Spring 2016 Georgian Newsletter - Amazon S3 · 2.00pm Cricket 20/20 match starts ... time, so we are a looking ... You may have noticed that the Founders and Benefactors weekend date

THE GEORGIAN NEWSLETTER

Spring 2016

Newsletter Index - What’s in this Issue!

i Georgians Founders & Benefactors Weekend - Agenda for 2016. READ MORE

i Officers and Committee Members. READ MORE

i Chairman’s Remarks. READ MORE

i Editor’s Comments. READ MORE

i News from the School. READ MORE

i News from the Development Office. READ MORE How to use the School Alumni Website How you can contribute to the Future of St George’s

i Reports from Winter Reunion 2015. READ MORE

i Correspondence & Achievements of Old Georgians READ MORE

i Deaths and Obituaries. READ MORE

Georgians Founders & Benefactors Weekend Agenda

Saturday 18th June 2016

12.00 School Fete opens. The Georgian Association area will be situated outside the 6th form rooms.

2.00pm Cricket 20/20 match starts

School tours will be available on a first come, first served basis at 2.00, 2.30 and 3.00

Tours will be hosted by the school captains and start at Aim Higher.

School fete finishes at 4.00

BBQ and refreshments available from 4.00pm at the Georgian Association area.

Expected end by 7.30pm

Sunday 19th June 2016

Founders day thanksgiving services - 10.00am

11.00 complimentary tea, coffee and cake in the old library

12.00am Georgian Association AGM

Close circa 12.45pm

Return to Newsletter Index Page

Georgians Officers and Committee 2015 2016

Ian Hemmin (17) President 01582-760117 53 Tuffnells Way [email protected] Harpenden, Herts AL5 3HA Dan J Hitchen (16) Chairman 01582-763569 79 Broadstone Road [email protected] Harpenden, Herts AL5 1SG Mark R A Pocock (A) Hon Treasurer 01582-734112 27 Dunstable Road [email protected] Caddington, Beds LU1 4AL Sarah Thompson (A) Hon Secretary 01582-460133 14A Manland Avenue [email protected] Harpenden AL5 4RF Miles Briggs (C) Games Sec. Men 07713 622775 [email protected] Pam Bainbridge (C) School Rep. 01582-716256 St George's School [email protected] Harpenden, Herts AL5 4TD Sue Coad (C) School Rep 01582-764826 30 Tuffnells Way [email protected] Harpenden, Herts AL5 3HQ Paul Streeton (17) Newsletter Editor 01582-760334 41 Park Rise [email protected] Harpenden, Herts AL5 3AP Kate Smith (16) 01582-792620 25 Hemel Hempstead Road [email protected] Redbourn, Herts AL3 7NL Graham Pauncefort (18) 01872-580001 Trelissa Farmhouse 07860-376775 Philleigh-in-Roseland [email protected] Nr Truro, Cornwall TR2 5NE Lucy Skinner 17 Eastmoor Park 07765251049 Harpenden, Herts AL5 1BN [email protected] Ray McGovern Headmaster 01582-765477 St George's School [email protected] Harpenden, Herts AL5 4TD Andy Willis (A) Hon Auditor (A) Elected annually at AGM (16) Due for re-election at AGM (C) Co-opted member


Chairman’s Remarks

Welcome to the first Georgian Association 2016 newsletter. I hope you all had a chance to relax over Christmas and welcome in the New Year. The weather has been on my mind recently. In the latter months of 2015, areas of the UK suffered some high levels of rainfall that caused widespread flooding and a miserable Christmas for many. One of the towns affected included Keswick, the original home of our founder Cecil Grant, and we pray for their good health and swift recovery to normality once the flood waters have subsided. My optimistic view is that the UK as a whole has had its fair share of rainfall for some time, so we are a looking forward to taking the school on at cricket in June. Miles Briggs is putting the Georgian side together, so if you are interested in getting involved, please contact us. You may have noticed that the Founders and Benefactors weekend date has changed from the date originally published– we are now aiming at the weekend of 17th, 18th and 19th June. The change is partly due to Harpenden Carnival taking place on 11th June, and despite her actual birthday being in April, it is anticipated that some street parties and other celebrations will be taking place on 11th and 12th June to mark the Queens ‘official’ 90th Birthday. Sadly, this date change means there will not be a Choral Workshop in June 2016, but we hope to see this fantastic activity in 2017. If you wish to participate in 2017, please get in touch! I am delighted to tell you that December’s Reunion weekend was a great success! The revised times for our Carol Service saw attendance swell and Reverend Warner delivered a fantastic service. More information on this and the lacrosse are in this newsletter. Wishing you a great spring and looking forward to seeing you in June.

Dan Hitchen Chairman – The Georgian Association


Editor’s Comments Our intention is to send out two Newsletters each year by EMAIL to those registered or by DOWNLOADING from the School website at www.stgeorges.herts.sch.uk. For those without access to the Internet or Email we will be able to mail you

a Newsletter on request.

THIS IS WHERE I NEED YOUR HELP!! The Newsletter is only ever as good as its content, so I must appeal to all year representatives and all generations of Georgians to send ideas, stories and suitable content by email to [email protected] or by MAIL to the School Development Office, St George's School, Sun Lane, Harpenden, Hertfordshire AL5 4TD. The Committee would like to hear from any Georgians with suggestions for other reunion events that they might like to attend whether on site at the School or off site. The increase in social media means that a lot of Georgians are in regular touch with each other and so may not feel the need to return to the School; however, it’s always nice to see old faces. Georgian Golf Day The Committee would like to hear from any Georgians who would be interested in an annual golf event of some kind. Please email me on [email protected] if you are interested, detailing your existing handicap and any club you are currently a member at so we can see if there is sufficient interest in this. We look forward to hearing from you

Paul Streeton (1978 -1985) Tel: 07581 255300


News from the School

Since the last news report, the St George’s community has had its head down and been studying hard as well as enjoying its usual full and lively programme of events. In October on a Tuesday afternoon in fine, warm weather the whole school was able to go down to Rothamsted Park for the Inter-House Cross Country competition. It was a real pleasure to be in the park with everyone and enjoying such a positive experience which managed to balance perfectly competition and mutual support. We look forward to the many other house events throughout the year, (the Inter-House Music competition by itself is so well supported that it has to be held at the Watford Colosseum), and to congratulating the overall house winners as they are awarded the Chapman Cup. Our Open Evening was obviously a great opportunity to showcase St George’s but this would not have been possible without the support and commitment of the students, not just in helping on the evening, but because it is they who are the true representatives and ambassadors of what the school ‘is’. Whilst most of our visitors think they are being shown round the school as a place, they are in fact being introduced to St George’s the community, for it is the pupils and staff, not the building and resources, that make the school and I am most grateful that the pride and enthusiasm has an opportunity to be shared. Our pupils have enjoyed overseas trips to Iceland and Berlin and we hosted our French Exchange partners for a week in December. Pupils have braved the weather on Duke of Edinburgh expeditions and we are proud to be heralded as the biggest school in the South East for the Bronze Award; 392 pupils in the past 3 years. In November we were treated to an amazing school production of Godspell. I was not only impressed by the individual performances, but the ability to convey the message and emotions of the life and death of Jesus in such a dramatic way. The play was given modern visuals and an urban setting that made it accessible and relevant to a contemporary audience, both young and not so young alike. Our carol services were, as ever, a delight to be part of in our beautiful chapel and the Georgians service was very well attended this year. The PSA have hosted events including a Christmas fayre and dinner dance. Both these events were very well attended and great fun. We are very grateful for the work of the PSA and also to our parents who generously support these events.

Our boarding community continues to thrive and has recently enjoyed a full programme of activities. The highlight for me was the senior boarders’ dinner. Our guest speaker for the evening was old boy, Maro Itoje. Maro, who was captain of the England under 20 rugby team which won the junior world championship, has since gone on to be selected for the Six Nations England Squad. Maro joins two other former St George's pupils on the squad, Owen Farrell and George Ford. Is this some sort of record to have three national squad players who have attended the same state secondary school I wonder? Maro spoke to current boarders at the school about his experience at St George’s which was instrumental in him taking up and pursuing rugby as a professional career. This was a once in a life time opportunity for the boarders to meet and speak to a young man full of potential and passion whilst also remaining humble and unassuming. It will certainly give the boarders a story to tell in years to come and I am sure many of them have photos of them with him. In January we welcomed the arrival of our new Director of Boarding and Development, Mr Jon Timmins and his family, who are living on site. Mr Timmins’ arrival has enabled us to take a fresh approach to how boarding, lettings and the development office work together in a more integrated way with a view to making us even smarter and more efficient as an organisation. I hope you have enjoyed reading this brief news item. Why not take a look at the Year of Achievement Booklet for 2014-15 on the school website or our Facebook page for more news and information about St George’s and our talented pupils.

The Headmaster


From the Development Office

Pamela Bainbridge, Development Director 01582 716211 [email protected]

Pamela is responsible for the management of the Development Office and for the strategy for fundraising

and Alumni relations.

Lorraine Kyriacou, Development Officer 01582 716211 [email protected]

Lorraine is responsible for the maintenance of the Alumni database, processing of donations and Annual

Fund mailing and the day to day running of the Development Office.

We hope your time at St George’s was amongst the most important and informative years

of your life; helped you to establish close friendships and provided you with happy, lifelong memories.

With your support we can ensure that future generations can enjoy the wonderful

experiences at the school as you did.

If you are able to make a donation, then please complete and return the form overleaf.

Development Office St George’s School

Sun Lane Harpenden

Herts AL5 4TD


THE GEORGIAN ASSOCIATION

Membership is automatic for all who have attended the school and can be accessed via the school website at www.stgeorges.herts.sch.uk

To log on, click on The Georgians under School Information (on left of page). This will take you to The Georgians welcome page. Click on the update your details tab and then on the St George’s Alumni website link. You will be redirected to Webalumnus, the St George’s Alumni site. Click on the Register tab (second grey box on left-hand side). Complete the new member registration questionnaire and click on the Create New Account tab underneath, to submit your details. This information will be forwarded to the Development and Alumni Office at St George’s where it will be verified and then you will receive confirmation of your username and password by email. Once you have received these, you will be able to activate your account to get in touch with your old school friends, look at the latest Georgian’s newsletter or just keep up with the day to day news of the school. Should you require any further assistance please call 01582 716217


Please complete your name, address and the Gift Aid section of this form and return it to the Development Office, St George’s School, Sun Lane, Harpenden AL5 4TD. Name …………………………………………………………… Address ……………………………….

……………………………………………………………………..…………………………………………………..

Gift Aid Declaration Please treat any and all donations that I make to St George’s School (Harpenden) Limited on or after the date of this declaration (unless and until I inform you otherwise) as Gift Aid, and reclaim tax on them. I will pay an amount of UK income tax or capital gains tax at least equal to the tax I am asking St George’s School (Harpenden) Limited to reclaim. I understand that other taxes such as VAT and Council Tax do not qualify. I understand that the charity will reclaim 25p of tax on every £1.00 that I give on or after 6 April 2008.

Signature ………………………………………………… Date ……………………………

Bankers Order - Name and Address of your Bank

To: ……………………………..………………………………………. Bank plc Branch Address: …………………………………………………………………………………. …………………………………………………………………. Post code: …………………... Your account details: Account number ………………………………… Bank sort code …………………….......... Account Name ………………………………………………………….………………………...

Please pay from the above account to: Nat West Bank, 21 High Street, Harpenden, Herts AL5 2RY Sort code: 60-10-07 St George’s School (Harpenden) Limited Account number: 85024112

Amount of each instalment (in words and figures) …………………………………………………………………………………………………… On (date of first payment) the ...……………. day of ……………….(month ) ..………...(year) And the same amount again thereafter every ..………..……………….. (month/ quarter/ year) until a total of …………………………payments have been made. Signature……………………………………………………. Date ………………………….. Title and full names of donor(s) in capitals…………………………………………………….. Address and postcode in capitals ………………………………………………………............. …………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Payment by cheque (made payable to St George’s School (Harpenden) Ltd) I enclose a cheque for the sum of £ ……………………

Please tick this box as Gift Aid confirmation if you are returning this form electronically.

Payment by cheque (made payable to St George’s School (Harpenden) Ltd) I enclose a cheque for the sum of £ ……………………

Would you like a reminder of your time at st george’s?

then Why not purchase a st george’s alumni 100% pure silk tie

£15.00 plus £1.00 p&p Thank you for your custom and wear it with pride

ST GEORGE’S ALUMNI 100% SILK TIE

I would like to order ………. 100% silk tie(s) at £15.00 each plus £1.00 P&P per item Name ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. Address …………………………………………………………………………………………….……………………. ………………………………………………………………………………………..…….…………………… Email ……………………………………………………………………………………………….…………………… I enclose a cheque to the value of £…………….. (Please make cheques payable to the Georgian Association) Signed …………………………………………………………. Date …………………………………….

Return to: The Development Office, St George’s School, Sun Lane, Harpenden, Herts AL5 4TD

Tel: 01582 716217 Email: [email protected]

News from the Winter Reunion 2015

Georgians v School Lacrosse December 2015 After last year's success the much anticipated second St George's Lacrosse Festival took place just before the end of term. School fielded teams from every year group with inter-year matches providing some fantastic lacrosse demonstrating the great potential and talent St Georges has coming up through the ranks. For those Rugby fans out there I'm sure that you know that there are three Old Georgians in the current England Rugby Squad for the 2016 Six Nations...well I'm guessing that in the future St George's can celebrate a number of girls putting on their National shirts to play Lacrosse for their country too with the quality demonstrated throughout the year groups. The morning culminated in the OGs v Seniors match. As in previous years we had a great turnout for the OGs with both familiar and some new faces playing together to try to retain the OGs victorious unbeaten 5-year streak. It was clear from the off that School meant business and that it was going to be a challenge for the OGs, but as always experience seemed to prevail and the OGs retained their unbeaten crown with a 12-8 win. It was one of the toughest fought matches yet with some great lacrosse being played by both teams and most importantly a great spirit on the pitch.

A big thank you to all the OGs who played, watched, supported, brought their friends and families etc. It's a fun event and we always welcome new faces, whatever your fitness/ability etc. Please do contact me if you'd like details for next year. Above all the event couldn't take place without the commitment, time and effort from the PE department in just making it happen - thank you to all of you as always. Jo Ledsham - [email protected]


Christmas Carol Service We took a risk! History shows that the modern origination of the Carol Service stems from Kings College in Cambridge, and is more commonly referred to as the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. It takes place at 3pm on Christmas Eve. So, this year to give our wonderful lacrosse players and supporters a chance to have some refreshments and then come and enjoy the service as well we held it at 3.30pm. The results were tremendous, with an attendance of over 90, bringing a really good atmosphere and high quality to the congregation’s singing ability. Reverend Warner delivered a brilliant sermon and gave some of our children the chance to make their own Christingle. Thanks to committee members Mark Pocock, and Ian Hemmin for delivering their readings, and to Marie Gibson, chairman of the PSA, Liz Cowan of the Cecil Grant Foundation committee, and Paul Davidson of the School Governors. Not forgetting of course, the School Captains and Headmaster for their support in our service.

I look forward to seeing many more of you at the 2016 lax match and Carol service. Dan Hitchen Chairman - The Georgian Association


Correspondence & Achievements of Old Georgians

St Georgians PSA Golf Day 28 Players took part in the event which was the first of its kind here at Luton Hoo Hotel Golf and Spa. The conditions were not ideal but any dry day on the golf course is a good day. The course was set up to a very high standard all the players enjoyed the facilities and social atmosphere complemented by tea, coffee and bacon roll. Afterwards the players took to the course to measure their strength against the 7,107 par 73 golf course. The overall winner was Tom Graham with 38 points (pictured below with Thomas Garlich) followed by Dan Hitchin of the Georgian Association with 34 points just nudging Paul Streeton into third on countback also with 34 points.

The next event is planned for September 2016 with a date to be confirmed. We have had some tremendous feedback from the event and intend to make it an annual event in the School’s calendar, with a special prize of a car next time for a hole in one. Other prizes on offer were closest to the pin on two holes, longest drive and winner of the wooden spoon. Overall it was a successful fundraiser for the PSA of St Georges.

Thomas Garlich Resident Manager of Luton Hoo


Tim Pearkes – 1955–1960 – a potted biography After a most happy time at St Georges I left in 1960 and we moved down to Devon, a part of the country with which my family fell in love during many happy holidays spent there. My first job was working for the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries & Food (as it was known in those far off days) in the salmon and freshwater fisheries branch, working on a most interesting experiment on salmon migration. I ended up managing the Ministry salmon hatchery at Axminster producing the juvenile fish for the experiment. During this time, I joined the Institute of Fisheries Management and became Hon Secretary to the West of England Branch, with members from Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, Hampshire, Wiltshire, Avon, Somerset, Gloucestershire and South Wales. In about 1969 I had the opportunity to set up my own small fish farm on Exmoor producing carp and tench using modern semi-intensive methods perfected in Russia. This was just starting to become successful when in 1976 I developed cancer and underwent surgery to remove the growth followed by a month long course of radiation therapy. This left me extremely weak and debilitated and I had to find an alternative, less energetic, source of income so turned to cabinet making. This developed and I found a niche making wine and cider presses, as an adjunct to the bespoke furniture I was producing. At about this time I joined the Salmon & Trout Association and became Branch secretary for the North Devon area, an office I held for about 17 years. My sister was the doyenne of British viticulture and wrote extensively on the subject, ran courses on growing grapes and producing wine and indeed lecturing overseas on cool climate grape production. She was a grower but did not enjoy the more technical side of wine making so she asked me to join her. I became her wine and cider maker until she sadly died prematurely and unexpectedly in 1993. She had been full time carer for our mother who had suffered a massive breakdown when our father died in 1990 so I became mother’s full time carer for the last few years of her life. Mother died in 1997 and I then turned to my long-time interest in computers and became an IT trainer for a commercial training company in Exeter.

During this time, I had the excellent good fortune to meet my future wife, Penny, who was a student on one of my computer courses. She had had a most successful career as an international operatic mezzo-soprano performing in all the most prestigious opera houses in the world. As her teacher of course I had to wait until she had completed her training before making my feelings known. She has been the greatest inspiration to me, marrying her was the best thing I have ever done and it just gets better every year. I am one very lucky chap. After a couple of years, I was made redundant and became an IT lecturer at Bicton College of Agriculture until I was again made redundant by the closure of the part of the business school for which I worked. I was very fortunate to be offered a new post as head of IT at the Exeter Cathedral School where I worked until, in 2009, my health had deteriorated to such an extent that I could no longer cope with the stairs – my classroom was up in the roof of a three story Victorian building with no possibility of a lift. At the age of 65 Penny and I started The Cheese Cafe @ Penny’s Pantry on the High Street in Crediton, Mid Devon, a high-class cafe and cheesemonger (Penny is the chef and I am the old cheesemonger) in this attractive country town. However, at 71 my health has taken something of a downturn, my bent spine is deteriorating and causing me much pain and makes locomotion difficult. Back in April this year I also experienced a couple of heart attacks. The upshot of this is I underwent a highly successful triple coronary bypass operation in Plymouth in June and am now well on the road to recovery from this procedure.

Tim Pearkes


REMINISCENCES OF AN OLD GEORGIAN

I remember the first time I saw the founder of St George’s. He was, of course Dr Grant. I was a small boy of about three. It was at the Harvest Festival service. I remember carrying a small wickerwork basket. It contained some fruit and vegetables. The event meant nothing to me. I was guided towards the altar carrying my basket. The Reverend Dr Grant was standing there ready to receive my offering. I must say, from this distance in time I was overawed with this slightly stooped person in a black gown with red trimmings solemnly regarding me as I walked forward. I also remember Mrs G, as Mrs Grant was known; I can see her now with a kindly smile on her face. I remember her as a stout lady in a pearl grey frock. I don’t think ether Keck (as Dr Grant was known within the school ranks) or Mrs G ever spoke to me. I’m sure I was beyond notice of these august people. Doctor Watts on the other hand was the Headmaster when I was at St George’s. He was a somewhat different person to his predecessor. I remember a sermon he preached about tombstones. He always stressed and elongated the final ‘s’ of words. It is funny how one remembers silly things about people. Mrs Watts was a small person, perhaps not more than five feet two or three. She carried herself ramrod straight; she always had a smile for everyone. The school bursar (Mr Boyce) was an old Georgian who suffered from some form of a disability which affected his speech, walking and his hand moved uncontrollably. But he was a very pleasant person often seen walking to or from his office. I don’t think we came into contact very frequently but when we did you had to listen very carefully to follow what he was trying to communicate to you. Another person who stamped herself on my mind was ‘Wee Georgedis’. She took us for science. If she was five feet it was certainly no more; perhaps she was a little under this height. However, she was excellent at her job. She knew how to maintain discipline and woe betide you if you caused her displeasure. She would hand out gammas given the slightest excuse. But she was extremely fair. I don’t know if you still have ‘Pope’s raids’ now. When I was in Remove I brought back cigarettes after the holidays. I hid them under a loose floor board. Well there was a ‘Popes raid’ and next day after lunch all the boys were gathered for Assembly, as usual, in Morton for the afternoon meeting to receive the Bulletin. The House Master (Mr Noakes) said that he wished to see the boy who had cigarettes hidden under the floor in the Remove. When I enter his room he asked me if my parents knew that I smoked. The answer was yes, although they didn’t approve. I got six of the best.

Charles Hooker OG


OG Lunch 29th November 2015 It was a blustery day when thirteen OGs met for lunch on the 29th November, 2015, at the Swan Restaurant, part of the Globe Theatre complex on the Southbank, close to the Millennium Bridge. We gathered beforehand in the bar to meet one another, some of us not having met since our days at St. Georges back in the late 1950s and early 60s. Much catching up on what everyone had been up to in the intervening years ensured that four hours sped by with the excellent food and drink adding to an enjoyable day. Our year group has met on a number of occasions over the years with the composition of the group varying according to who was available at the time. We will probably have another lunch in November 2017 when many of us will have made it to 75. If anyone from our year who is not on the circulation list would like to be included then do get in contact. The photograph below shows our happy group. See how many you recognise.

Starting from the left and going up and around the table names are as follows: Bridget Wilcox, Bob Golds, Lindsay Harrison (Lockyer), Peter Thompson, David Nelson, Barry Sinfield, Julian Hardenberg, Chris Wilkinson. Sid Barling, Antony Oliver, Joy Hunt (Hopkins), Margaret Stone (Hamilton) and Phil Bevan.

Sidney Barling (1951-60) [email protected]


OGs Reunion - Year Group from 1971-1978 On a balmy summer Sunday afternoon in August, almost fifty old friends who attended St George's between 1971 and 1978 gathered at the White Horse in Hatching Green, Harpenden thanks to some excellent forward planning by Chris Wilkins and Andrew Perolls. Over the previous months they had trawled through social media and old contacts, and attracted almost half of the year group from many far-flung countries, including Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Germany and Australia. For many it was the first time we had seen each other since leaving school.

In our days at St G's there were three classes of about thirty each in the first year - 1A, 1B and 1C - so it was great that so many of the original ninety could attend. For me the group split into three sections - those I recognised immediately, those whom I thought I knew, and of course some I could not name. Because our brilliant organisers had prepared name tags for all, any barriers soon came down and we were all school kids again. With the benefit of a few drinks to calm the nerves and a sumptuous lunch (also very kindly provided by our organisers) the atmosphere was brilliant - full of fun and laughter which is how I remember my time at St G's. Many people reflected on how the short few years together held such happy memories.

Before the reunion I felt real trepidation about how such a meeting would work, but when we departed after about five hours together there was a warm feeling and a buzz which stayed with me into the next day. Hopefully we can do it again soon, and sincere thanks go to Chris and Andrew for making it happen and for their huge generosity in organising the venue and food. Two charity pages were set up after the day for everyone to contribute to a good cause (Cancer Research and the MS Society). Just under £500 was raised - so a win-win in every sense!! Jamie Pickles and Andrew Perolls


A St George’s Memoir by Janet Glover (née Hebb) 1946-53 I think it was in the September of 1946 that I began life as a new girl at St George's Harpenden, a mixed boarding school founded in 1907 by the Rev. Cecil Grant, a religious educationalist, on the supposition, it was said, that a female presence could somehow soften the wilder and more turbulent impulses of adolescent boys. This conviction turned out to have little basis in the reality of our shared daily life although there were many other ways in which both girls and boys benefited from our mixed community. The school was one of the first coeducational boarding schools in Britain. That first term I was driven to school from our village in the Midlands equipped with family trunk, tuck-box, lacrosse stick, and all the other paraphernalia stipulated in a comprehensive list of requirements. I wore a light-green tweed suit with a straight skirt with a big box pleat, and carried a black velour hat garnished with a hat-band embroidered with the emblem of a rose. The school uniform had been obtained at the Army and Navy store in London and had involved quite an expedition in itself --- trains, taxis and meals in restaurants, all novel experiences to a relatively sheltered eleven-year-old. Some of the items seemed strange: a tie, bottle-green knickers with linings, sports attire which included the inevitable white aertex shirt, a bottle-green divided skirt, and a wasp. The latter was school slang for a red and green striped games jersey worn by both girls and boys. We had discovered one which had belonged to my father, also a pupil at the school, as well as a bottle-green blazer, with its accompanying rose, and these were duly marked with Cash’s name tapes and added to the pile. We all felt rather satisfied with this sentimental link with the past and were not in the least discouraged by the fact that both garments had their own distinctive smell - a combination of moth balls, cleaner’s chemicals and a lingering hint of male sweat. My parents were not in the least progressive in educational matters and relied on convention and the recommendations of others for their decisions about schooling. When a specialist recommended boarding school as a cure for the inexplicable but persistent bouts of fever that our doctor attributed to "congestion of the lungs ", St George’s, where my father had been happy and successful at most athletic activities, particularly rugby at which he excelled, seemed the natural choice. When they contacted the school and it became known that my father was an old boy, we were invited to lunch with the elderly headmaster, who was on the point of retiring and had also been headmaster in my father’s day, and his wife. We were made very welcome and my parents were won over on the spot. They attached little importance to the school’s innovative co-educational methods, and its profoundly religious foundations. They made no enquiries about academic records, conducted no investigations into boarding house or other facilities and gave little consideration to disciplinary procedures. Perhaps they were content with my grandfather’s judgment on the school’s achievements with regard to his son. He was an outspoken Yorkshireman who is said to have claimed that the school taught my father, who was a reluctant and, it has to be said, unsuccessful scholar, very little except to " boken [belch] politely and play football." Whatever their reasons, they could not have made a better choice for me.

However, the early days of that first term were not auspicious. I do not remember any sad parting from my parents, nor subsequent homesickness. What I did feel was excitement and anticipation. I was too preoccupied with the novelty of my new surroundings, and too involved in the need to adapt to the demands of entirely new circumstances to find time to regret what I had left behind. The school was divided into two separate establishments, an upper and a lower school. Each had an entirely different routine, location and administration. There was no formal entrance exam, and a wide range of ability was accommodated within each year group. When my parents and I had gone to visit the school again to look around the buildings and grounds and meet some of the staff, it had been decided on the basis of age and some fairly rudimentary investigations that I should start in the highest class of the lower school. So when I first arrived I was installed in one of the small dormitories set apart at the very top of the main school building and went for lessons each day in the separate department which was the lower school. I remember very little of those first days. They were spent in familiarising myself with a new and very busy routine and in trying desperately to " fit in" with my new companions. There was a certain chilliness towards newcomers who were expected very much to know their place and not intrude where they were not wanted. I was very anxious to give no offence and to avoid being conspicuous in any way. One incident caused me terrible embarrassment. I noticed that all the boarders seemed to keep an assorted collection of stuffed animals on their beds- teddy bears, rabbits, cats, dogs and so on. This had never been a habit of mine but out of a longing to be like the others I wrote home and asked if I could please be sent a similar pet. At a loss, because we had nothing of the sort at home, my parents duly despatched the smartest of a family of dolls which I had long since abandoned, and which was regarded as a quite inappropriate mascot for someone of my years. No-one ever alluded to this strange arrival, but I was humiliated, the more so because it could not really be explained away convincingly. Lessons presented no problems. I had come from a member school of the Girl’s Public Day School Trust, which set great stock on academic achievement, and I had been well taught. The work seemed easy and, with the exception of Latin, reassuringly familiar. I well remember my introduction to Latin taken from a text-book which I myself was to use as a teacher some fifteen years later, Latin for Today: a large map of Europe with Italy at the centre and the surrounding countries named in Latin. Underneath, the command "discipuli picturam spectate" was followed by a survey of the countries of the Roman Empire. “Britannia est insula", we were told. A far cry from the Cambridge Latin Course of today. After three weeks or so the Head of the lower school, a kind, gentle man, asked to see me. "I think you’re finding the work a bit easy," he commented. He questioned me more closely about the stages I had reached in the main subjects and must have concluded that Shell, the lowest class in the senior school, was a more suitable placement. So, without further ado and with very little discussion or explanation, I was transferred, complete with doll, to a new dormitory, new routine, new friends and new teachers of unfamiliar subjects. And I was thrown into a state of complete bewilderment and confusion.

The routine for the senior school was very different from that of the lower school which I had only recently got to know. As the term was already well under way it was assumed that the regular course of daily events was by then well-known even to newcomers, and I found myself left to find my own way from one activity to the next in a strange building whose layout was still unfamiliar. Bells would mysteriously ring, the rooms and corridors would suddenly become empty, and I would realise with dismay that I was missing something --- perhaps evening chapel or, worse, high tea. Lateness for Chapel was unthinkable and to arrive for a meal after grace had been said was a daunting experience. The latecomer was expected to make their way through the crowded dining hall to high table and offer a formal apology to the member of staff on supervision before returning to their own table. On a number of occasions shame got the better of me and I was reduced to skulking in the netties (slang for lavatory) until the meal was over and I could integrate again with the mainstream. I also experienced a certain amount of teasing, though it was of a fairly good-natured kind and probably no more than most newcomers undergo. We slept in a small dormitory with six beds, under the care of a prefect from the sixth form. One evening, before she joined us, someone began what seemed to the rest an amusing game which involved stripping my bed piece by piece down to the mattress so that I was left exposed and huddled miserably under a disorderly pile of blankets. When Anastasia, the prefect, usually referred to as Stan, arrived, she silently surveyed the scene, then calmly and without comment- no recriminations or commiserations- remade the bed over my inert and speechless shape and settled us down for the night. The episode was never mentioned again, but I was extravagantly grateful and harboured a "crush " on her which lasted until she left. The new work in Shell again presented no problems, and I was well able to hold my own in all subjects except in maths where I had a long history of weakness and lack of motivation. The lessons were cheerful and good-humoured and owed much to the energy and personality of the teachers. I found most of them both interesting and enjoyable and real moments of enlightenment as well as humour enlivened the routine instruction. There are some lessons and some experiences which I remember particularly vividly and with great affection. The French teacher for the bottom set was an English lady with excellent academic qualifications but a terrible French accent, which even we could recognise. She believed in repetition. Sentences translated from the text-book were recited after her in a kind of chant. I remember one: "Voudriez-vous des fraises a la creme?" Perhaps not the most practical or relevant question to be learnt by the prospective traveller to France. With the verbs conjugated with etre in the passé composé she went even further. As she conducted, with her black gown flapping, we sang a list to the tune of "Money is the root of all evil"; aller, arriver, descendre, entrer, and so on in alphabetical order, ending with venir, venir, venir. I have never forgotten those verbs.

English was always my favourite subject, and although we were taught the rudiments of grammar and introduced to poetry in a fairly pedestrian way. I remember to this day lines from some of the poems we were set to learn by heart: Autumn, Daffodils, Westminster Bridge, standard literary classics which were nevertheless accessible to an immature eleven-year-old. I am grateful to have come to know them in this way. We had to keep a list of the books we had read. It was about this time that I was introduced to Hardy and mine included Tess of the D’Urbervilles which I found very moving and The Mayor of Casterbridge, by which I was also deeply impressed. My disinclination for maths was in no way overcome by the rather half-hearted efforts of the maths master. He tolerated, with a resigned and rather rueful acceptance, our efforts to divert him from the task in hand. We quickly learned that he was only too ready to accept an invitation to digress. One of my favourite sports was to assume a puzzled air and ask him earnestly how it could possibly be that two minuses amounted to a plus. He would innocently take up the playful challenge and solemnly attempt to explain this age-old algebraic mystery, not in the least deterred by his repeated failures to convince his teasing audience. Music, however, for which I had not the slightest aptitude, turned out to be a revelation. Once a week we had lessons called Music Appreciation in the Music Hut, a ramshackle base for one of the most vital subjects on the curriculum. The teacher was known affectionately as Duggie, and he was a law unto himself. He had a large, malodorous Chow dog which accompanied him everywhere, and lay sprawled out in attendance at our lessons while we listened to records of Peter and the Wolf, learned to recognise the sounds of the different instruments of the orchestra, and to identify the different movements of a symphony. We also learned something of the lives of the composers. I was deeply affected by an account of Beethoven’s progressive deafness, and the story of how he could only receive the applause after he had finished conducting his work when someone turned him round to face his audience and he could see for himself the reception it had received. Duggie was responsible for my conversion to music and taught me all I know about it, but although he tried hard, he never succeeded in persuading me to sing in tune. At my previous school I had suffered the humiliation of being identified as the discordant voice in our class singing, and consequently had been asked to keep silent when we performed on speech day. My grandfather, himself very musical, used to joke about my inability to sing even the national anthem correctly. So I carried a reputation which I did nothing to dispel, choosing rather to make a doubtless rather painful joke of it. One of my favourite party pieces was a grotesque vocal rendition of Schubert’s The Trout. The libretto lent itself to a kind of clumsy musical parody. "I stood beside a brooklet which sparkled on its way, and saw beneath a wavelet a tiny trout at play." But I remember one occasion in the music hut when we were given an exercise in which we had to read a note from a score and then, unaccompanied by piano, reproduce it in turn round the class. Most people managed this successfully, and there was an unbroken sequence until my turn came. Then there was a lengthy and awkward silence intensified by self-conscious giggles. Duggie was undeterred. He let me know that he had not the slightest intention of moving on until I had sung my note. The class waited with some curiosity and in desperation I managed to produce a sound which by some miracle turned out to be the right one, or did Duggie take pity on me and simply let it pass? I shall never know.

Sometimes the English and Music departments collaborated and we were asked to write about the music we had heard. This gave us the opportunity to express our feelings in a different medium. The Moonlight Sonata for example, which I had found very moving was made the subject for what would now be called a piece of creative writing. I remember one particular essay on Peter and the Wolf which gave me great pleasure and satisfaction. I found it liberating to be able to respond to the music in the best way I could, through the written word. Duggie read it himself and made a point of personally praising my effort. This recognition meant a very great deal to me. In these and many other ways music was not confined to that shabby hut where it was centred. It penetrated the whole of our school life. We hummed the Brahms songs we had tried to sing, we overheard snatches of the Mozart Requiem practised by the Musical Society, and listened to evening concerts at the week-end. I never learned to sing or play an instrument, but I did learn the joy of listening and the pleasure of knowing a little about the lives of men of inspiration. I also developed a deep respect for the skill of music-making. That first year curriculum was stretched to include other practical subjects. We did art in another rather untidy hut under the direction of a gentle, sensitive teacher known as Smithy who opened up his studio at irregular hours to the number of talented and committed artists in the school. He combined encouragement with constructive criticism. I remember him trying to develop my very limited drawing skills by showing me that my work could be greatly improved by more detailed and precise observation of the people and objects I was trying to depict. My drawing was never very successful, but I loved painting and found an almost sensual pleasure in the use of the powder paints which could be endlessly mixed to create a gorgeous variety of rich colour. I think it was because I was able to convey some of this enjoyment in my pictures that I was invited to become a member of Junior Art Club. Here we did figure drawing, painted still life and created our own interpretations either of subjects of our own choice or of topics suggested to us. We delighted in these opportunities, but not least among the pleasures of the art club was the privilege of making toast for tea on the ancient stove which heated the hut. The girls also learned to sew. In yet another hut, under the supervision of a rather impatient and severe seamstress, we painstakingly made, stitch by laborious stitch, a pair of pleated grey shorts. Mine were among the last to be completed and I never wore them because they were in all respects very ill-fitting. The waist was enormous. This was not my favourite subject. Rather, it was enough to discourage me from needlework for ever. I only became partially reconciled to it when I discovered the sewing machine in later life. Unfortunately, we did not learn the rudiments of cookery. There was neither a domestic science hut nor space on the time-table to offer such an opportunity. Consequently, coming as I did from a household where food and its preparation were given a fairly low priority, I remained almost entirely ignorant of any of even the basic culinary skills until I married. The evening before our wedding an aunt was both shocked and amused to discover that I had not the faintest idea how to make custard.

This was perhaps the least of the shortcomings of our early timetable. More remarkable by the standards of today was the complete absence of any technical or scientific subjects on the curriculum. Although there were adequately equipped laboratories, science did not figure at all during that first year and never became anything like a core subject. In fact, it was possible to reach the sixth form, as I did, without any kind of scientific qualification. I had a brief brush with biology, which I enjoyed and I would have liked to know more about physics - I was fascinated, for example, by the term Simple Harmonic Motion. But, when it came to the options, I chose Greek instead of Science, and thus was obliged to forfeit any further knowledge of such mysteries. I left school completely unversed in any of the sciences, although I was not conscious of this as a handicap at the time, and it was certainly not pointed out to me. I have remained a scientific ignoramus, and it is something I have regretted all my life. By the end of my first term, I had found a place for myself in the life of the school. I had made a "best friend " with whom I could exchange confidences and giggle. I had formed a special friendship with one of the boys --- we were what was known as a "couple". He was an enterprising character with a shock of dark hair and large spectacles and perpetually ink stained fingers, the founder and editor of Shell magazine. We used to walk out together during breaks and exchange chaste kisses in the evening in the privacy of Shell form-room. I had earned acceptance as a bit of an eccentric and something of a clown, and been given a nickname, Jebb, which even the staff used to call me by. To everyone’s surprise, I had also turned out to be quite bright. In the exams at the end of term, my name appeared at the top of many of the place lists which were posted in the form rooms and these results earned me promotion to the top sets in all but maths. My new status was recognised in a comment made by one of my friends which I could not help overhearing: "Isn’t it funny to think of Jebb as clever?" I realised that I had now earned acceptance and was even quite popular at the start of the second term when I was prevented from returning to school on time by illness. When I finally arrived I found an impromptu welcome committee waiting at the entrance to Aim Higher, the name given to the clock tower which carried that motto. They greeted me enthusiastically and escorted me in past the cream-painted plaster statue of the Venus de Milo which stood in a prominent position just inside the entrance, and was affectionately known as Venus, a favourite meeting point for couples. I was rather overwhelmed by this fuss, but grateful all the same and glad to be back. This was a turning point. My confidence grew and I flourished in the school’s environment. Its blend of the strongly traditional with the unconventional, and even eccentric, the formal with the informal, its wide-ranging curriculum with its emphasis on recreational and cultural pursuits and its recognition and acceptance of the strengths, weaknesses and differences of each individual all provided a unique opportunity for personal growth.

In some ways the routine and regulations followed the established patterns of a conventional public school. But beneath this superficial framework there were essential differences. Those in authority on the whole had a liberal, broad-minded attitude towards their charges, and delinquents were often treated with tolerance and even humour. It was not in any way a permissive school, but discipline was maintained without any of the extreme measures associated with public school life. There was no corporal punishment, no bullying and no fag system. Prefects, they were called popes, took care of the daily trivia of orderly conduct. Occasionally they were deputed to supervise evening prep in place of the usual member of staff, but mostly they battled against such minor offences as jumping downstairs, running in the corridors, talking at inappropriate times or failing to sit up straight at meals. The recognised penalty for the latter, after three consecutive warnings, was, I remember, half an hour’s remedial exercises in the gym. There were established penalties for all such infringements. We knew exactly where we were. Sometimes the popes or other members of staff had recourse to the ultimate measure against misconduct and we were "reported" to the house staff. This usually resulted in a serious and reproachful interview in which our offences were reviewed and analysed. Punishment did not necessarily follow. Such a talking to was often quite enough in itself, particularly if it was accompanied, as it sometimes was, by sinister questionings about our suitability for a school such as this. Occasionally, inevitably, more stringent disciplinary steps were called for: people were sent to the headmaster, or deprived of their special status as popes, or some other valued privilege. But this happened rarely. I cannot remember a single case of expulsion, or exclusion. On the other hand, I do remember instances of more serious misdemeanour: a midnight feast undertaken with the connivance of our dormitory prefect which was somehow discovered after the event, and punished by compulsory running circuits of the athletics pitch. A night-time visit to the dormitory prefect from one of the boys who had gained access via the fire escape, which went undetected. I suspect that more of this kind of clandestine rendezvous took place than I imagined. There was certainly ample opportunity in the extensive grounds, during the desirable and unavoidable times of unsupervised leisure. I found the school’s discipline a wonderful release rather than a burden. I was used to heavily charged emotional pressure and soul-searching recriminations, and had been taught that by doing wrong you hurt peoples’ feelings, often the people you loved. They were disappointed or offended. Under this new regime no-one suffered. An apparently fair, consistent and impartial set of regulations accompanied by penalties for infringement was plain for all to see. If you offended, you paid the price, and that was the end of the matter. Sometimes it was worth it. This new and heady freedom to transgress intoxicated me and I became naughty, not in any deeply serious way --- I was never openly defiant or insolent or uncontrollable --- but with a succession of minor offences often associated with unpunctuality or forgetfulness, or the omission of uncongenial obligations. This was a cause for some concern, and I spent a fair amount of time in the presence of my rather baffled housemistress.

The dire question of whether the school was an appropriate one for someone like me was occasionally raised, but fortunately never pursued further. Ultimately, the effective discipline of the school depended on the character and personality of the staff, and here we were very fortunate. Each had their own individual techniques for maintaining order in the classroom, and engaging our attention. Sometimes it was done by an arresting personal anecdote, sometimes by an eccentric and extravagant gesture such as a headstand, sometimes by a sarcastic put-down. Detention was reserved for poor work rather than bad conduct. I cannot remember any instance of a teacher letting his class get out of hand, although, of course some set stricter boundaries than others and we got to know exactly how far we could go with each. Madame, the French teacher, would stand no nonsense at all. If we scored less than five out of ten for a verb test detention was inevitable. She had an infallible eye for anyone’s attempts, even right at the back of the class, to read or write anything without her permission. Without the smallest interruption to the lesson in progress and no break in the flow of her instruction she would stalk the offender while he was engrossed in his illicit activity, pounce and confiscate the offending material while the rest of the class looked on with a mixture of awe and admiration. Periodically we were summoned to French Table and here, over our lunch, Madame would magisterially engage us in rudimentary conversation useful for our oral exam. "Avez-vous un chien, Jeanette?" "J’avais un chien, Madame, mais il est mort." This was the first time I could bring myself to speak of my pet’s sad end. Within lessons, the memorable moments often came when our teachers digressed from the routine instruction of the set curriculum to reminisce about their own past, give their personal opinions or experiences or speak of events and topics that specially interested them. Sometimes these revelations were irrelevant or even shocking and unnecessary as when an English master gave way to our importunity and described in graphic detail the insanitary habits of the catering department of the British army. But more often they were enriching and gave us precious and unexpected insights into realities of which we were totally unaware. One day my Classics teacher interrupted a rather prosaic translation lesson to explain the Greek concept of hubris to us, and it made a deep impression on me. My German master used to take advantage of a single lesson with him to bustle me through the necessary translation of the tedious set books and move on to reading the poetry which we could both enjoy. There were many vigorous and lively personalities among the staff who communicated their subject with enthusiasm and gusto. I remember one occasion when an English master, a great bear of a man, enacted the movement of some lines by John Donne by prowling, crouched, round the classroom in great circling movements. Others were quieter, more orthodox and restrained, and gave their lessons systematically and efficiently. Almost all were dedicated teachers who cared for their subject and their pupils.

Outside the classroom, because it was a boarding school, we had all kinds of opportunities for more informal contact with the staff. They stood and chatted to us while they dispensed cocoa at the end of the day, invited us to their rooms to listen to music or watch special events like Wimbledon on television, led or simply attended the meetings of our various clubs and societies. They accompanied us on trips to the theatre and concerts and shared activities like bicycle expeditions. Sometimes they joined us and talked companionably as we stood and supported the school at a rugger or cricket match. Shared discussions made a deep impression on us. What we valued most were the times when they seemed to treat us almost as adults and questioned our opinions not with any kind of patronage but with genuine interest. I remember one such occasion when the chemistry master showed his surprise at my failure to appreciate a piece of music which he valued highly. Another time, the same master made a point of complimenting me with real sincerity on a defence of D.H. Lawrence which I, overcome by shyness, had had to get delivered to the Debating Society by proxy. No discussion of the role of the staff would be complete without reference to Matron whose influence over the girls’ boarding house was absolute. During my time at school I was subject to a succession of these powerful personalities, all of them strict and unwavering but also kindly. Their authority was never questioned and under their supervision we led a pretty regimented existence. There were rotas, lists and inspections for every conceivable activity. Bath once a week, with supervised "strip washes" or showers in between, hair wash once a fortnight, washing and inspection of hair-brush and comb on Saturday, daily inspection for polished shoes and tidiness of hair and clothing before school every day. From the moment of our arrival, when the clothes list in our trunk was checked systematically, our hair carefully examined as a precaution against head-lice, and our temperature taken to ensure we were not the bearers of any infectious disease, we were subjected to rigorous checks and controls. All these we accepted with resignation as an inevitable part of boarding school. I do not remember any resentment or sense of intrusion into our personal life. The emphasis on games and what would now seem the disproportionate amount of time allocated to this activity was, I think, partly due to a sincere concern for our physical welfare, and partly an inheritance from the public school ethos in which team games were seen as a way of developing the character needed for maintaining an empire. On our library wall was written the celebrated Newbolt poem containing the lines "The voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks: play up! play up! and play the game". There was also the unspoken conviction that physical activity was an effective way of sublimating what were regarded as unhealthy desires. In the case of St George’s, co-education, itself the source of another different set of impulses which also needed to be held in check, was seen as an additional remedy for these. Whatever convictions lay behind the planning of our time-table, we spent the early part of nearly every afternoon during the week outside in all but the most extreme weather, taking part in compulsory and energetic exercise. On Wednesdays and Saturdays there were matches, and this involved a surprising number of us. The rest were expected to support the school if it was a home match.

If we were not called upon for a team on Saturday, we were allowed to go shopping in the village. This was rather a treat. I enjoyed games and did not really resent the amount of time spent on the playing fields, but for those with little inclination or aptitude for this pastime games must have been a misery. However, everyone accepted them stoically. Such was their perceived importance that there were few outwardly expressed complaints. In winter, the boys played rugger and when we could we watched and cheered them on from the touchline. We were quite a knowledgeable set of supporters, familiar with the rules and aware of what constituted good play. "Pass!" we would yell when anyone hung on to the ball for too long. Shouts of "on! on! on!" would encourage a forward movement of the pack. Our main game was Lacrosse, though we played a little Netball as well. I was a mediocre netball player and never really enjoyed what seemed to me a tame and constricted game. But Lacrosse was very different - fast, graceful and exciting, calling for skilful stickwork, anticipation and subtle tactics. There were no marked boundaries, and it was left to the discretion of the referee to interrupt play if the players strayed too far. I remember pursuing my elusive opponent behind trees and bushes and up steep slopes on unfamiliar ground during away matches. In time I became rather a good defensive player, and was even awarded an honours blazer, although, to the disappointment of the games mistress, I was too shy ever to wear it. It was a conspicuous and luminous shade of shocking pink. In the summer, for both boys and girls, the main game was cricket, although a little tennis was also played. I was, again, only mediocre at tennis, but took great pleasure in cricket. The girls’ batting benefited from the patient coaching of the boys’ professional who tirelessly instructed us in the nets. We learned to carry out a range of strokes quite stylishly - forward defensive, on and off drives and leg sweep. In the evenings we did fielding practice on the wooden cradle that belonged officially to the boys. All this led to a fair amount of achievement in matches. I batted and bowled with enthusiasm and some success. But I always had to work hard to overcome the temptation to let my mind wander during the prolonged spells of fielding. Early in my career as a team member I disgraced myself through lack of concentration by dropping a sitting catch. As I stood wool-gathering in the mid-field, the hard ball landed with a painful thump on my oblivious chest and our games mistress, not in the least sympathetic, abandoned her impartial role as umpire to say quite audibly and with considerable exasperation, "Serve you right!" This handsome, perpetually sun-tanned, games-mistress always clad in grey pleated shorts, white aertex shirt and Clarks sandals, held the whole enterprise together with her considerable powers of organisation, her conviction and her dedication. She expected the same commitment from us and generally got it. Although she had her favourites, she was fair and perceptive. She understood us and we liked and responded to her. Games were perhaps taken too seriously to be regarded as recreation. Other forms of relaxation were also provided. Twice a week, instead of further lessons, substantial periods were allocated in the late afternoon to the development of "hobbies". A wide range of activities was on offer and we were allowed to choose quite freely. Among these were the usual creative pursuits such as hand work, art and woodwork, as well as a number of clubs and societies - Scouts and Guides, a debating society, a gramophone society and a music society known as Mussoc. Other possibilities which came at a price included riding and ballroom dancing.

I tried my hand at a fair number of these options with varying degrees of success. Woodwork was a definite failure. My rather unimaginative attempt at a small box with simple dove-tailing never progressed beyond the stage of smoothing the component parts. I found the plane impossible to manage and abandoned the project. Ballroom dancing was likewise a disaster. I had learned at home to follow my partner’s leadership and to carry out simple steps in time to the music, and rather prided myself on my sense of rhythm. But with this more formal instruction, all sense of enjoyment and spontaneity vanished. The instructress demonstrated a series of intricate and rigidly prescribed steps which we were then expected to follow exactly, clasped in the tight embrace of our female partners. Not a single boy ever attended the lessons. I simply could not rise to the challenge. Stiff and confused, I stumbled and trod on toes and finally retired in humiliation, the unquestioned duffer of the class. Other pursuits were more fruitful. Hand work produced a variety of rather strange articles among which were an embossed leather writing case unevenly bound together with plastic thongs and a colourless and transparent perspex toast rack held together with special glue. Pottery was by far the most creative and satisfying activity. We made coiled pots first, and then graduated on to a potter’s wheel on which we learned to throw and shape simple vases and jugs. These were then left to dry, hand-decorated and fired in a kiln. Our clay models were also painted and fired in the same way. Much of the enjoyment came from learning to handle the material itself. There was a sensuous pleasure in combining water and clay to produce the right consistency and then moulding and manipulating it into the forms we wanted. The final product also somehow had more integrity and artistic value than the products of some of the more synthetic substances. I belonged to most of the different societies at one time or another, but my lengthiest association was with the Girl Guides. Perhaps because it was a minority pursuit, I felt an obscure vocation to maintain my commitment to this rather odd organisation for as long as possible. At my enrolment I promised on my honour to do my duty to God and the King, to help other people at all times and to obey the Guide law. I suppose we must have occasionally provided some assistance to people in need of it, but our strange assortment of activities seemed to bear little relation to this high-minded undertaking. Under the leadership of our sturdy biology mistress we struggled to acquire an assortment of accomplishments which were all recognised by the award of special badges. I remember a bed making badge for which Matron showed me how to make hospital corners and a knot-tying badge whose overall purpose remained rather obscure. It seemed to me that one kind of knot was quite enough - and what was a granny-knot for? Something nautical, I think. With our badges duly sewn onto the sleeves of our uniforms, and our versatile knotted scarves which could in case of emergency serve as bandages or slings, we took part in parades, ceremonies and special services for which the privileged among us were chosen to be colour-bearers. Sometimes we attended district rallies where we competed with other Guide companies, pitched our tents and joined in sing-songs round the camp-fire.

The best times were when we went on expeditions into the countryside, lit fires with some difficulty and cooked sausages and dampers. Dampers were a kind of sticky flour and water pastry, wound round sticks into a sausage shape, roasted over the fire and eaten with a liberal smearing of jam. Although by the time we had finished with them they had become rather smoky and grubby, we found them very tasty. My progress as a guide was very mediocre and I never attained more than second-class status, although I did ultimately and with many misgivings become leader of the Chaffinch patrol before I left, as did everyone else, to concentrate on work for exams. So much organised activity meant that we really had very little leisure time. During the week we had only a mid-morning break, a lunch break and a more substantial period free at the end of the day after evening prep. Week-ends were busy too with morning school on Saturday and matches or shopping in the village in the afternoon. On Sundays there was Chapel in the morning and an obligatory walk in the afternoon. Even our evenings at the week-end were sometimes occupied with lectures and musical recitals. This limited free-time was further eroded by other commitments such as music and choir practice, other rehearsals, and perhaps additional lessons such as confirmation classes. We very much enjoyed our times of release from supervision. I can remember particularly warm summer evenings when we played tennis or other ball games or simply wandered through the grounds discussing the day’s events. Or we would sit with our friends and gossip about new liaisons, the activities of the staff and their families, successes, failures, disappointments, news from home. Our friendships were a vital part of our communal life. Living so closely together, we got to know each other very well, understood and largely tolerated our individual foibles and weaknesses, and turned to each other for encouragement and consolation. I kept up a close friendship with my original companion from my first term, a lovely girl with rosy cheeks, straight glossy hair and a great sense of fun. We giggled together, exchanged confidences, advice and sympathy and generally remained inseparable until she left at the end of the fifth form. But I also remember many others with great affection - a rather dishevelled, thoughtful, artistic friend who touched me with the present of a little book of poetry which I have to this day, and a tenacious, hard-working girl who bravely contended daily with the constant threat of petit mal, and succeeded in establishing a near normal life for herself. For some of us, other, quite different, responsibilities occupied our free time in the evenings. Pets were countenanced, if not exactly encouraged. They occupied a rather derelict conglomerate of sheds and outhouses and inhabited cages which needed to be regularly cleaned, while they themselves had to be fed, watered and exercised. For a time, I was the co-owner of a large white rabbit with pink eyes called Benjie whom we fed with dandelion leaves and took for walks on the playing fields. He was a most unrewarding animal who fiercely resisted any attempts to release him from his cage and appeared indifferent to any demonstrations of affection. I forget what happened to him, but he did not last long. Mice were more popular, if rather prolific. They appeared to enjoy being handled, fitted conveniently into blazer pockets, and could accompany us round the school without detection or relieve the tedium of a boring talk or recital. Sometimes they caused a certain amount of commotion. I remember an episode when one was discovered at large in the dormitory, and I was summoned by Matron to recapture it and restore it to its rightful place.

The shorter breaks during the day provided the boys with opportunities for impromptu team games. The forecourt in front of the chapel was often an arena for touch rugger, a simpler, less physical version than the standard game. There was also a curious and rudimentary team game known to us as "Itchy." I fully believed that this was unique to St George’s until I saw an identical contest on one of the Greek islands many years later. I can’t imagine how it made the transition. This is an attempt to explain how it was played: Two sides competed against each other. One formed a long line of crouching interlocked bodies rather like an extended caterpillar supported by a human prop at the front. The other side was expected to leap-frog onto the column formed in this way until all its members were seated astride the backs of their opponents without touching the ground at any point. A fall or touch meant that a point was forfeited. The side bearing the weight of all these bodies had to remain firm and avoid collapse. If both sides were successful, the last to leap held up either a thumb or index finger behind his back and called out," Itchy cum bum, finger or thumb?” Then the prop had to make a guess. If he was correct, he won a point, if he was wrong the point went to the other side and the whole procedure began again with roles reversed and the game continued in this way until the bell rang for the end of break. This simple sport usually attracted its supporters who became keenly involved and shouted their encouragement. The desperate contortions of the participants as they struggled to maintain their positions, often with considerable lack of dignity, caused great amusement. At the week-ends we could arrange our own evening entertainment. Sometimes, on Saturday, we held very informal dances. These were organised by the prefects and members of the sixth form with the boys taking responsibility for the lighting and music. There were the usual dances - slow fox-trot, rampageous quick-step and smoochy waltz with variations such as the Paul Jones and the "Excuse Me". The last waltz, played very slowly, with dimmed lights, was a chance for the confirmation of established partnerships, and the formation of new ones. I think these occasions provided more of a thrill for the younger girls, particularly if one of the senior boys good-naturedly asked them to dance. I remember the brother of my best friend, a handsome sixth-form idol inviting me to waltz. Although I was rather overwhelmed, I felt I had carried off the honour with some poise and dignity until a tactless friend, intending to console me, said that my bottom had stuck out as I danced but that I had really looked rather "sweet" all the same. Hardly what I had imagined. Another popular form of amusement was the so-called "Stooge". This was a topical revue, again put on by some of the seniors, in which aspects of school life and personalities of both staff and pupils were satirised. Such events were well publicised in advance by posters throughout the school and were keenly anticipated. The actual performance was doubtless very amateur, but we were an uncritical and enthusiastic audience ready to participate and laugh at all the jokes.

The routine commitments and diversions of the school year were punctuated by a series of special occasions, both minor and major, which formed the high spots of each term. We began the school year with a special "Autumn Tints" holiday when we were released from our usual morning lessons ostensibly to enjoy the beauties of the changing season. Our normal time-table was suspended and we all made an expedition into the countryside where, under the warmth of the autumn sun, we could appreciate the colours of the leaves on the trees, the earth toned fields and the animal and bird life. We were fortunate to be surrounded by accessible open country where we could walk through woodland and common without impediment, restriction or danger and such trips were a part of the pattern of our school life. We thought little of them at the time, but I think they did leave an impression. For us, the main excitement was the freedom from regular supervision. The holiday was anticipated for weeks in advance, and we hopefully watched the weather until a suitable day arrived and, amid much speculation, the decision was taken at short notice to make the trip. A destination was established, and we were left free to make our way with companions of our own choice and with little formal control to this meeting point where our arrival was noted and we were rewarded with basic food and drink. Then we walked back well content with our outing. Our Harvest Festival celebration took place at around the same time, an upbeat occasion when the chapel was richly and abundantly decorated with autumn foliage, fruit, vegetables and harvest loaves. We sang the well-known harvest hymns with feeling --- "We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the land.” and roared the choruses "Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord for all his love." The choir’s anthems were also familiar, and usually beautifully sung. I remember one favourite: "Thou visitest the earth and blessest it, and blessest it, and crownest the year, the year with thy goodness." Whatever our convictions or even habitual indifference, I think most of us were able to share in the general thanksgiving that was being expressed in the service, though much remained unspoken. A sequel to the service itself was the auction of the food that had been offered in chapel for the benefit of one of our charities. It was divided into lots, and the whole school assembled to try and outbid each other for some extra tuck. We enjoyed this opportunity and there was keen competition. Another little ritual which took place during this term was the stirring of the Christmas pudding, a promising preliminary to the Christmas festivities. At a bell’s given signal the whole school would form a long queue extending through the corridors and file through the kitchens where the cooks presided over large basins of the mixture which each one of us duly stirred with a wooden spoon. We made our wishes with many professions of secrecy, hints and speculation. The climax of the Christmas term came at the last week-end when the Old Georgians gathered for their annual re-union, which also coincided with the carol service. It was a time for unqualified nostalgia. On the Saturday they fielded teams against the school in rugger and lacrosse and these matches were followed by a special Old Georgian tea.

Georgians present and past mingled together to support these games and renew old friendships. We hovered about in the corridors spotting new arrivals. It was good to meet up again with those who had recently left and discover what they were doing, see how they had changed and admire or sometimes secretly criticise their outfits. Sometimes we could identify those who had left a while ago, and then, with some excitement and curiosity, we exchanged comments and information about their past achievements at school and present careers. The carol service was on Sunday evening. It followed the traditional sequence set by King’s College, Cambridge, with carols for choir and congregation and readings from the King James Bible that some of us knew by heart. The chapel was beautifully decorated with a magnificent Christmas tree, holly and ivy, and the music of soloists, choir and organ touched us all. I treasure the memory of the tremulous treble echoing through the cool night air the words of the carol which opened the service." Once in royal David’s city stood a lowly cattle shed..." The Spring term, in comparison, was less eventful and more monotonous. I think it was during this time that Mussoc, the music society composed of pupils, staff, family and friends of the school, gave annual performances of selections from religious oratorios in chapel. The society consisted of quite a large choir and a smaller orchestra. For weeks before the actual recital we heard snatches of choruses and recitatives from works like Mozart’s Requiem, Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, Verdi's Requiem, and, of course, Handel’s Messiah. The society’s members were very keen and committed and a great deal of hard work and practice went into the preparation of these performances which I suspect the musicians themselves enjoyed more than some of their audience. Most of us appreciated them, but some found them tedious or were critical of the inevitable shortcomings. I had some good friends in the choir and admired their achievements, but I once caused great indignation by suggesting that attendance at these occasions might be made voluntary. Understandably this never happened. The end of this term was devoted to athletics culminating in a Sports Day in which inter-house relay races were held and certificates for the attainment of prescribed standards in the various disciplines and, most coveted, the victor and victrix ludorum cups were awarded. Although athletics were popular and there were some notable successes, this was in many ways rather a low-key event with few spectators, apart from members of the school itself, and no attempt was made to turn it into a social occasion. Sometimes the local press gave it some coverage. I remember a headline which read "Janet jumps second!" appearing above a photograph of me clearing the bar. Hardly red-hot news! The photographer had obviously picked on the wrong competitor. There was a house system in which points were accumulated, and a winner duly proclaimed, but this was little more than a formality. Our loyalties were not seriously engaged, perhaps because there was little other shared activity to bind the members of each house together in our regular school routine. It was only periodically and rather arbitrarily in competitive situations such as this that we were reminded of our allegiances.

During the summer we took part in the local school’s festival, contributing to poetry competitions, art exhibitions, and music and drama performances. We were not keenly competitive, and our preparations were not allowed to interfere with our routine commitments. We made our contributions with a minimum of fuss and disruption. I remember playing the part of a countess in a one act play about the Russian revolution, clad in an evening dress and pair of fur-lined boots lent by one of the junior matrons. At rehearsals the producer struggled with only very moderate success to inject some sense of urgency into his protagonists. "Women in thousands are being shot down", intoned one of the boys with a complete lack of feeling, and the poor man despaired, while I’m afraid we laughed. I should perhaps correct this unfavourable impression of the school’s dramatic potential by adding that during my time there were also many impressive major productions. I remember "Murder in the Cathedral" in chapel, "The Tempest", performed in the village hall, "Patience" and "The Importance of being Ernest", to name only a few. We went, as a school, to some of the festival concerts in the village hall. There were some inspired moments - a beautifully delivered Shakespearean speech from the local convent school, and a faultless treble solo from a member of our choir, but there was also a good deal of unintentional comedy. The folk-dancers, hopping around the stage in ethnic dress seemed to us particularly humorous. Without doubt, Speech Day was the big event of this term, a time when the school went on show to parents, friends, and old pupils. The conventional sequence of events was observed with speeches and reports from Headmaster, governors and members of staff, followed by the award of prizes, trophies and numerous certificates. A distinguished personality was invited to give away these prizes and deliver some words of wisdom born of experience. When these ceremonies were over, tea was provided, and we had an opportunity to escort our visitors round the various examples of work and recreation on display in the classrooms. For us this was an occasion for rather muted and restrained enjoyment rather than excitement. We were impressed by its importance and by the need to behave with an appropriate decorum. We were glad to see old friends and relatives. But we were also rather bored by the speeches, as we sat there with our green and white striped dresses freshly laundered and hair scrupulously tidy, and found the formality of the whole procedure inhibiting. My parents came down from Nottingham, somewhat over-awed by it all and anxious not to embarrass me in any way and we took tea together rather awkwardly. Conversation was unusually stilted. One of my mother’s main preoccupations was the suitability of her outfit. She would ask me whether I liked it, and I would give a non-committal and, I’m afraid, unrewarding reply, completely at a loss. Limehouse Day was a complete contrast. Every year, on Whit Monday we were hosts to a group of parishioners from the parish of St Anne’s in the east end of London. We looked forward to it as another opportunity for release from regular routine. Our visitors, young children, mothers and fathers with families and pensioners, arrived by coach in the morning and stayed until the late afternoon. A variety of activities was arranged to entertain them, and they were free to make use of all the outdoor facilities like the tennis courts or to wander through the grounds and enjoy the open spaces and sunshine - I do not remember a single rainy day. One of the main attractions was the cricket match between the boys’ first eleven and the parishioners and many were content simply to sit and watch this. It was an informal, friendly and relaxing day.

We helped with the organisation in different ways as far as we could although our contact with our adult visitors was rather limited. We also usually found ourselves with a certain amount of unoccupied time which was very welcome. The Guides were responsible for looking after the younger children. To occupy and amuse them, we organised games and planned a treasure-hunt which called for a certain amount of ingenuity. We were expected to supervise their meals and attend to all their basic needs, and, with no brothers and sisters of my own, I found this rather daunting. But in spite of the strangeness, I felt a certain sense of fulfilment combined with relief when it was all over. After tea, we all went into chapel, hot and dusty, for a simple service together. We always sang the same hymn: "Summer suns are glowing over land and sea, Happy light is flowing, bountiful and free........" The end of the summer was rather a sad time because there were a large number of leavers, both pupils and staff. Our final gathering which officially brought the end-of-term formalities to a close was the last chapel. This was quite an emotional occasion when the traditional final hymns seemed to have a special poignancy. We sang "Lord dismiss us with thy blessing" together for the last time and some were suspected of even becoming quite tearful when we reached the lines, "Let thy father hand be guiding those who here shall meet no more..." A special prayer of final blessing was used at the end of every term, and at this service in particular it seemed to take on a deeper significance. It began: "Go forth into the world in peace, be of good courage..." I was always moved and inspired by it. So many of the special events of the school year were determined by the changing seasons of the church Calendar - Advent with its preparations for Christmas, Christmas itself, Lent, with its sombre emphasis on self-examination and denial, one year even Easter and then Whitsun all fell within the school term, and we observed them all in chapel. Chapel was the foundation of all our activities. We had a resident chaplain who was responsible for arranging our services, inviting visiting preachers and lecturers, and supervising our religious education lessons. We attended twice or sometimes three times on Sundays and saint’s days. The services on Sunday were Holy Communion, known as "Early”, Mattins, when parents, friends and visitors from the village also joined the school, and Evensong. Our daily routine during the week was framed by two brief services at the start and end of each day. All these arrangements reflected the School’s deep and sincere concern for our spiritual growth. Its avowed purpose was to make Christians of us all, and for the most part we accepted this without question. Regular attendance at chapel was simply a part of the day’s normal course of events. We went to chapel just as we went to breakfast. No attempt was made to convert, but our presence there was expected and indeed obligatory. Sometimes, of course, it was boring, but then so were some lessons and some talks. We had learned to tolerate boredom early on in our career, and all had our own techniques for overcoming it. I think that it was one of many valuable lessons for life that I learned at school.

The whole school contributed to the services in different ways: some played the organ, some sang solos or read the lessons, members of staff conducted some of the services, and each form in turn planned the theme of the service with appropriate hymns, prayers and readings. This routine exposure penetrated deeper than we realised at the time and transcended the rather commonplace arrangements. For some, but by no means all of us, little by little there grew a faith that was born of habit and almost involuntary but nevertheless lasting. Inside, the chapel exerted its own influence, and a sense of the numinous prevailed. We were not allowed to speak and it was quiet and still and peaceful - a contrast with the turmoil of our collective life. The building itself was impressive with stained glass windows showing biblical scenes or commemorating Old Georgians, and pictures of religious subjects were on the walls. There was a very musical choir, accompanied by an organ, to sing anthems and lead our hymns and responses. The words and phrases of the Book of Common Prayer and the King James Bible became so familiar to us that we knew passages by heart. They were the medium through which we learned to express our religious feelings. As we celebrated the events of the Christian year and recited prayers like the creed, the gloria and the general thanksgiving we began to understand something of the significance of the Christian message. At the same time, we were instructed in a kind of basic ethics based partly on Christ`s teaching, but with an emphasis adapted to the circumstances of our own community; thankfulness, obedience, honesty, love for one’s neighbour, and best use of talents. In due course, many of us took the decision to become confirmed. No pressure was exerted, and the choice was very much left to us. In preparation, we attended confirmation classes in the vestry once a week. I remember very little about the content of these except that we were taught the significance of the communion service and the appropriate behaviour for each stage. The Bishop of Bedford presided over the actual service and the whole school was present. It was quite an awesome event. The girls wore special white dresses which were stored from one year to the next wrapped in tissue paper in a cardboard box. We tried them on near the time to make sure of a reasonable fit, but they were still far from ideal and combined awkwardly with our thick brown lisle stockings. When we took our places in chapel we felt nervous and uncomfortable, and self-conscious. I knelt before the Bishop with my best friend. The Bishop placed his hand on our heads and prayed "Defend, O Lord, this thy child with thy heavenly grace that she may continue thine for ever......." I was told later that as we rose my friend and I exchanged smiles of relief. After the service there was tea for the candidates and their parents. Mine came down bringing presents from the family - a gold cross on a chain, a prayer book and from my grandparents a bible inscribed by my dear grannie, "To Janet, for her conformation." Our first experiences of the Holy Communion were dominated by nervousness and anxiety about following the correct procedure --- when to kneel, when to make our offerings, when to approach the altar, and how to receive the bread and wine in the correct manner. It was difficult to follow the service in the prayer book and we flicked the pages clumsily. But with time the pattern became well-known and our responses instinctive, so that we were freed from these rather superficial worries and could concentrate on the meaning and essence of the liturgy. Words and actions became as familiar as those of our other services, and perhaps affected us even more deeply.

So it was that I became a Christian, not as a result of any remarkable moment of inspiration or insight, nor because of any logical process of thought - I would not have been capable of that - but by a process of gradual osmosis. What I experienced in chapel went deeper than reason. There were then, and remain, doubts and unanswered questions but, for better or worse, I remain committed. I have been describing our life mainly as it was in the middle school. When we reached the sixth form, although its fundamental structure remained the same, we had more freedom and were allowed more contact with the outside world. Our relationship with the staff became more informal and we were able to have open discussions with them on most subjects. At lunch those of us who were prefects sat with them at the high table and they did their best to put us at our ease and engage us in adult conversation. Many of us were now expected to exercise our authority over the younger members of the community in a variety of ways - as the heads of dormitories, as house prefects or as full prefects, or in some form of games captaincy. We took it in turns to read the lesson in Sunday chapel, acted as librarians - I attempted to master the Dewey decimal system, and helped with the running of the school in other ways. There were associated marks of our new status such as our own table in the dining hall and our own small but exclusive prefects’ rooms. It was here that I used to meet the first real love of my life in an affair that was too ideal to last. It was the first time that I had ever had my secret feelings reciprocated. This aquiline, clever boy, who excelled at everything seemed really to care for me. I found it difficult to believe and constantly dreaded disillusionment. Our intense friendship did not last. Circumstances and perhaps also our own diffidence came between us. He left to read Maths at Imperial College while I remained at school to work for university entrance. Our letters and the opportunities for meetings dwindled and we finally drifted apart. I like to think that perhaps at a different stage in our lives we might have established a more realistic and firmly grounded foundation for our feelings. As it was, our romance remained a brief interlude that was never spoiled. In the sixth form our attachments altered. For a time, I was the close companion of a generous, kind authority figure, older and much wiser and more mature in every way than I was. When she was made head girl, her status and its attendant responsibilities and privileges inevitably came between us and I was saddened to find that we rather drifted apart. I suspect also that she grew rather impatient with my occasional refusals to observe and respect the conventions of our school life. There were other friends whose company I enjoyed, but with whom I perhaps shared fewer interests and whose outlook and temperament were very different from mine. In particular I remember a striking, dark-haired girl, moody and unpredictable, who concentrated on the sciences and, later, a vivacious volatile character who was a talented pianist and shared with me the vicissitudes of the Oxbridge entrance exams and interviews. She went on to read English at Cambridge. Although all these very diverse personalities played such an important part throughout my time at school, I never maintained any links with them after we left, and I deeply regret this.

We began to make the transition from pupil to student. Our time-tables, tailored to allow the pursuit of the subjects of our choice, left us with a fair number of free periods in which our studies were no longer supervised. Our progress now largely depended on our own initiative and sense of purpose. We were encouraged to follow up our special interests and pursue our own lines of enquiry. The classrooms and common rooms were often disturbed by noisy conversations and “rabbling", but in the library, where silence prevailed, it was possible to concentrate. This was an imposing room with a lofty ceiling, high windows, and a large romantic mural on the wall. Names of successful old-Georgians were painted above the bookshelves, and busts of scholars, philosophers and musicians stood on the window-ledges. I remember Beethoven frowning forbiddingly down upon us. Many of the books were rather old and there was little up-to-date scholarship, but there was quite a good reference section and the literary classics were well-represented. I struggled with many an intractable essay, troublesome prose, or difficult translation in the library’s seclusion. In the sixth form I began for the first time to take real pleasure in simple scholarship. I started to see the work that I undertook not as a mere exercise in intellectual achievement with the objective of attaining supremacy and recognition, but as a pursuit valuable for its own sake, possibly with other incidental rewards. My subjects were all linguistic or literary - for A level, Latin, Greek and English, and for A.O. level, French and German. I enjoyed, and had an aptitude for, the languages that I studied, but increasingly I saw this kind of study as a means to access the literature and thought of the different cultures. This was what really motivated me. By now I had set my heart on entry to Oxford or Cambridge. In our family there was no precedent for university study, no Oxbridge tradition, and I knew very little about the life. But a single visit to Cambridge made while I was in the fifth form transformed my aspirations. A small group of us were taken to see a performance of Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus in the original Greek. The production itself followed the conventions, with much static declamation and rhythmic choral chant but we were deeply affected by the reversal of fortune and the final horrifying climax. I think we experienced something of Aristotle’s katharsis. While we were in Cambridge we caught glimpses of what seemed a magical way of life: gown-clad students pedalling vigorously through narrow streets, and gathering together outside the college entrances or in cafes and pubs, punts on the river, all against the backdrop of the venerable old college buildings, the river with its bridges and grassy banks and trees. At the end of the day we went to evensong at King’s College chapel. The graceful pillars and delicate ceiling soared out of the shadows. The windows and paintings glowed. The choir sang beautifully in the flickering candle-light. I was enthralled. That one day seemed to promise the fulfilment of all my incoherent longings and expectations. From then on I knew my immediate ambition: not to train as a nurse or a physiotherapist or a secretary or a teacher, simply rather to become a student at a university such as this. The more distant future could take care of itself.

All my teachers were, in their different ways, thorough and sound instructors who built a firm foundation for the next stage of my academic career, but one of my English masters stands out as inspirational. He had the art of communicating his own single-minded dedication to his subject to his students. With him we were introduced to the art of practical criticism. Together, through reading and discussion we would begin to discover what it was a writer was trying to say and to appreciate something of the techniques he was using to communicate his feelings and ideas. We learnt to support or modify our initial response by considering the actual words and phrases the writer had chosen to use and to base our final judgments on these. That first year in the sixth form we read widely from a catholic selection of very different classical authors, and I enjoyed them all in different ways - Shakespeare, Marlowe, Pope, Milton, Boswell, Bacon, Hopkins to name only a few, for there were many others. Their words lingered in my memory and do so to this day. But most of all I loved and admired the Metaphysical poets, particularly John Donne. The priority was the writing of these authors themselves, but we were also encouraged to read round our subject, to discover something about the social context in which they had written, and to benefit from the insights of other essayists and critics into their work. In this way we were introduced to the writings of many acclaimed social historians and literary critics some recognised classics and some more controversial. This enlightened approach was very different from our preparation for O level. I flourished under the new regime and at first made rapid progress. The master felt that I showed promise and singled me out for extra work, special reading lists and some individual tuition. He encouraged me to consider the possibility of reading English at Oxford or Cambridge. However, perhaps partly because I became conscious of the burden of expectation, partly because I was over-anxious to please someone for whom I had a deep admiration, and because I was still very immature and lacked confidence in my own capacity and judgment, my early advances slowed down and I lost impetus. At the end of a year this master was replaced by a laid-back young man, not much older than we were, who had an engaging, light-hearted, attitude to his subject and far less ambition for his students. With this new arrival, and without the enthusiasm and encouragement of my former mentor, I turned to more practical thoughts. It was not easy for a girl to obtain a place at Oxford or Cambridge and the competition in a subject like English was particularly intense. Classics, on the other hand, because it was less popular and less widely taught, had a smaller number of applicants and perhaps therefore offered a greater chance of success. When my A level results came through at the end of the second year, I was awarded a State Scholarship in Classics rather than English and this confirmed these considerations of expediency. There was little in the way of careers advice and with only a little consultation, and no thought for future employment opportunities, I, myself, took the decision to concentrate on Classics as the easier option. It was a decision I never regretted.

I would never even have considered this choice of subject if I had not already found it both a challenge and a source of great delight. In the early days, much of its appeal lay in the opportunities for verbal problem-solving it presented. In Latin, one of my earliest memories is of the satisfaction I felt when I discovered that the transposition of a single letter in the two words, “omnia” and “omina” made all the difference to the meaning and function of the two words. One, omina, made sense of the sentence which was baffling us, the other did not. I also took pleasure in the orderliness of the language and its economy of expression. It was taught in a systematic progression with rules and their exceptions laid before us with clarity and an apparent logic which I appreciated. We were expected to memorise a great deal of grammar, but I did not mind this at all. I did not find it difficult and it gave me a sense of mastery over my material. The ultimate attraction of Latin, and even more so Greek, was in a way aesthetic. It simply seemed a beautiful language in both sound and expression. In school Latin had its own gravitas and a special significance as the medium through which a number of our more formal procedures were conducted. We answered "adsum" when our names were called on the register. Our graces at the beginning and end of meals - with a longer one on Sundays - were in Latin, as was our school motto "levavi oculos” and our school song "Assurgit Skidda stabilis", which was belted out at the beginning and end of term with cheerful abandon. It is perhaps not too much to say that some of our loyalty and affection for the school found expression in these apparently dry Latin formulae. Those of us who were introduced to Greek at the beginning of the fourth form were all captivated by the novelty of the new alphabet and the challenge of forming its letters, but by the time we came to prepare for the public exam, the majority had been discouraged by the complexity of the grammar - forms such as the dual, the optative and the aorist - and we were a select few. But I came to enjoy Greek even more than Latin. It was a rich and flexible language capable of much subtlety and many nuances conveyed through the use of its numerous particles, and full of expressive and onomatopoeic sound which echoed in the mind. We were rewarded by our introduction to the literature which seemed to become more accessible and more fun at an earlier stage than Latin. One of my earliest memories is of our amusement at Herodotus` story of the suitor Hippokleides who disgraced himself by getting drunk at a feast held to celebrate his prospective wedding. He danced on the table, stood on his head, waved his legs in the air, and when told by his future father-in-law that he had just danced away his marriage, replied that he really didn’t care. We were all, including our master, much in sympathy with Hippokleides and identified with his defiance. Later, for our set books, we read in a more serious vein of the tribulations of Euripides and Hecuba, and in Xenophon’s Anabasis of the Greek expedition’s excited cry "Thalassa, thalassa", when they first caught sight of the sea on their return journey. When we reached the sixth form, we continued our linguistic exercises in the form of prose composition and unseen translation, but because we were now more fluent we were able to read more widely from the whole spectrum of classical authors - history, tragedy, comedy, philosophical dialogues, satire, lyric poetry and epic - and began to realise the ultimate purpose of our studies.

I enjoyed nearly everything that I read, with the exception perhaps of the orators Demosthenes and Cicero. But some authors spoke to me, as I was then, with more immediacy than others. I responded to the passionate love poetry of Catullus, was moved by the desperation of Virgil`s abandoned Dido and enjoyed Tacitus’ rhetoric and epigrammatic style in Latin. In Greek, I respected the dedication of Sophocles’ Antigone, was touched by Homer’s humanity, and admired Thucydides’ idealistic and patriotic speeches and his sense of tragic drama. Above all I was inspired by the affirmations of Plato’s Apology which became as important to me as the Bible. As we read, our knowledge of the two different cultures, and insights into their ideas and feelings, began to grow. We began to have intimations of both the strengths and weaknesses of these two great seminal civilisations. This process of enlightenment was gradual and often unconscious. There were times when I was apathetic, bored and simply lazy, and there were numerous both emotional and occupational distractions along the way. But my time in the sixth form was enough to convince me that this was the subject I wanted to pursue, and on the whole I worked for my university entrance with commitment. Because I was rather young and did not feel ready for the next stage I took an extra year to prepare for the exam. When the time came I was offered awards at both Oxford and Cambridge and, largely on the basis of my experiences at interview, chose Oxford. I never regretted this choice, although the course as a whole perhaps turned out to be one to which I was not best suited. So I left school with a certain amount of distinction: I had, largely by virtue of my seniority, served for a term as head girl, captained both the lacrosse and cricket teams, and gained a coveted academic award. But none of this would have been possible without the patience, tolerance and understanding of the teachers who steered me through both good and bad times, and allowed me to make my own choices with some guidance and little interference. I began my career at St George’s with little knowledge or experience and a very limited consciousness of life’s possibilities, and emerged with a clearer awareness of my own inclinations and a stronger sense of direction than I might have gained in many other environments. By the time I left, my personality, my affections, my convictions and prejudices were already firmly established, and university, though it modified my social behaviour, did little to alter them.

Janet Glover (née Hebb) 1946-53 (My father, John Hebb, had also been at St. Georges in the 1920s.)

PS These photos are not in my memoirs, but were taken by my grandfather when he came to the school with my grandmother,

father and mother, to take me and my best school friend, Jill Hind-Smith, out for the day in c. 1947.

Janet Glover

Note from the Editor – Can anyone help Janet to find Jill Hind-Smith?

Please contact the school if you can help…


Deaths & Obituaries 2015 - 2016

Joanna Claire (Jo) Bondy OG 1950 - 1955 Later taught Art at the school from 1961-1968, died of cancer on 8th September 2015 at the age of 78. She was an artist of great imagination who worked in a variety of media and was for many years an inspirational teacher in Barnet where she lived.


Kathleen Orr- Ewing (née Cheshire) OG 1927-1937 My mother, Kathleen Rachel Cheshire, was a pupil at St George’s and her father, Frank M Cheshire, was a teacher at the school from 1931-1943. My mother was one of 4 children, all born in India, and all of whom started as boarders at St George’s in 1927: Dorothy b. 1914, left school 1932, twins Kathleen b. 1918 and left school 1937 and Francis (Frankie) who died in June 1930, whilst in the school sanatorium, and Albert b. 1920 left school in 1939. On leaving school, my mother went on to train as a nurse at St Bartholomew’s Hospital and joined the Colonial Service as a nursing sister. After the Second World War she went to serve in Northern Rhodesia where she met my father, John EH Orr-Ewing, who was a District Commissioner. They married on a small mission station at Chitokoloki on 30 December 1950 remaining in Northern Rhodesia until after independence in 1965. They had two daughters, Margaret born in Broken Hill, Northern Rhodesia in 1954 and Alison K born in Bristol whilst on leave in 1955. They returned to the UK in 1965 and lived in Wye, Kent, where my father was the Registrar of Wye College, part of the University of London. They continued to live in Wye after my father retired and in 2008 moved to a residential home (in Wye) on account of my mother’s failing health. They both remained there until their deaths. My parents left a legacy to St George’s of £500 in their wills, which came into force on the second death. My mother died 2 January 2012 and my father died on 23 August 2015.

Alison Poole (daughter)


Lucy Harrison (née Blank) OG 1930-1937 Return to Newsletter Index Page

Hazel Mary Vernon-Allen (née Adams) OG 1939 - 1944


Michael C Hastings OG 1961 – 1966 I first met Mike when he joined St George’s in the autumn of 1961. We were both in Shell, which was the first year of the Upper School. Mike’s father was a Regular Army Major, first posted to Malaysia then Somerset, with a final posting to St Albans, where he completed his Army career by managing the local recruiting office. Mike’s mother’s family were long time St Albans residents. Mike’s earlier education had been at Wells Cathedral School as a chorister. We both had many happy years at St George’s, Mike, soon named Banzai because of his goggle wearing, top board, diving activities and, I should add, still is by some OGs. Neither of us being entirely academic or sport inclined but interested in the new technologies increasingly spent more time in the Mechanical Engineering Society (MES), a pupil run society, reluctantly tolerated by the Staff. St George’s, being a rare coeducational day and boarding school, friendly and welcoming, tended to turn a ‘blind eye’ to MES activities as long as the explosions weren’t too loud, or the occasional car travelling down Carlton Road driven by a 16 year old pupil on a Hong Kong licence, hoping not to be seen by a prefect walking back to Crosthwaite - the boys boarding house - but that was the Swinging 60s. Mike’s interests lay in the electronics half of the MES, mostly television and broadcast. He could strip, fix and reassemble most types of electronic equipment, anything he could get his hands on, and when he managed to buy an early 60s non-working RCA American colour TV he was in his element. After repairing and converting to UK transmission standard word soon got about the school, pupils would slip away to watch in wonder the silent colour test card put out by the BBC. I left school to do an aviation apprenticeship and Mike did a further year. It was during that year a new games master joined the school straight from training college, very driven to get results and involve the whole school in sport. Mike was soon found and persuaded out of the MES to take part. By dint of being a reasonable all-rounder and getting a fair number of points for each sport, he won the senior school athletics prize for the year, the Victor Ludoram cup. I should add the cup was handed over by the new sports master with very little grace. On leaving school Mike was quite clear what career he wanted to follow and found himself a job with RCA television at Teddington Studios despite his father wanting him to join the Army engineers. RCA became Rediffusion which in time became ATV, and eventually Mike joined the ITV franchise, Thames, in the 80s. During the late 60s and into the 70s, whilst learning his skills on the job and taking more responsibility in television we kept in touch taking self-organised minibus holidays with others into Europe and as far as Greece, sometimes even behind the Iron Curtain. Being an outside broadcast engineer Mike met fellow broadcasters from different countries whilst working with ice skating, cricket, etc. Being a sociable chap he often made good friends. Whilst returning home from a trip south we were invited into Czech television studios during the Prague Spring, a week before the Russian tanks arrived. The atmosphere was electric, we met the young broadcasters who were later to beam the dramatic pictures of repression out to the rest of the world before the last broadcast van was closed down on the Austrian border and the Iron Curtain fell back into place for another 20 years.

The 70s went by. Mike was earning good money in television and bought a small and neat cottage in Redbourn. Through Mike’s efforts and enterprise three of us bought a 2 seat Grumman AA1 basic 2 seat trainer aircraft based at Elstree. Mike passed his Pilots Licence and became a competent and careful pilot. Introducing his future wife, Julia, to flying he also learnt a short weekend in Ostend can become a mini-holiday if the weather deteriorates. Through the 1980s we kept in touch. I was delighted to be Mike’s Best Man at his wedding to Julia in 1983. Families started arriving and taking up more of our time so aircraft became an expensive luxury. Mike’s final job was with the BBC London News and was certainly his happiest. The team members were good to work with, his skills were valued, and he felt appreciated as part of a team that he in turn valued. As Mike’s illness progressed BBC London News staff kept in regular contact and were extremely supportive to the end. Mike valued his schooling and friendships made during his St George’s years. His wide circle of friends included many OGs and by working in television he was often out and about Britain where he had a remarkable ability in meeting and remembering friends and acquaintances from years past. In more recent years Mike used his skills freely in helping various local organisations and charities to improve their IT or broadcast resources. Even undergoing his third chemo he was cheerfully helping elderly local residents to use a computer. In writing this memory of Mike I can look back and appreciate how rewarding our schooling at St George’s was in giving pupils the confidence and education to pursue their future careers. Not many went to University in those days but our year did find interesting jobs. At school I once asked Mike where he had learnt about the new microwave wireless technology. The answer ‘I read a book’. Tributes to Mike (1948 – Sept 2015) - the memory of a well-respected and capable engineer by his many friends: a good husband and father, and happy to give his time to those in need. Sadly missed by his wife Julia, daughter Victoria, and his first grandchildren, twin sons Robert and David.

Peter Ayles OG Deddington. Oxfordshire


Geoffrey Basil Deane died 23 May 2015 OG 1939-1946


Kenneth Willis OG 1934-1940 Return to Newsletter Index Page

Basil Brown OG 1937-43


Documents

Spring 2016 Georgian Newsletter - Amazon S3 · 2.00pm Cricket 20/20 match starts ... time, so we are a looking ... You may have noticed that the Founders and Benefactors weekend date