Doig swept into the class one day, total silence fell. He pointed to three boys at random and told them to stand outside his office where they later received three strokes of the cane. In a grave miscarriage of justice I was one. Poor M. Debevere left shortly afterwards. I felt sorry for him and hoped he found a more suitable position; he was much too gentle for adolescent boys.
Mr “Marty” Martindale - PT. Not a very pleasant person, I suspect he didn’t like his job. But we were fit and clean.
Mr Judge - Latin. Unkindly known as “Blind Pew” because of his almost complete blindness. I found his lessons unpleasant, he was always listening intently for any misdemeanour. We all understood his problem but there was always tension. He once told a boy to sit down and pointed at him. One brave soul told him it was a raincoat hanging up at the back. Grim Silence. I must confess that once Ken Collins and I were hopelessly behind with our homework. We sneaked into the class at lunch break and copied Skinner’s usually excellent work (sorry about that, Skinner). We put in a few deliberate mistakes. Mr Judge listened to homework in alphabetical order, Ken and I got through but Skinner coming later roused his suspicions about copying and we nearly had a catastrophe. Fortunately he let it go.
Mr Woodiwiss - Woodwork. Most unpleasant. He once told us he had a brain tumour. I remember him attacking one boy with a piece of wood for some error in his work. He left shortly afterwards, I believe he died from that tumour.
Mr “Podge” Ayerst - Maths. I don’t remember much about him except that I was glad I didn’t have him after the first year. He left in “unfortunate circumstances”. I didn’t really know what that meant then but I do now. He was alleged to be the Vicar of Titsey in Kent; you can imagine the hilarity that caused. When he died a year or two later some boys cycled up there to check on his grave.
Sport and Fitness.
Rugby, cricket, cross country running, athletics, swimming. You couldn’t complain about lack of sport. Plus PT. With showers after everything we were very clean. One of my abiding memories was having a wet towel in my satchel most days. I am most impressed with the way everyone was expected to participate, only one boy being excused with a doctor’s certificate.
The Grand Cross Country and the Grand Relay each year were great examples of total participation.
My introduction to rugby started with the ball being kicked into my solar plexus. I went down in agony and heard some boy saying “Please Sir, Simmons is injured” The reply was “Get on with the game, he’s only winded”. I survived. I enjoyed rugby, sloshing about in the mud on that ground near the windmill. “Chick” Henn was our Black House Captain being built for the game. I was fleet of foot and played on the wing, occasionally scoring a try.
Our introduction to swimming consisted of Marty assembling us on the side of the pool at Mitcham Baths and simply saying “jump in and hold onto the side”. A very effective start, I think most of us quickly learnt to swim. Some of us use to go before school, at twopence a time it was good value.
Manners and Discipline.
School uniform was an absolute necessity. All teachers were addressed as “Sir” and we doffed our caps when meeting them outside school. Only the Head and his deputy could wield the cane but I can remember getting a cuff from Mr Samuels for fooling around at lunch time. I have no idea what goes on in schools nowadays but I doubt that it is anything like that.
There was an assumption that we were nearly all Protestants, as the Head said “Jews and Catholics are excused” at Assembly. Only a few walked out and we sang hearty Protestant Hymns.
A special treat was the outing on the day the 11 Plus exams were held. We went to Hampton Court one year, a hike in the South Downs another. My favourite was the Natural History Museum at Kensington. I was fascinated and I went on my own later. I also went in 2015, it was still good but overrun with tourists.
Finally
There was no effort to enlighten us as to what to do with our lives after leaving school. I didn’t have a clue and since National Service loomed only 12 months after leaving I wound up in an Office in the City. Having got into the RAF I eventually wound up in Australia on the nuclear tests. This later lead to working in private industry on guided missiles and with electronics companies in Adelaide. My academic achievements at Mitcham Grammar were decidedly modest but they got me through my working life.
Well done Mitcham County Grammar School for Boys.
30-Sep-16
12b Mitcham County Grammar School for Boys Remembered
Memory is a selective thing, the best is easy, but the mind glosses over the worst. Some things recollected as certainties turn out to be not quite so. These are things that I remember although I can’t guarantee their accuracy.
I lived in Bond Road behind the “Balsa Wood Factory” actually Skyleada Model Aircraft Kit manufacturers. I went to Bond Road Primary School then Western Road Secondary School. In 1948. I failed the 11 plus exam that year but my friend Howard Lidiard passed. In 1949 I scraped in after an interview with the headmaster, Mr Doig. It was quite an ordeal never having met such a lofty person before. Howard accompanied me on my first day for which I was very thankful.
Some of the boys in that 1949 intake.
Ralph Smith, Smith MG, Smith MJ, Ken Collins, John Davis, Jack(?) Davis, Brian Moore, Ken Meade, Michael Poncia, “Chick” Henn, Brian Foster, Harold Scotting, Robert Bristow, Fielder, Coward, Hunt, Skinner, Gillett, Watkins, Moyce.
Teachers.
Some of the teachers over my five years in descending order of preference-
Mr “Boggy” Marsh - Maths and General Science. A great teacher with relaxed control over the class. His interest was astronomy and he was easily led astray from the lesson to discuss his pet subject. I can still hear him saying “at last a red herring” as a question was deliberately asked which had a reference to astronomy.
Mr “Charlie” Madden - History. I don’t know why he was called Charlie, maybe something to do with the comedian Cheerful Charlie Chester. I liked his fresh and breezy manner; I like history to this day and am grateful to him for getting me interested. I would have got an “O” level easily but the GCE paper had subjects I had never heard of. I was definitely cheated.
Mr Hallam - Geography. No nickname! I liked geography and still do. I got an O level. A triumph for him more than me.
Mr “Rusty” Norton - English Language and Literature. We were fans of Geoff Duke and Ray Amm on their 500cc Manx Nortons in the TT Races, hence “Rusty”. Don’t know why. He must have been a good teacher because even with my apathy to study I got O levels in those two subjects.
Mr “ Tim” Harper - General Science. He had the habit of closing his eyes for several second whilst talking. There was a chemistry teacher who was a bit sleepy. They were known as Weary Willie and Tired Tim after two cartoon characters. Despite that he was an engaging teacher of an interesting subject.
Mr Holmes - Music. Taught classical music but did play a boogie woogie number once which went down well. We were assembled in the gym once for a musical treat. In came this stocky, bearded singer who sang “You’ll forget the Little Ploughboy” in soprano. It was so funny we got the giggles and we just couldn’t stop. There were mutterings of retribution but it’s just wasn't that easy to stop a whole row of us choking back the laughter. He was Alfred Deller. I heard a programme about him recently, apparently quite famous for his voice all those years ago. I still smile at the memory of that performance.
Mr Jones - French. Known as “Jones the French”. He was OK; we all struggled with interest as we thought that it would be more useful if the French learned English. We had a book once about some French criminal called “Slim Kerrigan”. I used to be known as “Sim” but Michael Poncia started calling me “Slim” a name that stuck. I’m not slim now.
Mr Jones - Art. Known as “Jones the Art”. Harmless but not very engaging. He had a 1920s Austin Seven, an open tourer. Somebody tied some tin cans under it and he clattered off down the road to hoots of laughter. Apparently he took it all in good heart and didn’t seek retribution.
Mr “Pepper” Wright - Mr Samuels. Maths. Can’t remember anything much about them. Couldn’t have been too bad. I did get an “O” level which was the most useful thing I got from school.
Mr “Pubby” Pirbright - I remember his voice but not what he taught.
Monsieur Debevere - French. He was Polish and just couldn’t control the class with many students getting silly, but not me. Mr Doig swept into the class one day, total silence fell. He pointed to three boys at random and told them to stand outside his office where they later received three strokes of the cane. In a grave miscarriage of justice I was one. Poor M. Debevere left shortly afterwards. I felt sorry for him and hoped he found a more suitable position; he was much too gentle for adolescent boys.
Mr “Marty” Martindale - PT. Not a very pleasant person, I suspect he didn’t like his job. But we were fit and clean.
Mr Judge - Latin. Unkindly known as “Blind Pew” because of his almost complete blindness. I found his lessons unpleasant, he was always listening intently for any misdemeanour. We all understood his problem but there was always tension. He once told a boy to sit down and pointed at him. One brave soul told him it was a raincoat hanging up at the back. Grim Silence. I must confess that once Ken Collins and I were hopelessly behind with our homework. We sneaked into the class at lunch break and copied Skinner’s usually excellent work (sorry about that, Skinner). We put in a few deliberate mistakes. Mr Judge listened to homework in alphabetical order, Ken and I got through but Skinner coming later roused his suspicions about copying and we nearly had a catastrophe. Fortunately he let it go.
Mr Woodiwiss - Woodwork. Most unpleasant. He once told us he had a brain tumour. I remember him attacking one boy with a piece of wood for some error in his work. He left shortly afterwards, I believe he died from that tumour.
Mr “Podge” Ayerst - Maths. I don’t remember much about him except that I was glad I didn’t have him after the first year. He left in “unfortunate circumstances”. I didn’t really know what that meant then but I do now. He was alleged to be the Vicar of Titsey in Kent; you can imagine the hilarity that caused. When he died a year or two later some boys cycled up there to check on his grave.
Sport and Fitness.
Rugby, cricket, cross country running, athletics, swimming. You couldn’t complain about lack of sport. Plus PT. With showers after everything we were very clean. One of my abiding memories was having a wet towel in my satchel most days. I am most impressed with the way everyone was expected to participate, only one boy being excused with a doctor’s certificate.
The Grand Cross Country and the Grand Relay each year were great examples of total participation.
My introduction to rugby started with the ball being kicked into my solar plexus. I went down in agony and heard some boy saying “Please Sir, Simmons is injured” The reply was “Get on with the game, he’s only winded”. I survived. I enjoyed rugby, sloshing about in the mud on that ground near the windmill. “Chick” Henn was our Black House Captain being built for the game. I was fleet of foot and played on the wing, occasionally scoring a try.
Our introduction to swimming consisted of Marty assembling us on the side of the pool at Mitcham Baths and simply saying “jump in and hold onto the side”. A very effective start, I think most of us quickly learnt to swim. Some of us use to go before school, at twopence a time it was good value.
Manners and Discipline.
School uniform was an absolute necessity. All teachers were addressed as “Sir” and we doffed our caps when meeting them outside school. Only the Head and his deputy could wield the cane but I can remember getting a cuff from Mr Samuels for fooling around at lunch time. I have no idea what goes on in schools nowadays but I doubt that it is anything like that.
There was an assumption that we were nearly all Protestants, as the Head said “Jews and Catholics are excused” at Assembly. Only a few walked out and we sang hearty Protestant Hymns.
A special treat was the outing on the day the 11 Plus exams were held. We went to Hampton Court one year, a hike in the South Downs another. My favourite was the Natural History Museum at Kensington. I was fascinated and I went on my own later. I also went in 2015, it was still good but overrun with tourists.
Finally
There was no effort to enlighten us as to what to do with our lives after leaving school. I didn’t have a clue and since National Service loomed only 12 months after leaving I wound up in an Office in the City. Having got into the RAF I eventually wound up in Australia on the nuclear tests. This later lead to working in private industry on guided missiles and with electronics companies in Adelaide. My academic achievements at Mitcham Grammar were decidedly modest but they got me through my working life.
Well done Mitcham County Grammar School for Boys.
30-Sep-16
13 Paddy Carpenter -- 1954 - 62
Mitcham - By Any Other Name
On the opening day of our first term at Mitcham Grammar we received what passed for a welcome - an assembly in the old hall - the only one I remember being held there; I think the gym was used from then onwards for the daily ritual with the hall reserved for lunch. For some reason the headmaster spent several minutes of this first gathering reading out a list of the new first-formers' surnames. I can't imagine why, as what followed could have been predicted, but the tedious recital passed without incident until he reached the Ms.
One of the most famous people in the world at the time, certainly in terms of male interest, was the actress Marilyn Monroe, and among our number, though not yet known to most of us, was Les Munro - 1L Whitford. When Mr Courtney intoned that provocative surname it was inevitable that an audible titter would run round the ranks of the fourth and fifth forms, and probably on upwards, as far as some of the younger masters, if truth be told.
Had it not been a very first assembly, I'm sure that the first smirking face that the head's beady eyes spotted (not for nothing was he known as Mr Toad) would have been angrily ordered from the hall to wait in the top corridor for the head's return, to be followed by an energetic six of the best. But this was the first time that sixty or so tremulous newcomers had experienced anything like this oppressive formality. Remember that all of us had, in the previous term, the last at our primary schools, been the oldest and the most recently successful pupils - top dogs. Now we were right at the bottom of the pecking order in an alien environment where everything was new and unknown. Probably this was not the moment for the head to display any despotic taste for sadism, lest a good proportion of nervous new boys should melt into quivering wrecks on the hall floor.
Toady played it cleverer. He stopped the list and his humourless eyes ranged round the far end of the hall as if mentally noting the name of every boy whose face was a single degree less than totally impassive. The murmur stopped faster than it had begun.
Welcome to MCGSB. Eight long years started thus.
The list that the head read out indicated a change in our lives; in our very identities. For our surnames now took precedence. The warm personal names used at home and our schools up to then were now officially buried, replaced by the cold and the curt. Brian and Leon became "Forsdick" and "Horrowicz" - I was a rarity in being "Carpenter AR", the extra initials accorded due to there being a contemporary in the person of "Carpenter BC". Masters were naturally addressed as "Sir" and referred to as "Mister" from Mr Lewis to Mr Woodiwiss. Later the school would rachet up to having a couple of "Doctors".
Not only were the Christian names of masters unknown; they were in the main unknowable and secret and guarded, as if to learn them would instantly shatter the disciplinary framework of the whole establishment. Needless to say, boys being boys, what was unknowable was quickly replaced by something invented and most masters were invested with a nickname. This time the secret was ours - and was equally guarded, for revelation could have had dangerous consequences. Some of the staff inevitably did get to know what they were called in the ranks, but others, such as the Toad, never could.
Certain names were automatic: Mr Marsh was going to be Boggy in any establishment and the unusual name of Purbrick had long been abbreviated to Pubs, in tune with lavatories and public houses being major sources of schoolboy humour. Mr Hallam, I think signed, himself J Harvey Hallam so he saved us the trouble of inventing something, whether it was a forename name or not. There were assigned names which may or not have been connected with actual monikers; thus we had Chas Madden, Stan Judge, Joe Martindale, Ted Gwilt (the art master who, to our delight, dressed with the strong hint of a teddy boy) and from the second form, Jim Prowse. One long-running name, appropriate to the subject he taught, was irrevocably attached to Latin master, Mr Law, known to all as Lex. There was also a Hum and later would come a Chicken, a Piggy, a Drac and a Beggarnets, but perhaps we shouldn't reveal all the names behind the names.
I was never taught by him and I think he retired by our form two but there was a white-haired master called Cooke who went by the nickname of Gaffer. He was known for three things. One was lunchtime dozing on fine days in Mitcham's answer to a sun-trap, in front of the fifth-form classroom windows. Two, was for reaching and leaving this favoured spot, not a short walk, with his master's carver chair held by its arms and clamped to his backside rather as a snail carries its shell. Third was his fabled inability to remember all the classroom names and his habit of therefore referring to most of his charges as "Colonel".
Incidentally, we never knew where Gaffer actually came from and went to with his wooden carapace for he inhabited the upper corridor from which first-formers were banned, unless for access, which we rarely needed. When we did we found the air frequently heavy with venomous odours from the chemistry lab. That was the lair of two masters of whom everyone in the school seemed to be frightened, Messrs Samuels and Hopton. Whether they were actually fearsome or we in our ignorance were subliminally equating laboratories with Frankenstein and Quatermass we never found out, as they had departed before it was time for us to study chemistry.
At our end of the corridor was the prefects' room, later to be the printing room. We were allowed to venture to its door, if asked to, but you didn't want to be asked, as it probably meant punishment. The same went for the head's study at the far end.
Prefects' first names were kept just as secret as those of masters, making them a second mysterious élite. For example, at assembly, when all the boys were in place the School Captain would turn to his deputy with "Thank you, Hobson," which was his signal to go and summon the masters waiting in the library. Some of the prefects were treated to nick-names too, like Squinting George and Fatty Forrester, the latter being the ample sergeant-major of the Combined Cadet Force, as well as a prefect. Imagine - an armed prefect.
Perhaps because our own Christian names were of no account as far as school was concerned, many of us also became known by aliases, generally monosyllabic. Thus in our year were found Oz, Pert, Nerk, Hairs, Barrel and Guffy among others. Some were ascribed alliterative names in place of their real ones; thus Keith Dymott became Danny, usually shortened to Dan, Alan Wilson became Will by the same process, while actual names were mostly abbreviated - Sam, Les, Tom, Al, Jed, Geoff and so on. We Carpenters were Baz and Pad, mine being a shortened form of what was itself an assumed name bestowed earlier by a teacher at primary school. A few went by a version of their surname, so Chris Sargent was Sarge, Peter Mackay became Mack, Dave Couzens was known as Cuzzy or Cuz. I never knew classmate Saunders' first name as to us he was always Sandy or Sand. In one case initials came into play, thus David I Gerrard got Dig.
Actually of course it's only in films that names feature much in face-to-face conversation. There they are frequently repeated to ridiculous excess. You'll notice it now that I've mentioned it and it will forever drive you mad, as it does me. In real life names are mostly only used when calling to someone or in the subject's absence.
For completeness, we shouldn't forget the school staff. Jovial caretaker Mr Perry was actually named Jim, I think, but Jim he certainly was known among his eager customers at the tuck shop. And did anyone actually know any proper names of the gardener and groundsman? I certainly didn't and always referred to him, as everyone did to my knowledge, as Fert. Fert was an aloof and a very tall man. At least I think he was tall, for he was mostly seen bent double over the flower beds with long straight legs and what looked like a very bony bottom clad in very ample, not to say oversize, flapping flannels.
Fert also maintained the school playing field, a fair walk from the school, where those of us who were not natural sportsmen were tortured with rugby in the Autumn and Spring, with athletics and cricket in the Summer term. The pitches were reputed to be on a covered over waste tip (much of Mitcham' attractive and characterful common would later be buried forever in similar officially sponsored acts of vandalism). There were rumours in the school that in the past buried items had risen to the surface of our field after heavy rainfall. Other stories said that among the dumped artefacts were retired London tramcars. With a great interest in transport in general and tramcars especially, coupled with my distaste for playing sport, I had two good reasons for fantasizing about arriving at the field for, say athletics, and finding it unusable due to a beautiful antique horse tram having appeared from muddy depths. Even the taciturn Fert might have been moved to make utterance at such an apparition.
Strangely and sadly the one sport I might possibly have been half-reasonable at was abandoned by the school just before my year arrived, possibly the term before, as I have a feeling we were the first first years to occupy a new breeze block block at the back of the school behind that original prefects' room. As I understand it, the white edifice was built on the site of - you've guessed it - the tennis courts - even though there was adjacent grass that could have been utilised. The decision meant that no Mitcham FP was now ever going to play in a final at nearby Wimbledon. What the world may have missed!
As first formers, we were reasonably well-behaved during our year in the white block outpost even though it was an out-of-the-way backwater where few masters or prefects ever ventured. There were no outstanding acts of defiance or insurrection that I can recall. Plenty of those would come later in our school careers.
For one thing only is the building particularly memorable, due to the 1M form room also being the music room. Mr Holmes was responsible for both and he ran a lunchtime music club at which senior pupils would introduce and play some of their favourite music, inevitably given the context and customs of the time, mostly classical. At home I had always been exposed to a fair variety of musical genres; my father liked both thirties' dance music and ballet while my mother enjoyed light music and the popular classics. Nevertheless I credit one meeting of the lunchtime club with beginning the process of developing my own musical preferences. It was definitely the first year as the presenter was Jackson, the School Captain of the time. (See, I have no idea what his first name was!) Whatever else he played, it was fifth movement of Beethoven Six that set me on a voyage of discovery which has continued ever since.
I didn't enjoy school, principally I think because I didn't like Mitcham itself much. Even though my friends were there, I was happier in other places. North Mitcham felt physically claustrophobic and the school psychologically so, but perhaps it had to. I've decided since that you need to experience at least a taste of the bad or unpleasant to appreciate what is better. Mitcham's visual mediocrity taught me to love unspoiled places while the unfairness that was regularly a feature of school life gave me a respect for fairness and justice. So nothing is wasted. Also, almost in spite of my strenuous efforts, I somehow received an education which turned out to be far better that I ever imagined it was at the time.
Perhaps most importantly of all, Mitcham gave me friendships which in several instances have lasted through the intervening years and which in others have been re-established in very recent times.
In some cases, I've at last even got to know their first names.
01-Oct-18
Mitcham - By Any Other Name
On the opening day of our first term at Mitcham Grammar we received what passed for a welcome - an assembly in the old hall - the only one I remember being held there; I think the gym was used from then onwards for the daily ritual with the hall reserved for lunch. For some reason the headmaster spent several minutes of this first gathering reading out a list of the new first-formers' surnames. I can't imagine why, as what followed could have been predicted, but the tedious recital passed without incident until he reached the Ms.
One of the most famous people in the world at the time, certainly in terms of male interest, was the actress Marilyn Monroe, and among our number, though not yet known to most of us, was Les Munro - 1L Whitford. When Mr Courtney intoned that provocative surname it was inevitable that an audible titter would run round the ranks of the fourth and fifth forms, and probably on upwards, as far as some of the younger masters, if truth be told.
Had it not been a very first assembly, I'm sure that the first smirking face that the head's beady eyes spotted (not for nothing was he known as Mr Toad) would have been angrily ordered from the hall to wait in the top corridor for the head's return, to be followed by an energetic six of the best. But this was the first time that sixty or so tremulous newcomers had experienced anything like this oppressive formality. Remember that all of us had, in the previous term, the last at our primary schools, been the oldest and the most recently successful pupils - top dogs. Now we were right at the bottom of the pecking order in an alien environment where everything was new and unknown. Probably this was not the moment for the head to display any despotic taste for sadism, lest a good proportion of nervous new boys should melt into quivering wrecks on the hall floor.
Toady played it cleverer. He stopped the list and his humourless eyes ranged round the far end of the hall as if mentally noting the name of every boy whose face was a single degree less than totally impassive. The murmur stopped faster than it had begun.
Welcome to MCGSB. Eight long years started thus.
The list that the head read out indicated a change in our lives; in our very identities. For our surnames now took precedence. The warm personal names used at home and our schools up to then were now officially buried, replaced by the cold and the curt. Brian and Leon became "Forsdick" and "Horrowicz" - I was a rarity in being "Carpenter AR", the extra initials accorded due to there being a contemporary in the person of "Carpenter BC". Masters were naturally addressed as "Sir" and referred to as "Mister" from Mr Lewis to Mr Woodiwiss. Later the school would rachet up to having a couple of "Doctors".
Not only were the Christian names of masters unknown; they were in the main unknowable and secret and guarded, as if to learn them would instantly shatter the disciplinary framework of the whole establishment. Needless to say, boys being boys, what was unknowable was quickly replaced by something invented and most masters were invested with a nickname. This time the secret was ours - and was equally guarded, for revelation could have had dangerous consequences. Some of the staff inevitably did get to know what they were called in the ranks, but others, such as the Toad, never could.
Certain names were automatic: Mr Marsh was going to be Boggy in any establishment and the unusual name of Purbrick had long been abbreviated to Pubs, in tune with lavatories and public houses being major sources of schoolboy humour. Mr Hallam, I think signed, himself J Harvey Hallam so he saved us the trouble of inventing something, whether it was a forename name or not. There were assigned names which may or not have been connected with actual monikers; thus we had Chas Madden, Stan Judge, Joe Martindale, Ted Gwilt (the art master who, to our delight, dressed with the strong hint of a teddy boy) and from the second form, Jim Prowse. One long-running name, appropriate to the subject he taught, was irrevocably attached to Latin master, Mr Law, known to all as Lex. There was also a Hum and later would come a Chicken, a Piggy, a Drac and a Beggarnets, but perhaps we shouldn't reveal all the names behind the names.
I was never taught by him and I think he retired by our form two but there was a white-haired master called Cooke who went by the nickname of Gaffer. He was known for three things. One was lunchtime dozing on fine days in Mitcham's answer to a sun-trap, in front of the fifth-form classroom windows. Two, was for reaching and leaving this favoured spot, not a short walk, with his master's carver chair held by its arms and clamped to his backside rather as a snail carries its shell. Third was his fabled inability to remember all the classroom names and his habit of therefore referring to most of his charges as "Colonel".
Incidentally, we never knew where Gaffer actually came from and went to with his wooden carapace for he inhabited the upper corridor from which first-formers were banned, unless for access, which we rarely needed. When we did we found the air frequently heavy with venomous odours from the chemistry lab. That was the lair of two masters of whom everyone in the school seemed to be frightened, Messrs Samuels and Hopton. Whether they were actually fearsome or we in our ignorance were subliminally equating laboratories with Frankenstein and Quatermass we never found out, as they had departed before it was time for us to study chemistry.
At our end of the corridor was the prefects' room, later to be the printing room. We were allowed to venture to its door, if asked to, but you didn't want to be asked, as it probably meant punishment. The same went for the head's study at the far end.
Prefects' first names were kept just as secret as those of masters, making them a second mysterious élite. For example, at assembly, when all the boys were in place the School Captain would turn to his deputy with "Thank you, Hobson," which was his signal to go and summon the masters waiting in the library. Some of the prefects were treated to nick-names too, like Squinting George and Fatty Forrester, the latter being the ample sergeant-major of the Combined Cadet Force, as well as a prefect. Imagine - an armed prefect.
Perhaps because our own Christian names were of no account as far as school was concerned, many of us also became known by aliases, generally monosyllabic. Thus in our year were found Oz, Pert, Nerk, Hairs, Barrel and Guffy among others. Some were ascribed alliterative names in place of their real ones; thus Keith Dymott became Danny, usually shortened to Dan, Alan Wilson became Will by the same process, while actual names were mostly abbreviated - Sam, Les, Tom, Al, Jed, Geoff and so on. We Carpenters were Baz and Pad, mine being a shortened form of what was itself an assumed name bestowed earlier by a teacher at primary school. A few went by a version of their surname, so Chris Sargent was Sarge, Peter Mackay became Mack, Dave Couzens was known as Cuzzy or Cuz. I never knew classmate Saunders' first name as to us he was always Sandy or Sand. In one case initials came into play, thus David I Gerrard got Dig.
Actually of course it's only in films that names feature much in face-to-face conversation. There they are frequently repeated to ridiculous excess. You'll notice it now that I've mentioned it and it will forever drive you mad, as it does me. In real life names are mostly only used when calling to someone or in the subject's absence.
For completeness, we shouldn't forget the school staff. Jovial caretaker Mr Perry was actually named Jim, I think, but Jim he certainly was known among his eager customers at the tuck shop. And did anyone actually know any proper names of the gardener and groundsman? I certainly didn't and always referred to him, as everyone did to my knowledge, as Fert. Fert was an aloof and a very tall man. At least I think he was tall, for he was mostly seen bent double over the flower beds with long straight legs and what looked like a very bony bottom clad in very ample, not to say oversize, flapping flannels.
Fert also maintained the school playing field, a fair walk from the school, where those of us who were not natural sportsmen were tortured with rugby in the Autumn and Spring, with athletics and cricket in the Summer term. The pitches were reputed to be on a covered over waste tip (much of Mitcham' attractive and characterful common would later be buried forever in similar officially sponsored acts of vandalism). There were rumours in the school that in the past buried items had risen to the surface of our field after heavy rainfall. Other stories said that among the dumped artefacts were retired London tramcars. With a great interest in transport in general and tramcars especially, coupled with my distaste for playing sport, I had two good reasons for fantasizing about arriving at the field for, say athletics, and finding it unusable due to a beautiful antique horse tram having appeared from muddy depths. Even the taciturn Fert might have been moved to make utterance at such an apparition.
Strangely and sadly the one sport I might possibly have been half-reasonable at was abandoned by the school just before my year arrived, possibly the term before, as I have a feeling we were the first first years to occupy a new breeze block block at the back of the school behind that original prefects' room. As I understand it, the white edifice was built on the site of - you've guessed it - the tennis courts - even though there was adjacent grass that could have been utilised. The decision meant that no Mitcham FP was now ever going to play in a final at nearby Wimbledon. What the world may have missed!
As first formers, we were reasonably well-behaved during our year in the white block outpost even though it was an out-of-the-way backwater where few masters or prefects ever ventured. There were no outstanding acts of defiance or insurrection that I can recall. Plenty of those would come later in our school careers.
For one thing only is the building particularly memorable, due to the 1M form room also being the music room. Mr Holmes was responsible for both and he ran a lunchtime music club at which senior pupils would introduce and play some of their favourite music, inevitably given the context and customs of the time, mostly classical. At home I had always been exposed to a fair variety of musical genres; my father liked both thirties' dance music and ballet while my mother enjoyed light music and the popular classics. Nevertheless I credit one meeting of the lunchtime club with beginning the process of developing my own musical preferences. It was definitely the first year as the presenter was Jackson, the School Captain of the time. (See, I have no idea what his first name was!) Whatever else he played, it was fifth movement of Beethoven Six that set me on a voyage of discovery which has continued ever since.
I didn't enjoy school, principally I think because I didn't like Mitcham itself much. Even though my friends were there, I was happier in other places. North Mitcham felt physically claustrophobic and the school psychologically so, but perhaps it had to. I've decided since that you need to experience at least a taste of the bad or unpleasant to appreciate what is better. Mitcham's visual mediocrity taught me to love unspoiled places while the unfairness that was regularly a feature of school life gave me a respect for fairness and justice. So nothing is wasted. Also, almost in spite of my strenuous efforts, I somehow received an education which turned out to be far better that I ever imagined it was at the time.
Perhaps most importantly of all, Mitcham gave me friendships which in several instances have lasted through the intervening years and which in others have been re-established in very recent times.
In some cases, I've at last even got to know their first names.
01-Oct-18
13 Jim Anslow -- 1955 - 63 & Drew Pollard -- 1956 - 63
1950s -- 60's Memories
To the left on leaving the school there was a small parade of shops consisting of Hendra's sweet shop, Barton's grocery, a butchers, a barbers and Fred Tyler's green grocers shop. Fred Tyler was often seen standing oustside his premises with his goose.
Drew Pollard used to go there lunchtimes to sneak a cigarette.
The geese would foul everywhere and more than a couple of times he got sticky soles.
Drew was in charge of the big pot of boiling beetroots from time to time while Fred vanished upstairs.
Further along was the Beehive pub and Sparrowhawke, the rag and bone family business thought to be the inspiration for the Steptoe and Son television sit-com.
Around mid-morning Sparrowhawke would let out his pigeons. They would circulate above for about a quarter of an hour.
Big argument in Drew's Music Class while awaiting Mr Holmes:-
"They are sparrowhawkes”
"The're pigeons”
"No”
"Pigeons"
Uproar!
---------------------------------------------------------
To the right on leaving the school were premises with backyards separated from the school via a wall. Robin 'Oz' Margereson arranged to leave his cycle in one of the yards and scramble over the wall if he was arriving late.
1950s -- 60's Memories
To the left on leaving the school there was a small parade of shops consisting of Hendra's sweet shop, Barton's grocery, a butchers, a barbers and Fred Tyler's green grocers shop. Fred Tyler was often seen standing oustside his premises with his goose.
Drew Pollard used to go there lunchtimes to sneak a cigarette.
The geese would foul everywhere and more than a couple of times he got sticky soles.
Drew was in charge of the big pot of boiling beetroots from time to time while Fred vanished upstairs.
Further along was the Beehive pub and Sparrowhawke, the rag and bone family business thought to be the inspiration for the Steptoe and Son television sit-com.
Around mid-morning Sparrowhawke would let out his pigeons. They would circulate above for about a quarter of an hour.
Big argument in Drew's Music Class while awaiting Mr Holmes:-
"They are sparrowhawkes”
"The're pigeons”
"No”
"Pigeons"
Uproar!
---------------------------------------------------------
To the right on leaving the school were premises with backyards separated from the school via a wall. Robin 'Oz' Margereson arranged to leave his cycle in one of the yards and scramble over the wall if he was arriving late.
On the green, the Three King's Piece, was an air-raid shelter into which the second form would throw first formers by way of any initiation ceremony. When Dr Blngham arrived at the school he had the local authority block off the access.
Another event first formers had to endure was the embarrasing crocodile formation through the town on games afternoons.
On icy mornings great amusment was gained from boys watching cyclists arriving from the Beehive bridge direction and attempting to turn right to pass through the school gates. The raucus laughter as each cyclist had his bike slide from under him caused such a racket that the fun was brought to Dr Bingham's attention and he promptly put a stop to the entertainment by demanding that cyclists dismount and push their bicycles accross the road.Another change which Dr Bingham introduced was the warning notice on the drive - 'Dead Slow Boys Crossing' to 'Drive Slowly Boys Crossing'.
On icy mornings great amusment was gained from boys watching cyclists arriving from the Beehive bridge direction and attempting to turn right to pass through the school gates. The raucus laughter as each cyclist had his bike slide from under him caused such a racket that the fun was brought to Dr Bingham's attention and he promptly put a stop to the entertainment by demanding that cyclists dismount and push their bicycles accross the road.Another change which Dr Bingham introduced was the warning notice on the drive - 'Dead Slow Boys Crossing' to 'Drive Slowly Boys Crossing'.
15a Ken Lavey 1956 to 1963
Mr. Judge
Mr. Judge was one of 2 Latin Masters at Mitcham. His colleague was Mr. Law, inevitably “Lex” to us.
Mr. Judge was an imposing man, he seemed to be 6 feet tall with large hands, feet and an austere manner. He was also blind. Consequently, it was his practice to appoint a “Secretary” for each lesson. The Secretary’s role was to be Mr. Judge’s eyes; he would sit alongside Mr. Judge and say for instance “Please Sir, Lavey has his hand up”.
One day Michael Cawdery was the Secretary. Incidentally, I believe Cawdery’s father was a cricket fan as his son’s initials were MCC. Michael had taken his place alongside Mr Judge and things were proceeding normally.
One of the characters in our class was Brian Hendley. He was sitting near the back of the class and seeking amusement, threw a piece of chalk at Cawdery. Its trajectory was beautifully judged. It arched towards Cawdery and he was able, at full stretch, to catch it silently. Mr. Judge was unaware. The entire class thought this was wonderfully funny and Cawdery smiled in a modest way. We barely managed to control our excitement, and nobody laughed out loud although several of us were rocking in our seats. Brian was encouraged and threw a second piece of chalk. This time Brian overdid things. Cawdery stretched but the chalk was just out of reach. It hit the blackboard - the silence was fearful - and then dropped to the desk where it slowly rolled in a semi-circle squeaking as it rolled.
Mr. Judge may have been blind, but his hearing was acute. One great hand instantly reached out and after a couple of taps, located and then picked up the treacherous, squeaking chalk. “Who threw this?” thundered the voice of doom. My thoughts went to mass expulsions, a lifetime spent in detention. I don’t think I was ever as scared at school as I was that day.
To his credit, Brian immediately owned up. Mr. Judge called him to the front of the class, grabbed his hair in one hand (for range) and then hit Brian around the head with the other. Again, to his credit, Brain showed no pain and great stoicism.
He was allowed to return to his seat and that was the end of the matter as far as I knew.
Nobody fooled around in Mr. Judge’s class after that.
KRL. 23.12.2019
Mr. Judge
Mr. Judge was one of 2 Latin Masters at Mitcham. His colleague was Mr. Law, inevitably “Lex” to us.
Mr. Judge was an imposing man, he seemed to be 6 feet tall with large hands, feet and an austere manner. He was also blind. Consequently, it was his practice to appoint a “Secretary” for each lesson. The Secretary’s role was to be Mr. Judge’s eyes; he would sit alongside Mr. Judge and say for instance “Please Sir, Lavey has his hand up”.
One day Michael Cawdery was the Secretary. Incidentally, I believe Cawdery’s father was a cricket fan as his son’s initials were MCC. Michael had taken his place alongside Mr Judge and things were proceeding normally.
One of the characters in our class was Brian Hendley. He was sitting near the back of the class and seeking amusement, threw a piece of chalk at Cawdery. Its trajectory was beautifully judged. It arched towards Cawdery and he was able, at full stretch, to catch it silently. Mr. Judge was unaware. The entire class thought this was wonderfully funny and Cawdery smiled in a modest way. We barely managed to control our excitement, and nobody laughed out loud although several of us were rocking in our seats. Brian was encouraged and threw a second piece of chalk. This time Brian overdid things. Cawdery stretched but the chalk was just out of reach. It hit the blackboard - the silence was fearful - and then dropped to the desk where it slowly rolled in a semi-circle squeaking as it rolled.
Mr. Judge may have been blind, but his hearing was acute. One great hand instantly reached out and after a couple of taps, located and then picked up the treacherous, squeaking chalk. “Who threw this?” thundered the voice of doom. My thoughts went to mass expulsions, a lifetime spent in detention. I don’t think I was ever as scared at school as I was that day.
To his credit, Brian immediately owned up. Mr. Judge called him to the front of the class, grabbed his hair in one hand (for range) and then hit Brian around the head with the other. Again, to his credit, Brain showed no pain and great stoicism.
He was allowed to return to his seat and that was the end of the matter as far as I knew.
Nobody fooled around in Mr. Judge’s class after that.
KRL. 23.12.2019
15b Ken Lavey 1956 to 1963
The 6th Form Go on Strike
1963
The causes are nebulous now, but I believe that generally amongst us therewas a loss of deference, and teenage rebellion was in the air but there was also discontent with the Headmaster Dr. Bingham. I, for one, was fed up with being compared adversely with pupils at his former school. He told us they were neater in their dress and grooming, harder working (theyeven begged for extra homework!) and were more sporting. He had also introduced some innovations which were not well received by the 6th form. The discontent grew and needed an outlet.
I do not know who organised the strike, but the concept gained traction and when it was coupled with the idea of a midnight hike became irresistible.
Word spread in the same way that Mods would shout “Boxhill !” at Rockers. One instinctively knew that there would a rumble at Boxhillwithout being told. So it was that the midnight hike and strike became common knowledge.
A rendezvous was arranged at Mitcham junction railway station for a given train to Dorking. I had cut things fine and had to board the train without sufficient time to buy a ticket. When we arrived at Dorking, I found Michael Cawdrey did not have a ticket as well so we 2 were the last to set off into Dorking after buying our tickets from the Inspector.
I can not recall any details of our walk through Dorking town but Derek Brushett had been appointed navigator. Whether he volunteered or was the only one with a map and torch is open to question.
Outside the town, Michael and I were in the rear of the party and caught up with the group when they were on their second circuit of a farmyard. We were noisy but not rowdy. An irate farmer appeared in his dressing gown, wellies and PJs. He was not amused but gave us directions to the public footpath which went through his farmyard. He also told us not to be so noisy the next time we passed by … he had cause as it was probably around 10.30 to 11.00 pm by this time.
Derek was fully in charge by now and set off purposefully for the Surrey Hills.
The next thing I remember is coming across the gates and drive to an imposing Georgian country home. It was past midnight by this time and the group huddled around Derek. After some discussion, it was agreed that our course ran through the grounds.
Now the Profumo scandal was in the news at this time and Ron Greenall, our history master, had a friend in journalism. So, the history group learned about the developing scandal 3 weeks before it became the gossip on “That was the week, that was”.
We passed through the gates and walked about 100 metres into the property when the house came into sight. Despite the late hour, every window was illuminated. My fevered imagination immediately thought “It’s an orgy! Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davis are inside!”
Just then I heard running feet but couldn’t see anyone in the darkness. I became aware that although I had been towards the rear of the group, some sixth sense told me that I was now in the van. A dog growled somewhere, and I fled. In those days, I was a pretty useful sprinter, but I was surprised and mortified to be one of the last of our gang to reach the gates. There was a breathless conflab around Derek, his torch and his map. It turned out that the people in front to me had heard the dog and immediately retreated, so they were running full pelt whereas I had to turnaround from a standing start.
The upshot was that we decided to scout around the mansion, its putative orgy and grounds. Derek plotted another course and off we set.
At some time, we decided to have a sleep. None of us were suitably equipped. No one had a tent or even a ground sheet. I recall that I had a lined windcheater not even a scarf, but we just flopped down. We were in a wooded valley with a stream below us and I can remember the sound of running water, the stars, and the black trees. Amazingly, we did sleep but only for a time before the cold woke us.
We pushed on and I heard the pre-dawn chorus for the first time. Derek had done a grand job in navigating us to a village to the west of Dorking. Here we happened upon a milk float and milkman who sold us pint bottles of gold top creamy milk. Nectar!
We eventually returned to Dorking railway station in time for the first train to Mitcham Junction. On the journey, Derek Wilson fell asleep and I am ashamed to say that we quietly closed the door and left him on the train at Mitcham junction. Derek subsequently told me he was awoken by a porter at Victoria.
I took the day off. Strangely no one at school asked me- and as far as I know the rest of the mutiny- why we were absent.
Ken Lavey 24.4.2021
The 6th Form Go on Strike
1963
The causes are nebulous now, but I believe that generally amongst us therewas a loss of deference, and teenage rebellion was in the air but there was also discontent with the Headmaster Dr. Bingham. I, for one, was fed up with being compared adversely with pupils at his former school. He told us they were neater in their dress and grooming, harder working (theyeven begged for extra homework!) and were more sporting. He had also introduced some innovations which were not well received by the 6th form. The discontent grew and needed an outlet.
I do not know who organised the strike, but the concept gained traction and when it was coupled with the idea of a midnight hike became irresistible.
Word spread in the same way that Mods would shout “Boxhill !” at Rockers. One instinctively knew that there would a rumble at Boxhillwithout being told. So it was that the midnight hike and strike became common knowledge.
A rendezvous was arranged at Mitcham junction railway station for a given train to Dorking. I had cut things fine and had to board the train without sufficient time to buy a ticket. When we arrived at Dorking, I found Michael Cawdrey did not have a ticket as well so we 2 were the last to set off into Dorking after buying our tickets from the Inspector.
I can not recall any details of our walk through Dorking town but Derek Brushett had been appointed navigator. Whether he volunteered or was the only one with a map and torch is open to question.
Outside the town, Michael and I were in the rear of the party and caught up with the group when they were on their second circuit of a farmyard. We were noisy but not rowdy. An irate farmer appeared in his dressing gown, wellies and PJs. He was not amused but gave us directions to the public footpath which went through his farmyard. He also told us not to be so noisy the next time we passed by … he had cause as it was probably around 10.30 to 11.00 pm by this time.
Derek was fully in charge by now and set off purposefully for the Surrey Hills.
The next thing I remember is coming across the gates and drive to an imposing Georgian country home. It was past midnight by this time and the group huddled around Derek. After some discussion, it was agreed that our course ran through the grounds.
Now the Profumo scandal was in the news at this time and Ron Greenall, our history master, had a friend in journalism. So, the history group learned about the developing scandal 3 weeks before it became the gossip on “That was the week, that was”.
We passed through the gates and walked about 100 metres into the property when the house came into sight. Despite the late hour, every window was illuminated. My fevered imagination immediately thought “It’s an orgy! Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davis are inside!”
Just then I heard running feet but couldn’t see anyone in the darkness. I became aware that although I had been towards the rear of the group, some sixth sense told me that I was now in the van. A dog growled somewhere, and I fled. In those days, I was a pretty useful sprinter, but I was surprised and mortified to be one of the last of our gang to reach the gates. There was a breathless conflab around Derek, his torch and his map. It turned out that the people in front to me had heard the dog and immediately retreated, so they were running full pelt whereas I had to turnaround from a standing start.
The upshot was that we decided to scout around the mansion, its putative orgy and grounds. Derek plotted another course and off we set.
At some time, we decided to have a sleep. None of us were suitably equipped. No one had a tent or even a ground sheet. I recall that I had a lined windcheater not even a scarf, but we just flopped down. We were in a wooded valley with a stream below us and I can remember the sound of running water, the stars, and the black trees. Amazingly, we did sleep but only for a time before the cold woke us.
We pushed on and I heard the pre-dawn chorus for the first time. Derek had done a grand job in navigating us to a village to the west of Dorking. Here we happened upon a milk float and milkman who sold us pint bottles of gold top creamy milk. Nectar!
We eventually returned to Dorking railway station in time for the first train to Mitcham Junction. On the journey, Derek Wilson fell asleep and I am ashamed to say that we quietly closed the door and left him on the train at Mitcham junction. Derek subsequently told me he was awoken by a porter at Victoria.
I took the day off. Strangely no one at school asked me- and as far as I know the rest of the mutiny- why we were absent.
Ken Lavey 24.4.2021
16 Trevor Jennings -- 1957 - 65
Memories
The tradition of 2nd formers rolling 1st formers down the air raid shelters on Mitcham Common - some sort of initiation ceremony! Bingham abolished this and got the air raid shelters removed!
I was in Lodge House and recall the house masters quite well: W T J Purbrick - who said on our first meeting ' Hello Jennings, where's Derbyshire?'.
N N Morris - who wrote on my mock O-level paper '95% is not good enough - you must aim for perfection!'. I am pleased to say that I followed in his footsteps - teaching maths and becoming Chief Examiner for Further Maths A-level with Cambridge University.
R (Bob) Bateman: who resurrected my rugby career in the upper sixth, to the extent that, in a game for the 2nd XV against Sutton GS, I scored a try, which I converted, kicked a penalty goal and a drop goal - thus scoring the only 11 points in our 11 - 0 victory. I also recall kicking two long range drop goals at Reigate GS - watched by 'Piggy' Tweddle, as our coach was absent in order to play for Rosslyn Park or Yorkshire.
Bob was also an excellent cricket coach for the 1st XI and my batting improved enormously under his tutelage.
A A Jackson - who was housemaster during inter-regnums. He was an excellent form master during O-level year; a fine musician and always willing to drop Barrie Harper and myself off on the Sutton by-pass, if buses weren't running!
Memories
The tradition of 2nd formers rolling 1st formers down the air raid shelters on Mitcham Common - some sort of initiation ceremony! Bingham abolished this and got the air raid shelters removed!
I was in Lodge House and recall the house masters quite well: W T J Purbrick - who said on our first meeting ' Hello Jennings, where's Derbyshire?'.
N N Morris - who wrote on my mock O-level paper '95% is not good enough - you must aim for perfection!'. I am pleased to say that I followed in his footsteps - teaching maths and becoming Chief Examiner for Further Maths A-level with Cambridge University.
R (Bob) Bateman: who resurrected my rugby career in the upper sixth, to the extent that, in a game for the 2nd XV against Sutton GS, I scored a try, which I converted, kicked a penalty goal and a drop goal - thus scoring the only 11 points in our 11 - 0 victory. I also recall kicking two long range drop goals at Reigate GS - watched by 'Piggy' Tweddle, as our coach was absent in order to play for Rosslyn Park or Yorkshire.
Bob was also an excellent cricket coach for the 1st XI and my batting improved enormously under his tutelage.
A A Jackson - who was housemaster during inter-regnums. He was an excellent form master during O-level year; a fine musician and always willing to drop Barrie Harper and myself off on the Sutton by-pass, if buses weren't running!
17 Tony Gorton -- 1963-68
Our School Rooms
Room I - the craft room alongside the staircase where the teachers loomed over us , and the detention book held.
Room 1 - the domain of Peter Richardson, also my first year form teacher who was allowed outside his domain to teach maths.
Room 2 - I think the domain of Mrs Green who taught french and I am still fluent in this language as long as people ask me where is my aunts fountain pen.
Rooms 3 to 7 were in the inner hall with the headmaster's room and in retrospect the senior teachers wandered between these rooms on a seemingly random basis.
Room 8 - the base for Stanley Judge who taught religious knowledge and latin.
He had dodgy sight and since my eyesight is failing I have more sympathy for him now, but who doesn't remember the claw descending on you. This was also the base for Howard Liddiard and the site of a very embarrassing error I made. I meant to read out from a book the shining taut muscles of the buttocks but instead of buttocks I said bollocks. Before someone wonders what the hell Howard was teaching us, I was reading from Shane and describing a horse. 10 seconds of utter silence followed and then an explosion of laughter led by the teacher which led to a visit from the head to see what the problem was.
Room 9 - was I think the biology lab and I never had anything to do with Mr Ashley.
Room 10 - I think was the chemistry lab where I think a Mr Tweddle ruled.
Room 11 - I think was basically a cupboard for I think the school mag but very vague in my memory.
Rooms 12 and 13 - along the corridor and apart from Luke Maile a french and maths teacher and Mr Harper aka Hum and Mr Dixon, a rather unpleasant character who since he was shorter than many of the pupils could sneak up on you.
Room 14 - I think held a printing press and was the apple of Chalky White's eye when he wasn't teaching art in Room 15.
18 Ewan Green -- 1964-69
Memories of going comprehensive
The switch over to comprehensive education could not have been timed worse for myself and my contemporaries, coming right in the middle of our sixth form "education". There was a hint of the fiasco to come when Crip chose the 1968 Speech Night to outline boldly the plans, extol the virtues and urge pupils and parents to embrace change.
Almost literally the following day it became public that he was "legging it" for another grammar school ! There then followed a mass exodus of 80% of the staff to whom we'd become accustomed and who had served us reasonably well.
My first year in the sixth form was the last in Mitcham Grammar's history. The hasty intake of new teachers was - shall we say - of mixed calibre. This included a painfully shy physics teacher, a totally bonkers history teacher (top bloke, though) and a chemistry teacher who imperilled pupils and laboratories alike when let loose with her experiments. Then there was the maths teacher who regularly used to conduct his class down at Leo's ice cream parlour.
Academic standards were on the slide!
There were some plus points. Bernard Atherton proved to be a very personable and human headmaster and the aforementioned history teacher usually had us in fits and injected a lot of energy into the school's cricket.
The very last day - Friday 26th July, 1969 - must have been quite sad. Fortunately, I missed it as I was called up to play cricket down in Eastbourne.
So to Eastfields….where the fiasco continued. Whatever planning had gone into the merger, it didn't make allowance for a sixth form and we joined a handful of lads from Eastfields in an adjacent youth centre. This comprised a few rooms with armchairs and sofas, coffee facilities and a fish tank with cannibalistic inmates. No desks, books or teachers in sight!
Not surprisingly, the temptation to lounge around swapping tales of exaggerated leisure time triumphs, drinking coffee, re-enacting the previous nights' Monty Python sketches and delighting in the spectacle of fish eating each other, was very strong. What little work we did was scribbled on a notepad resting on our knees. Needless to say, our A-level results were way short of previous MCGS standards. So for most of us it was "goodbye university- hello 3rd rate polytechnic!"
In retrospect, we should have shown a trifle more self-discipline but the environment certainly wasn't conducive to academic excellence! Whether the younger boys enjoyed a more seamless transition, only they can say. Likewise, whether the merger was ultimately successful, I don't know - but it certainly did me and my peers no favours.
Memories of going comprehensive
The switch over to comprehensive education could not have been timed worse for myself and my contemporaries, coming right in the middle of our sixth form "education". There was a hint of the fiasco to come when Crip chose the 1968 Speech Night to outline boldly the plans, extol the virtues and urge pupils and parents to embrace change.
Almost literally the following day it became public that he was "legging it" for another grammar school ! There then followed a mass exodus of 80% of the staff to whom we'd become accustomed and who had served us reasonably well.
My first year in the sixth form was the last in Mitcham Grammar's history. The hasty intake of new teachers was - shall we say - of mixed calibre. This included a painfully shy physics teacher, a totally bonkers history teacher (top bloke, though) and a chemistry teacher who imperilled pupils and laboratories alike when let loose with her experiments. Then there was the maths teacher who regularly used to conduct his class down at Leo's ice cream parlour.
Academic standards were on the slide!
There were some plus points. Bernard Atherton proved to be a very personable and human headmaster and the aforementioned history teacher usually had us in fits and injected a lot of energy into the school's cricket.
The very last day - Friday 26th July, 1969 - must have been quite sad. Fortunately, I missed it as I was called up to play cricket down in Eastbourne.
So to Eastfields….where the fiasco continued. Whatever planning had gone into the merger, it didn't make allowance for a sixth form and we joined a handful of lads from Eastfields in an adjacent youth centre. This comprised a few rooms with armchairs and sofas, coffee facilities and a fish tank with cannibalistic inmates. No desks, books or teachers in sight!
Not surprisingly, the temptation to lounge around swapping tales of exaggerated leisure time triumphs, drinking coffee, re-enacting the previous nights' Monty Python sketches and delighting in the spectacle of fish eating each other, was very strong. What little work we did was scribbled on a notepad resting on our knees. Needless to say, our A-level results were way short of previous MCGS standards. So for most of us it was "goodbye university- hello 3rd rate polytechnic!"
In retrospect, we should have shown a trifle more self-discipline but the environment certainly wasn't conducive to academic excellence! Whether the younger boys enjoyed a more seamless transition, only they can say. Likewise, whether the merger was ultimately successful, I don't know - but it certainly did me and my peers no favours.