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Issue No. 151 2005 Teachers dwell in some far
Teachers dwell in some far-distant heaven, Even the most plain and down-to-earth. All your expertise and dedication Captures our naive imagination, Heightening the aura of your worth. Eventually, that youthful admiration Returns as we embrace what you have given, Serving as the seed of our rebirth. Contact names and telephone numbers: President: Mark Ashton 01952 820937 Vice President David Ashton 01785 223482 Secretary Peter Jones 01785 713227 [email protected] Treasurer Mark Ashton 01952 820937 [email protected] Membership Secretary Alan Smith 01785 244169 The Staffordian Peter Jones 01785 713227 [email protected] Trevor Ashton 01785 824497 [email protected] Annual Dinner Derek Edensor 01785 660076 Alan Smith 01785 244169 Records Secretary Eddie Dobson 01785 258756 Issue No. 151 Page [email protected] 2005 Contents Editorial 3 LOOKING BACK AT PAST EDITIONS 4 HONORARY LIFE MEMBERS 4 PRESIDENT’S PAGE 5 Thoughts 5, 18 ANNUAL DINNER FRIDAY 28 JANUARY 2005 6 RANDOM THOUGHTS ON THE ANNUAL DINNER OF 1979 7 MEMBERSHIP SECRETARY’S REPORT 8 OLD EDWARDIANS’ ASSOCIATION TIES 8 REMAINING Programme 2005/2006 8 Recollections of KESS in the 1930s 9 A Voyage to Clubland 11 Let’s face it - English is a crazy language 11, 14, 16, 21 BOWLING EVENING 12 SKITTLES 2005 12 BROAD THOUGHTS FROM A HOME 13 GOLF DAY 8 July 2005 14 REMEMBRANCE SERVICE 14 Mrs Steeples’ Cat 15 KESS WAR MEMORIAL 15 Life after Seventy -A Holiday Adventure 16 AN OLD EDWARDIAN LAWYER’S TALE 17 The End Of An Era 19 HOME REMEDIES 19 Lost for Words? 20 Tales of an ‘Educated’ Old Edwardian 21 REQUIEM FOR A DREAM 22 PLEASED TO ASSIST 22 More FROM ILFRACOMBE 23 HARLEY DAVIDSON 100th ANNIVERSARY - ‘THE RIDE HOME’24 PAST PRESIDENT - RAY BOYLES 25 Snippets 25, 28 ONCE A MARINE ALWAYS A MARINE 26 BEASTLY MACHINES 27 More Nostalgia 28 Railway Postman Paul 29 Letters to the Editor 30 A very unusual complaint 31 IN HONOUR OF STUPID PEOPLE 32, 36 A DISTINGUISHED STAFFORDIAN 32 ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST 33 Ye Kronikuls of KESS 34 If you can’t sell ‘em black sell ’em white 35 OBITUARIES 37, 38 DINGBATS 39 Solutions: 40 Advertisers Annual Dinner 2006 Nowell Meller, Solicitors Stafford Grammar School KBA Architects Robert Nicholls John Wood’s Flower Centres M G Ashton (1969-76) A J Smith P G Wood (1942-50) A J Smith (1944-49) J Weaver (1931-36) Leslie Gardner (1932-37) P L Smith (1949-54) D W Press (1943-47) J Hudson (1947-56) M Winkle (1963-70) A J Smith (1944-49) A J Smith (1944-49) R T Owen (1945-53) C C Lee (1959-65) P F J Craig (1947-53) R H Hammerton (1952-59) A J Smith T Marriott (1948-55) G P Card (1969-76) J S Wood (1944-52) W Richardson (1948-53) N Balmforth (1951-56) S Hudson (1933-38) P F J Craig (1947-53) P M Jones (1949-55) W T H Keleghan (1957-64) M Dale (1932-40) Photographs 7 10 18 20 26 36 Bowling KESS War Memorial The Oval The Cricket Field 1997 Page 12 15 19 27 The magazine of Stafford Old Edwardians’ Association Issue 151 December 2005 Editorial It’s that time of year again - just when you are enjoying the Christmas festivities with family and friends The Staffordian appears as if by magic through your letterbox. Of course, there is no real magic to it, although we wish sometimes that we could wave a wand and everything fall readily into place. Rather the magazine is the result of a lot of hard work by various people. First and foremost we depend on our contributors. Thank you for what you have done and please carry on the good work! However we believe that there are even more of you out there with a tale to tell or just desperate to get into print. Your contributions would be really welcomed. Trevor and I are grateful to our proofreaders: our wives’ Pat and Dorothy as well as Mike Winkle’s efforts have proved invaluable. Last, but by no means least, the work would be in vain without Alan and Jean Smith to speedily distribute over 300 copies to our members all around the world. Thank you both! We hope that you enjoy the finished product. Do let us know what you think about it! In The Staffordian it is our aim, as always, to interest and entertain you with a mix of articles, serious and light-hearted, as well as reports on what the Association has been up to. Its activities remain much the same as last year but the interest and enthusiasm for them is as keen as ever and the unique Old Edwardians’ sense of humour is always there, never more evident than at the Annual Dinner. Sadly, since the last magazine we have to report the deaths of a number of Old Edwardians, most notably Ray Boyles, during his year of office as Association President. We offer our sympathy to Pat and the family, as well as to the friends and relatives of all the deceased. On the world front, too, this has been a year of sadness and suffering caused by so many ‘natural’ disasters. It started with the Boxing Day Tsunami and we have recently had the South Asia Earthquake with the loss of more than 80,000 lives, and between two and three million people homeless. Help of all kinds is going to be needed for a very long time. At this Christmas-Tide, therefore, the message of ‘Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards men’ is never more needed than it is today. Best Wishes Peter & Trevor Trevor Ashton Peter Jones Wharf View 24, The Saplings Wharf Road Penkridge Gnosall Stafford Stafford Staffs ST19 5 DE Staffs ST20 0DA Telephone: 01785 824497 Telephone: 01785 713227 email: [email protected] email: [email protected] Page LOOKING BACK AT PAST EDITIONS NUMBER 15 CHRISTMAS TERM 1919 The Old Boys of King Edward VI Grammar School held their first dinner since the war at The Swan Hotel, Stafford on 12 December. The company numbered one hundred and included Old Boys and Masters. Mr E O Powell (Headmaster) presided and the assistant masters included Mr R C Lambert B.A. , and Mr C A Woodger ……………. Mr R C Lambert proposed the toast of the “Old Boys”. He said wherever they looked, in every branch of art, music, literature, commerce, or sport, they found the Old Boys were successful, which was a wonderful thing to a schoolmaster, who was always convinced that the particular subject he taught was the only one worth learning. (Laughter.) NUMBER 35 EASTER TERM 1926 We make our bow this Term with feelings considerably more optimistic than for some time past. Owing to the Magazine going on the book-bill in future, and to the formation of the Old Edwardians’ Association, we hope this term to have the unusual experience of recording a profit……………………….We note with especial pleasure the formation of the Old Edwardians’ Association under the Presidency of Colonel C H Wright. It will, we hope, prevent the drifting apart of people when they leave school, and will in addition be a great benefit to the school. A strong Committee has been formed, and there seems little doubt of its success. NUMBER 89 SUMMER TERM 1947 J POOLE 1918-47 Perhaps Mr Poole’s greatest contribution to the School came during the war when, as acting Headmaster, he led it through many difficult periods. Crowded out by the pressure of an evacuated school; faced with staffing difficulties, fire-watching and black-outs, he kept things together by his forthright determination, and by getting the best from each one of us. This was not brought about by endless rules and regulations, but by the example of his own untiring efforts. The leadership was the more inspired because it was perfectly natural. HONORARY LIFE MEMBERS Laurence Bampton Keith Evans Tony B1oor 1930-37 C1ive Bradbury 1929-35 Reg Burton 1929-35 Ray Buxton 1928-35 Peter Clew1ow 1936-41 Garth Collins 1926-31 Michael Dale 1932-40 Vic Dalgetty- Windsor 1926-32 John Elliott 1935-40 Jack Ellsmoor 1927-32 Ron Elsmore 1927 -31 Basil Harris 1934-39 John Hughes 1931-37 Dr. Alf Johnson 1933-38 Eric Johnson 1933-38 John Johnson 1936-41 Granville Macdonald 1932-38 George Maddick 1934-38 Arthur Moseley 1933-39 Len Mould 1936-42 Jack Netherwood 1928-34 Bill Osborne 1931-37 Robert Page 1935-39 Ron Payne 1925-30 Ted Pearce 1933-38 Ronald Pitchford-Pearson 1920’s Harry Stewart 1932-37 Rev. Bill Tavernor 1920’s Francis Trawford 1930-40 John Weaver 1931-36 Brian Webb 1925-32 Donald Woolley 1926-34 Page PRESIDENT’S PAGE Following on from my letter in the summer it now gives me much pleasure to pen a half-term report. This tricky task puts me in mind of the Old Edwardian who was faced with the slightly daunting prospect of visiting a nudist colony for the first time. Like most, he found the first five minutes the hardest! As I reflect on our year to date, since the AGM in early April, I am lucky enough to be relaxing on holiday with my family, in the company of the Vice President, enjoying the warm Cypriot sunshine of Coral Bay near Paphos. Ahead of us are the Annual Dinner, in its regular slot on the last Friday of January, and the President’s Retiring Dinner in March. If you haven’t been to the latter event before, or recently, might I encourage you and your other/better half to join us at Brocton Hall Golf Club for the usual wonderful meal and good company! Seven of the nine regular events, that are mentioned in the summer letter, will have come and gone by the time our magazine is published. As usual, there are reports you’ll be able to enjoy in the following pages. I would like to express my personal thanks to the members of our Committee who organise these excellent gatherings for us. In particular this year we’ve seen changes in the organisers of the Crown Green Bowls and Golf competitions. Peter Smith and Mike Winkle respectively took on the mantles and Anne Handley continued the tradition of a superb buffet after the bowling. Each year we receive invitations to the Presentation Evenings of the two schools with which we maintain links. King Edward VI High School, which has about one thousand pupils, is almost twice the size of the KESS I knew, and is almost as successful ! Stafford Grammar School continues its own successes and expansion, with the latest phase about to commence. Amazingly this was their 22nd such occasion. The guest speaker, Sir Neville Simms, former head of Carillion (Tarmac), gave his thoughts on ‘Winning Strategies’. One of his predictions is that there will be a second Channel Tunnel – time will tell!! Our quest to find a replacement for Alan Smith, as Membership Secretary, by the time of the AGM in April is still ongoing. Please let Alan or myself know if you are interested in taking on this enjoyable role at the core of our activities. Alan Smith and Robin Belcher continue to explore all possibilities with the War Memorial. An article giving the latest position is to be found later in the magazine. The Annual Dinner sub-committee, led by Derek Randles, Derek Edensor and Alan Smith, is well ahead with the planning for Friday 27th January. To make their task that bit easier please book in early for what promises to be another excellent event. Details are on page seven. Beverley and I hope you have had an enjoyable Christmas. We wish you and your family health, wealth and happiness in 2006 and look forward to seeing you soon. Mark Ashton (1969 - 76) P .S. If you have not yet paid your subscription for the current year can I ask that you write to our Membership Secretary Alan Smith, 8 Highlands, Stafford. ST17 9RE enclosing a cheque for six pounds payable to S.O.E.A. This will help keep our administration to a minimum and save further reminders, with their inherent additional costs, being necessary. Thank you in anticipation. Thoughts (For Those Who Take Life Too Seriously) A day without sunshine is like, night. He who laughs last, thinks slowest. Everyone has a photographic memory, some just don’t have film. The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese. Inside every old person is a young person wondering, “What happened?” Page Alan J Smith (1944-49) ANNUAL DINNER FRIDAY 28 JANUARY 2005 An excellent evening was enjoyed by all at Tillington Hall for our Annual Dinner. We had 144 Old Edwardians sitting down, almost 50% of our membership. Two guests of the Association were Mike Darley, Headmaster of Stafford Grammar School and Keith Evans, Head of Burton Manor Primary School, previously Head of Chetwynd Middle School in Newport Road. They were seated alongside our President, Ray Boyles, and Vice-President, Mark Ashton. Other guests of Old Edwardians joined with their fellows and the passing years were talked about at length whilst partaking of the mouth-watering menu, not to mention the liquid refreshment noticeably very much to the fore. The Staff at Tillington Hall excelled themselves with the friendliness and attention shown to us and the entertainment provided by comedian Doug Parker with his witty look at life was just right for such an occasion. For one Old Ed to travel yet again from Hong Kong to be present at our Annual Dinner says a lot for the special bond that was initiated at KESS. Well done, Mike Caddy! If you haven’t already done so, put Friday 27th January 2006 in your diary. We look forward to seeing you again at Tillington Hall! List of attendees:B KW S MJ AJ DG MSG TC JW N RF GS CE RG RIT NH PJ R D K RJ WH B JM WO JB AJP M GP SJ TB PS J P IRW PFJ A PT AW Adams Alldritt Arnold Ashley Ashton Ashton Ashton Ashton Askey Balmforth Barker Barnett Belcher Belcher Belcher Bennett Bennett Bents Bishop Boardman Boyles Brain Brinson Bristow Brown Bucknall Butters Caddy Card Cartwright Chackett Challinor Cole Cooper Cox Craig D’Agorne Dawson Deakin Total Old Eds 144 1947 1967 1965 1956 1948 1945 1969 1945 1965 1951 1948 1944 1945 1949 1975 1965 1969 1952 1965 1951 1945 1953 1974 1972 1963 1955 1950 1976 1950 1972 1956 1954 1949 1950 1954 1982 1972 1977 1957 1972 1956 1950 1970 1942 1942 1948 1953 1965 1969 1946 1951 1953 1947 1965 1960 1947 1965 1964 1970 1972 1948 1947 1953 1958 1972 1976 1953 1956 1958 1953 1972 1967 1953 1972 1971 1977 AL EA D DW KC SR JK P RH EAJ IR DA P WJ KA RH KG PCG AC HR RS R JV J R RT R WS F RK RC AA GS PI PM B WTH BJB JG DC Dobson Dobson Dugmore Edensor Edensor Elsmore Elsworth Emberton Fearn Fenn Gilbert Griffin Griffiths Griffiths Hackett 1945 1940 1965 1942 1957 1942 1942 1948 1943 1943 1965 1951 1969 1957 1949 Hammerton 1952 Handley 1945 Harris 1945 Hartley 1944 Haywood 1946 Hinton 1962 Hitchenor 1960 Hodgens 1942 Holt 1943 Horne 1952 Hudson 1944 Jakes 1957 Jamieson 1965 Jasper 1947 Jasper 1957 Jenks 1965 Johnson 1943 Johnson 1950 Johnson 1942 Jones 1949 Judson 1958 Keleghan 1957 Kenderdine Langford Law 1954 1949 1972 1949 1964 1947 1952 1954 1948 1953 1971 1956 1972 1964 1954 1960 1952 1950 1949 1952 1964 1967 1952 1948 1958 1948 1962 1972 1952 1964 1969 1949 1956 1947 1955 1962 1964 1948 1954 1960 1967 1945 1952 JH R CC RM IJ JE RS A SG B I RL DG MJ L BE RCH MJ RT CJ CR N GE GH DW G DG CC DJB R NP C PW RN R DH PM P DF R Total Guests 11 Page Law Lawford Lee Leech Lewis Lightfoot Lycett MacDonald MacDonald Mason Matthews McLaren Medlycott Mitchell Morris Moss Mudway Murphy Owen Paddison Parker Pepper Pickup Pointon Press Pursehouse Randles Riley Robbins Roberts Rowley Russell Russell Salmon Sandham Scholes Schroeder Seaborne Sharkey Shaw 1948 1946 1959 1965 1966 1946 1957 1966 1932 1946 1969 1955 1953 1944 1937 1946 1953 1958 1945 1959 1937 1965 1956 1946 1942 1944 1949 1946 1940 1946 1965 1966 1963 1965 1944 1942 1949 1965 1943 1965 1954 1951 1965 1972 1970 1953 1963 1971 1938 1951 1976 1961 1956 1950 1943 1950 1955 1963 1953 1964 1940 1972 1961 1954 1947 1950 1954 1953 1947 1952 1969 1973 1970 1972 1953 1947 1958 1972 1948 1972 K AJ PL PJ C WP GB GL M WA P MJ DC TP JJL B RGL GFJ TB B AW BA JS R EJ R M GW K D DG N D GW C D Shirley Smith Smith Stead Stevens Stevenson Tolley Turner 1945 1944 1949 1944 1951 1949 1954 1950 1938 1946 1942 Tushingham 1948 Tyrer 1969 Vohralik 1965 Wale 1965 Wall 1939 Watton 1967 Weaver 1931 West 1944 Wetton 1946 White 1947 Wiggin 1949 Williams 1953 Williams 1941 Wolfenden 1944 Wood 1944 Wood 1953 Wright 1962 Alldritt Guest Darley Guest Emery Guest Evans Guest Parker Spkr Read Guest Smith Guest Stott Guest Williams Guest Wood Guest Worrall Guest 1945 1952 1947 1955 1976 1972 1972 1946 1974 1936 1949 1953 1953 1956 1958 1947 1951 1952 1961 1969 P G Wood (1942-50) SOME RANDOM THOUGHTS ON THE ANNUAL DINNER OF 26 JAN 1979 A meeting with old friends, until it happens, is always for me fraught with anxieties. I am anxious above all, that time has not eroded the feelings and values that bound us together in friendship years ago. My anxieties proved to be groundless at the Old Edwardians’ Annual Dinner held in January 1979. It was proven, beyond all my doubts, that relationships built on solid values endure and survive the passage of time. I have rarely felt so much at home in my life as I did on that Friday evening with men who I had not seen for some twenty-five to thirty-five years. Of course, the reminiscences, the incredibly amusing (and true) stories of school days improve with time and join to form part of our own folklore. To meet the friends with whom I spent my last years or so at school was particularly joyful because of the ‘special’ nature of those times prior to the Army and the University. To meet the Captain of School when I joined KESS in 1942 and to find him as gracious and charming as he was then, which in the eyes of a small boy is the stuff of which hero-worship is made, was a special experience. To meet Toby Beck, who remembered me not for the hours I spent with him trying to learn some mathematics, but for a cricket game that we won having been shot out for an incredible 33. As skipper I was mortified at the poor showing. He came into the dressing-room, looked me straight in the eye and said “Get them out for less” - we did, and Toby’ s comment “I knew you could do it” was a compliment I treasure to this day. To remember quietly and with affection, the masters who have passed on. Their memory is perpetuated in Old Edwardians’ meetings, for each of them have influenced our lives to some degree, and a few, as in my case, profoundly. An Old Eds’ dinner is a time to look back and remember, but also a time to review where we are and what is to come. We should not, as my friend Warren Bennis writes, “Look back into the future, gazing wistfully at a fading and outmoded past”, nor, I might add, can we afford to forget our past and the values that we learned as boys. It is the acquisition of values rather than the academic learning that has meant the most to me. It is the quiet knowledge of how to lose as well as how to win, of how to respect those who march to the beat of a different drummer than our own, of how gentleness and kindness are the marks of the truly strong man, that remain when examination results are long forgotten. School is usually so much easier for the games-player than for the scholar and yet both species seem to survive quite well, and last January’s Dinner gave strong evidence of that. The over-riding impression I got of the evening was that I was amongst friends, buoyed by good-will, with a sense of belonging to a first-rate organization comprised of first-rate people. My only complaint was that “Swazee Warriors” lacked a little in volume and beat from the versions I remembered in the late forties - so, indeed, age does take its toll after all! Annual Dinner 2006 Friday 27 January Tillington Hall Hotel - 6.45 pm for 7.30 pm £26 (including subs & gratuities) - Members £20 (including gratuities) - Non-members Leek and Potato Soup Steak &Kidney Pie served with a selection of fresh vegetables* Sticky Toffee Pudding with Vanilla Pod Custard Coffee and Mints Speaker: Mick Walker Tickets from: Derek Edensor (01785 660076) or Alan Smith (01785 244169) Payment must accompany request for tickets, please - cheques made payable to "Stafford Old Edwardians' Association" Old Eds wishing to stay the night at Tillington Hall must inform the Hotel that they are attending the Dinner, to secure preferential terms (01785 253531) * Vegetarian option available - contact Derek Randles (01785 249634) Page Alan J Smith (1944-49) MEMBERSHIP SECRETARY’S REPORT 80 not out! No, it’s not an England player’s knock in the recent Ashes Tests. It is, in fact, the age of Stafford Old Edwardians’ Association come l0 January 2006. Members should take pride in the fact that it is their support and involvement, added to the achievements of those who have gone before, which plays a major part in the continuing success of our Association. We are indebted to the elder statesmen, our 34 Honorary Life Members, (ten per cent of our membership), who have played their part in our activities - indeed there are those that still do. Moreover the Honorary Membership will be increased by a further four in the first quarter of 2006. This year has been a sad one for Old Edwardians - the Obituaries’ pages tell their own story. At the time of writing we have lost nineteen Old Edwardians and thirteen of these were Association members. Even more poignant, six of these thirteen attended our Annual Dinner in January 2005. This brings me to our Annual Dinner at Tillington Hall on 27 January 2006. Tickets will be available in early December 2005 and again the annual subscription will be included in the ticket price. For those not attending the Dinner please forward a cheque for £6 (six pounds) to me, please, made out to SOEA. To ensure that our Association continues to thrive I would ask all members to spread the word - it would be a wonderful achievement to reach 100 not out and I know that there are Old Edwardians out there who will make it happen. After sixteen years as Membership Secretary. I have decided to step down at the next AGM. I have seen a growth in membership and an improvement in the paying of subscriptions over the years -may it long continue! But I am not riding off into the wilderness. I will continue as a committee member, but I will also be pursuing other interests. Finally, as I started this Report writing about our 80th anniversary, I will close it by letting you know that our Association will be receiving civic recognition by attending the Mayor’s Parlour on Friday 13 January 2006, this following an invitation to the President and Committee and their wives. See you all at Tillington Hall on 27 January 2006. OLD EDWARDIANS’ ASSOCIATION TIES Ties will be available at £7.50 each at the Annual Dinner in January, also by contact with any committee member during the year . The President’ s ‘Fine’ of £1 will apply to any member minus his tie at all appropriate functions, including the Annual Dinner. All proceeds will go towards the President’s named Charities — Katharine House Hospice and the Anthony Nolan Bone Marrow Trust. REMAINING Programme 2005/2006 Day Date Event Venue Friday 27 January Annual Dinner Tillington Hall Hotel 6.45pm for 7.30pm Wednesday ?? March Monday 3 April Retiring President’s Dinner AGM Friday 7 July Golf Day Brocton Hall Golf Club Stafford Castle Golf Club Stafford Castle Golf Club Page Time 7.00pm for 8.00pm 7.30pm 2.00pm Contact Derek Edensor 01785 660076 Alan Smith 01785 244169 Dereek Edensor 01785 660076 Peter Jones 01785 713227 Mike Winkle 01785 600997 To get to school from Little Haywood meant a dash for the train leaving Colwich station at about 8.00 am. For the first couple of years that meant a half mile short cut across the fields if it was fine but otherwise about a mile round on the road. Later I rode and left my bike at the station. At first I seemed to be the only KESS pupil from Colwich but there were one or two at the station going the other way to Rugeley Grammar School - I particularly remember Bill Meakin and Basil Billington, both farmers. Joe Meakin, a cousin of Bill’s, was younger and started coming to Stafford with me later. We were joined at Milford by a younger lad whose father was Stationmaster there. The local train usually had three carriages and, very much as you see in the film ‘The Railway Children’, the guard at the back end of the train stood on the platform with one foot on the running board holding on with one hand while the green flag in his other was poised to give the ‘go’ signal to the driver, as soon as the porter had checked that all the doors were closed and shouted to the guard. John Weaver (1931-36) Recollections of KESS in the 1930s A gentleman in the village, one of whose duties was to sell us fishing licences, told me that in his day he too had taken the train to School at KESS along with a few others. They had weighed this procedure up, so one morning while his friends all piled into the middle carriage he popped down between the carriages while milk churns etc. were being loaded and uncoupled the last carriage. The sight of the guard going through his routine and being left stuck there while the rest of the train pulled away must have been truly memorable. He did not say what the consequences were. I wonder what Cripp wants! At the Colwich end my worst misdemeanour was to drop a stink bomb in the waiting room before leaping aboard the train one morning. On my return in the evening the station master was waiting for me and I got a good telling off. They had had to evacuate the waiting room and the ticket office until the smell cleared. Fortunately he did not report me to our headmaster F T Nott (‘Cripp’) or I would have had the cane AGAIN. Once one had got over the initial fear of them, one of the attractions of the train was the girls. There was not much larking about in the mornings - we were all burdened with unfinished or even unstarted homework and the 20 or 25 mins. journey to Stafford was valuable catching up time. Waiting on Stafford station in the train for home, which was parked in Bay 2 for ages before it left at 4.38, was a different matter. There were several Stafford High School girls from Rugeley, Colwich and the Haywoods and one or two who went to the Convent School at Stafford. The ring leader among the girls was Beryl Scott, the police sergeant’s daughter from Great Haywood. There were three or four of us lads and the girls would tease us and play hard to get. The game was to break down their defences and get into their compartment. (They were not corridor carriages). They found that if they pushed their feet hard against the big brass door handle from the inside we could not force it open. Our next move was for one of us to get into a next door compartment and while the others made a big show of trying to get their door open on the platform side, he would exit his compartment on the other side of the parked train and nip along the running board to open their compartment door on that side and get in and surprise them We were always outnumbered and they soon learned to dash out of that compartment into another one. My answer to that was to acquire a carriage key like the porters had and I found that a standard door knob with that square shaft they have was just the job. While attacking their compartment from the platform side a quick twist of the key ensured that they could not escape and we could then get in the back door easily from the next compartment. They were afraid to do that. The problem was that there were two old fashioned sisters from Rugeley who did not enter into the spirit of the game and told tales to their headmistress, Miss Macrea, who really WAS old fashioned, and she wrote letters to Cripp complaining about our behaviour. As a result, over a few years I had the cane six times for disgracing the school in a public place. The seventh time I was sent for, Cripp fidgeted about, as he usually did, and talked about behaviour and so on while I waited for sentence - but it never came. The prefect necessary to witness the caning was not sent for. Instead Cripp said something to the effect that “ I know boys will be boys and lark about like this, but try to do it without letting the school down. Now off you go and don’t give Miss Macrea any more cause for complaint” ! Cripp, who had been a senior officer in the First World War must have got fed up with Ma Macrea’s petulant letters. Since we were always poking our heads out of the train windows, caps were likely to get blown off. I think I lost three that way. It was important because the strict rule was that one must wear a school cap at all times when out and about and that was an expense for parents in the hard times of the 1930s. Page The quiet smallish lad from Milford was younger than we others and one day he did not get on at Milford as usual nor for some time afterwards. It turns out that he had been listening to us talking about cars and aeroplanes and parachutes, as boys do, and he had decided to try a parachute jump. To this end he had somehow attached one of his mother’s sheets to his person and bravely jumped off the railway bridge at Milford and fell on to the lines below and broke his ankles. In the mid 30s the new Victoria Bridge was being built and many a morning I went to check progress when I got off the train. I was particularly impressed with the pile-driving operation and after several visits I realised that the pile driver was always working in the same place. I asked one of the workmen why this was and he told me that so far they had put 16 piles down the same hole and they had all disappeared. These piles were of reinforced concrete about 20 feet long. All the talk of Stafford being built on a swamp began to make sense. Subsequently the people who designed the Technical College, the new Railway Station, the Territorial Army building and a few others fell into the same trap. But now to school. First call was the house room to dump your stuff and get anything you needed out of your locker. If there was time to spare perhaps have a quick knock-up of table tennis before classes started. There were four house rooms, North, South, Centre and Rest. Two of them were those rooms under the Cloisters and the other two were in an adjoining large wooden building which had been the chapel but was now VERY rickety and could be made to wobble a lot. Masters kept clear of these rooms which were supervised in a fairly relaxed way by House Prefects. From time to time there were riotous battles between rival houses without much damage being done. One of my technological contributions to the warfare was to unscrew the brass top of one of the light switches in a rival house and insert a small strip of cheese (from my lunch) across the contacts inside the switch and put the lid back.. All would be well when the lights were switched on but if they were then switched off for any reason the cheese would cause an arc to form across the contacts. This would slowly fill the room with acrid foul-smelling smoke and drive out the inmates while the lights flickered on and off in an interesting way.( It worked well because the mains supply was DC as was everybody’s in Stafford up to about 1952). I am quite disappointed to find that today ‘houses’ are something less real than we had. We actually had something to fight for and as the house you were in depended on where you came from there was great camaraderie. Now I was one of a small minority who had been brought up as a Roman Catholic and in the stupid religious bigotry of those days we were not allowed to attend Prayers, now called Assembly, each morning in the hall. Instead, about twenty of us gathered in one of the classrooms for the duration of Prayers and it was a fine opportunity to get on with unfinished homework or chat. Sometimes a master would be in attendance. I think Dr Gilmore, ‘Fishy Gill’, was a Catholic and sometimes did it. One bright summer morning Cripp made a quick detour on his way to Prayers and descended on us. He said, “Right you heathens, while we are saying prayers I want all of you out on your knees on that cricket pitch and I want every bit of shepherd’s purse removed.” I thought it was quite funny and told my mother but she being a zealous Catholic was furious. Look what has happened now! That specially drained and levelled first class playing field and cricket pitch has been dug up to make a car park and petrol station. NOWELL MELLER SOLICITORS Providing Legal Services to Old Edwardians for Generations 7 & 8 St Mary’s Grove Stafford ST16 2AT Telephone: 01785 252377 Fax: 01785 273122 DX: 14557 INVESTORS IN PEOPLE Internet: www.nowellmeller.co.uk e-mail: [email protected] Page 10 Another day in that classroom a lad called Wilcox and I were chatting and joking about ‘Treasure Island’ and Long John Silver with the parrot squawking “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight” when in limped Billy Lambert, a master who at that time had a wooden stump leg. (He later had a proper artificial leg). Wilcox and I burst out laughing - here we were imitating the parrot and in walks a real Long John Silver. Billy whipped round and with a mighty swipe brought his heavy walking stick down where Wilcox’s head had been a fraction of a second before and it whammed onto the desk top. Wilcox had slid out just in time on to the floor. Looking back Billy was a sad character and I am ashamed of how we teased him. He could flare up quickly and dish out detentions and “pages” to be written (not ‘lines’ as in some schools) but if one went to him later and apologised he would let you off. He was always quieter in the afternoon when he had had a few whiskies for lunch some of which he breathed over you as he passed your desk. George Orwell, pointing out the obvious, said that Billy Bunter & Co. were the folk-heroes of working-class boys at day schools, not of middle-class boys at boarding schools. The goings-on at Greyfriars School fitted the adolescent dreams of the under-privileged. Leslie Gardiner (1932-37) A Voyage to Clubland It has been much the same with fictional references to the London clubs: they have reinforced and perpetuated a romantic and satirical myth of Clubland for those who will never cross its frontiers; a fantasy world of pillared halls, omniscient club porters, irascible occupants of massive leather armchairs. . . a slightly confused myth, for it has to be reconciled with that other mythical Clubland, populated exclusively by rich, spoilt, overgrown schoolboys unrestrained by the civilising influence of women or the conventions which rule in modern society, who practise their eccentric misanthropy or excessive conviviality and do exactly what they like. Some of us discover that real-life London clubs are not like that. The head porter, keeping his eye on the steps for 35 years, has yet to witness a horse-whipping. You tiptoe past a supine member with a newspaper spread over his face, hoping to read some such headline as MAFEKING RELIEVED - but it is today’s evening paper which undulates to his snoring. In the bar, members are behaving like people in any other bar . In the billiard room, conversation is neither more nor less intermittent and banal than conversation on the 8.23 from Purley. Family parties give the luncheon room all the atmosphere of a Regent Street restaurant. Many, not all, clubs were situated in the magic triangle of Pall Mall, Most of the great clubs were in Piccadilly and St James’s Street: traditional Clubland, known to readers of that brand of fiction which deals with what used to be called ‘London existence by 1840: by all accounts society’ and runs from Trollope to Wodehouse and Waugh. Most of the members behaved as they would great clubs were in existence by 1840: by all accounts members behaved never dare behave at home. as they would never dare behave at home. Their rudeness, if displayed in public, would have got them arrested for a breach of the peace. While polite manners gained ground outside, in clubs they remained locked in that era: liberty halls for Englishmen of a certain class, safety valves for neurotic greed, psychopathic arrogance and other instincts repressed but not eradicated in the nursery. Lord Glasgow threw a waiter through the window and dismissed protests with a brief “Put him on the bill.” The Duke of Devonshire liked to sit at the entrance to Brooks’s -with a leaded cane, with which he slashed at members as they came in. (His grandson reports that members were proud of being struck and only hurt if they were spared.) A stalwart of Boodle’s sat in the famous bow-window on rainy days: he said he liked to “watch the damned people getting wet.” You rang sir Swinburne, unable to find his hat after lunch, took everyone else’s off the pegs and jumped up and down on them - until reminded he had come in without a hat. Waugh, inadvertently parodying the London society clowns and bullies of his novels, was reprimanded by the Beefsteak committee for hysterical abuse of a servant slow in finding him a taxi. Perhaps today no one is rich enough to indulge in Regency manners. There was more excuse for them when election to a club depended on an existing member dying, and waiting lists were years long. Nowadays clubs must tout for members and servants. Those extravagantly furnished acres, so cleverly and cheaply acquired in days gone by, hang like millstones round committees’ necks, while property sharks hover outside. Toss in a smoke bomb and you will flush out trade union leaders, editors of girlie-mags, pink-faced City brokers. Today, High Court judges can no longer ask “Who is Mr Frank Sinatra?” and get away with it. In the Club, one may scarcely hope to hear the question: “Tell me, old boy, what exactly are taxes?” Or (overheard two decades ago) “Your Arab’s not as good as your Pathan, but he’s better than nothing.” (Editor; Leslie died in 2001 and we are again indebted to his son, Adrian, for supplying one of his late father’s writings.) Let’s face it - English is a crazy language - 1: There is no egg in eggplant nor is there ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren’t invented in England or French fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren’t sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. Also, why is it that writers write but fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t groce and hammers don’t ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the plural of booth beeth? One goose, two geese. So one moose, two meese? One index, two indices? Page 11 Peter Smith (1949-54) BOWLING EVENING On a glorious evening in June, our annual Bowls Evening took place at the Stafford Bowling Club, but unfortunately without Eddie and Pat Dobson this year, who were on holiday. As usual, the democratic team-selection took place and soon there were five sets of four players covering all corners of the green, with woods flying in all directions. Then came the “Big Match” - the first public appearance of our new Vice-President (Dave Ashton) versus our President (his son Mark) and their partners. This game eventually resulted in a narrow one point win by Dad.While we ate a superb supper, prepared by Anne Handley, the overall result of the match was announced - a win for the Vice-President’s team by six points. The Cup was presented to him by Mark, with instructions to keep it well polished. After supper, we bowled for a bottle of whisky, which had been kindly donated by Pat Boyles, in Ray’s memory. After much effort, it was won by Noel Yeates. An excellent evening was enjoyed by all. Our thanks are due to Anne Handley and to the Club for having us and to their bar staff who looked after us so well. Our thanks must also go to Peter Smith who organised the evening. RESULTS President George Maddick and Gerald Chatfield Alan Hartley and Martha Collop Jack Netherwood and Terry Bartlett John and Treece Wood Ken Shirley and Geoff Pursehouse Judy Bishop and Bryan Moss Mark Ashton and Beverley Woodhead Gordon and Kath Turner John and Treece Wood Robin Belcher Total Score Score 13 - 15 7- 15 15- 8 6 - 15 15- 10 15 - 12 14- 15 15- 7 7 - 15 14 - 15 121- 127 Vice-President Noel and Carol Yeates Ken Handley and Jack Ellsmoor Roger and Ann Barker Derek and Pat Randles Tony and Cynthia Haggett Dennis and Betty Press Dave Ashton and Dorothy Simmonds John and Carole Cole Peter and Megan Smith Terry Bartlett Dennis Press (1943-47) SKITTLES 2005 Some say that the thirteenth is unlucky but not so Tuesday, 13 September when another successful Skittles Evening was held at the Constitutional Club. Despite some unfortunate late cancellations a few hasty phone calls to the reserve list enabled us to have 40 enthusiastic skittlers “raring to go”. The first round was duly completed and then everyone sat down to a supper of steak pie, chips and peas which everyone enjoyed. Two further rounds then took place with “The Richard Craniums” (commonly referred to as “The Dick Heads”) emerging as winners - each team member duly receiving a bottle. The highest scoring lady for the evening was Cynthia Haggett with 34 points and the gents’ winner with 40 points was Mark Ashton (No, it wasn’t fixed!). If you would like to play in next year’s competition, don’t forget to make an early phone call once the date is fixed. Page 12 My first attempt at publication was a short poem that appeared in a 1947/48 “Staffordian”; nearly 60 years on, I’m ready to have another go, but not in verse this time. When I received the latest edition of the ‘Staffordian’, I was spending some time visiting a nursing home, sharing the last moments with a wonderful father-in-law, who taught me a lot about life and particularly about how to die. Reading the magazine, I realised that some of my close friends of over fifty years ago had also departed and that others were not in the best of health. I started counting my blessings. Nimmy’s reminiscing on his years at KESS was as positive and optimistic as the man himself and I became aware that I had met only one old school friend since leaving Stafford and that he had painted a very different picture of the quality of education in the post-war period. Colin Giles returned to school later as a teacher and had time to reflect on John Hudson (1947-56) what he now considers to be a fairly motley crew of staff members. My own memories are much like the curate’s egg. BROAD THOUGHTS FROM A HOME Nimmy remembers Claude for his skills at tax evasion whereas I admired the man who kept goal for Arsenal in 1912 and whose bloodstained door vividly illustrated the quality of his timing and hand/ear coordination. I can see him now, wielding his enormous gun on Sports Day and eliminating one of the favourites by shooting Lilly in the leg at the start of the 100 yards sprint and so helping me to get on the podium. Justice prevailed however, as he later sent me to take the javelins back to the marquee as he started a hurdle race for which I had been favourite. “But me no but’s, boy!” had been his response to my “But Sir, . . .!” As a history and geography teacher, Claude was less of a star and we spent many boring hours chanting “Manchester shi* canal, Manchester shi* canal”, sotto voce, as Claude droned on about the issuing of the rum ration in the trenches. History was finally brought home to us one day in February 1952, when a discreet knock on that hallowed door brought a pregnant silence to the class. The caretaker popped his head round the door and in solemn tones announced, “Please excuse me for interrupting, Mr Woodger, but the King has died”. As the door closed, Claude leaned slowly back in his chair, carefully removing his glasses and clearing his throat to deliver a momentous announcement. We leaned forward expectantly, for this was history in the making, to hear Claude, with a heart-felt sigh, declare : “Does that fellow have nothing better to do than sit and listen to his blinking radio all day!” As for Chips, my two years in the Cloisters did little to further my scant knowledge of maths, as he tended to run through the board at a pace far too brisk for me to follow. This was not reflected in my reports as we all had prior access to the tests and, above all, the answers! I am convinced that if Boris had not drilled in a few basics during the ensuing year, reinforced by regular runs round the cricket pitch, I would have remained numerically illiterate to this day. My possibly unique claim to KESS fame is the time I spent there : nine years of enduring pleasure, including four in the Sixth Form. During this last period, I spent most of my study time with two outstanding teachers – Wally and Doc. The French novelist Frédéric Dard claimed that his rich and eventful career had taught him that there are only two real values in life : work and love. For Doc and Wally, teaching was a labour of love and they managed to inculcate some of their values into their pupils and not only were they good teachers and persons, but also excellent all-rounders at most extra-curricular activities. Frédéric Dard is undoubtedly on the right lines in his scale of human values, but I’m sure he would have agreed with me in placing “play” as a close third. At school, I played indifferent hockey, cricket and rugby, but my contemporaries may remember me better for my skills at conkers, snooker and 3-card brag. A few years ago, I discovered the joys of golf and this has provided my retirement with a healthy supplement. Having lived abroad all of my professional life, it would be fitting if I could return home with a valuable gift : a modified version of golf! We have founded a European Association of Pitch & Putt which is thriving in southern Europe but where the UK is badly under-represented. Come and visit us at www.pitch-putt.info and see if there is not an opportunity to develop this sport in the Stafford area. Padraig Harrington, a keen practitioner, believes it’s an excellent activity for honing the short-game skills. If this message can set a ball rolling, maybe I can start repaying my nine-year debt! Page 13 Mike Winkle (1963-70) GOLF DAY 8 July 2005 The sun shone upon 15 righteous golfers, competing for the Paul Butters Trophy at Stafford Castle Golf Club. They say that golf is a lot of walking, broken up by disappointment and bad arithmetic. We totally agree! Old Eds prefer to zigzag up the fairway and savour the pleasure that bad shots give to their fellow players and Peter Jones was no exception to this. However, his was the shot of the Competition - a lofted straight drive which became stuck in a tree with the ball refusing to come down. Indeed a poet might have described it thus:- “I shot a golf ball in the air, it fell to earth I know not where!” Bad arithmetic was shown by me, when I could not work out who “The Winner” was and gave the trophy to Ian. Sorry, Dave ! The Winner was, of course, Dave Bishop, with a magnificent 42 points, followed by Ian Gilbert on 39 points. In the evening our wives, partners and friends joined us for a first-class meal in the Club House. Thanks to Jason, the caterer, and Marjorie and the bar staff for looking after our every need. Next year the Competition will take place on Friday 7th July with tee-off at 2.00 p.m. and Dinner at 8.00 p.m. Please contact Mike Winkle on 01785 600997, at least two weeks in advance, if you would like to take part. REMEMBRANCE SERVICE Saturday 12 November 2005 This excellent turn-out of 47 was the highest for a number of years. Special mention must be made of four Old Eds who began at KESS in the 1920’s and early 1930’s; equally we were pleased to see five young Old Eds with us who were at KESS in the late 1960 s and early 1970’ s - they were among the last pupils of the old School. Attendance: Old Edwardians Mark Ashton (President) 1969~76 David Ashton (Vice-President) 1943-50 Geoff Barnett 1942~49 Philip Bennett 1969~ 77 Martin Sullivan 1969~76 Robin Kelly 1969- 77 Rod Hammerton 1952-59 Derek Robbins 1940-47 Bob Fearn 1943-48 Jack Netherwood 1928~34 Tony Bloor 1930-37 Jack Ellsmoor 1927-32 Don Sharkey 1942-48 Barrie Chackett 1951~56 Michael Acocks 1951-58 Ken Handley 1945-52 John Baker 1943-50 Maurice Downes 1946-51 Dennis Press 1944-49 Len Mould 1936~42 Eddie Dobson 1940-49 John Cole 1948-53 George Maddick 1934-38 Chris Andrews 1971-73 Eric Corfield 1942~47 Colin Riley 1946~53 Peter Stevenson 1938~45 Chris Lee 1959~65 Richard Hinton 1962-64 Peter Smith 1949-54 Alan Hartley 1944-49 Peter Emberton 1948-54 Peter Jones 1949-55 Ladies Beverley Woodhead Pat Boyles Coralie Netherwood Anne Handley Brenda Mould Ruth Downes Pat Dobson Julie Andrews Megan Smith Martha Collop Mrs B.Barnett Chetwynd Centre Alan Williams (Deputy Head) Tony lnnamorati (Site Supervisor) Capt. David J. Keates MBE (Bugler) Let’s face it - English is a crazy language - 2: Doesn’t it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend. If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it? If teachers taught, why didn’t preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. If laughter has an ‘f’ sound in the “gh” then why does not daughter (dafter)? Page 14 Alan J Smith (1944-49) Mrs Steeples’ Cat Mrs Steeples lived on our route home from school and knew that she could always pounce on one of us to send us on an errand, chop firewood or bring in the coal from the yard. She was a wiry, small old soul, a widow for many years who doted on her cat called Tiddles, a shecat. Tiddles would produce an annual batch of kittens - all fathered by the same marauding tomcat, who periodically appeared as if by magic. He would hang around the area for days and nights awaiting the opportunity to increase the cat population. This particular afternoon two of us had been commandeered for stick- chopping duty at the back of Mrs Steeples’s house. It was then that the tom-cat sneaked into the house via the open door. Having made it this far he thought that his luck would be in with Tiddles who was curled up in her box in the kitchen. The tom was purring like a motor-bike as he saw no threat from Mrs Steeples’s broom. Silently, Mrs Steeples closed the door and asked us to pick up the tom and turn him on his back and tickle his belly. The tom-cat thought he was in paradise and continued to purr. Reaching into the cupboard Mrs Steeples held a bottle of’ Sloans Liniment’ , normally used for stiff joints. She then poured some onto the tom-cat’s private parts and his paradise was changed to hell in a flash. Letting out an unearthly howl, the cat leapt in the air and flew up the curtains trying to escape. Down came the curtains and pelmet with the tom-cat entangled. Still screaming, he leapt onto the sideboard setting the ornaments and clock tinkling and chiming madly. The door was opened and the tom escaped, still howling; he would have given any cheetah a start and still beaten it whilst running on two legs and trying to lick himself at the same time. For days after this episode the tom-cat was seen sitting in the puddles that were around - he never approached Mrs Steeples’ house again. Subsequently Tiddles transferred her affections to a ginger tom and duly produced more kittens. As for Mrs Steeples, her house was never invaded again, but she kept the ‘Sloans Liniment’ handy just in case! Alan J Smith (1944-49) KESS WAR MEMORIAL The War Memorial in Newport Road was dedicated on 8th December 1921 by the Right Reverend Bishop of Lichfield, John Augustine Kempthorne and Lt. Colonel J. Dawson DSO. The Memorial commemorates Masters and Old Boys of the School who lost their lives in the Great War 1914-18 and it is recorded in the United Kingdom National Inventory of War Memorials housed at the Imperial War Museum in London. In October 2000, through the efforts of your Association and in particular those of your President at that time, Len Mould, the School buildings and the War Memorial were granted Grade II Listed Building Status - a tremendous achievement! As the War Memorial is now some 84 years old it is in need of some attention and your committee decided that the necessary work should be carried out and that the project might be extended to explore the possibility of adding two missing names to the World War I names and also that World War II names be added to the Memorial- some forty-four Old Boys and one Master . Ownership of the Memorial has been established and an application to Stafford Borough Council for Listed Building Consent will be made in the near future. Moreover, various officers of Staffs. County Council have proved most helpful in offering advice and in preparing a specification and drawings. We understand that grants may be obtained from various sources for projects such as this and we will continue to move forward one step at a time as appropriate. Page 15 Robert ‘Taffy’ Owen (1945-53) Life after Seventy A Holiday Adventure I suppose my desire to find out what is round the next corner was fostered by Lake District hostelling trips with KESS, (ably led by W.A.B, Rex and Boris!). After Music College and National Service in the R.A.M.C, my marriage to Elizabeth took us to teaching posts in Coventry, where singing in the Cathedral Choir took me to Berlin and through Check Point Charlie, the year after the wall was erected. Many School Camps, mainly in Eskdale, one adventurous camp in Norway in 1964, (ten days £30 inclusive) with a secondary school group and several skiing trips came in quick succession. After our move to the New Forest and our attempt at the “Good Life”, looking after goats, chickens, ducks, pigs and garden produce which left no time for holidays we started to spread our wings with extended trips to U.S.A. Fiji, New Zealand and camping around Australia. This summer’s jaunt was a compromise. Elizabeth wanted to see China, and I the Wilderness area of Australia, Cape York, the Tip and Thursday Island, which being so remote had been missed on our previous visits to Oz. So, we did both in five weeks and eleven flights! Our visit to China was a Kuoni escorted tour which took us to all the major sights - the Ming Tombs, the Great Wall, the Forbidden City including the exact spot in Tiananmen Square, where a student stood defiantly before the tank, the Terracotta Warriors at Xian and the Huaqing Hot Springs and Royal Gardens. When we stood outside our hotel in Beijing and videoed the passing traffic we were astonished by the large number of bicycles, some with trailers, piled high with various loads, some with a side-saddle passenger, perched precariously behind. But the highlight was the Three Gorges Yangtze River cruise and the awesome new dam, due for completion in 2007. The river will rise substantially, drowning many towns and cities which have already been rebuilt above the new waterline. We found the Chinese people friendly and helpful and the young have forsaken Mau’ s drab uniform for the latest Western fashions. English is now taught in preference to Russian as a result of China’ s international policy and the Beijing Olympic Games in 2008. In Australia, we spent four nights in a Rainforest Lodge at Cape Tribulation in the Daintree National Park, ninety miles north of Cairns. We were right in the heart of an area unchanged for 100,000 years. We returned to Cairns for our flight to Horn Island in the Torres Straits, coming back by 4 WD on dirt roads, fording creeks and rivers, sometimes quite hair-raising. We were glad of our extremely competent driver/courier, Nick. Cape York is not accessible for five months of the year, in the “Wet”.In Cooktown we saw the memorial to Captain Cook who beached the “Endeavour” for repairs after foundering on the Barrier Reef. Our greatest surprise on this trip with Oz Tours (via the Net) was the extent that this northern area had been severely bombed by the Japanese. More than two hundred crashed planes littered the forest areas around Horn Island and Bamaga on mainland Australia. This is really a “forgotten war”. The only good thing to come out of it was that the indigenous population was allowed to join the Australian Army and served with distinction. Our adventure ended with a four-day stay in Sydney visiting a former pupil whom I had not met since the sixties. We toured: the iconic and spectacular Opera House but did not feel the necessity to spend £80 to scale the Sydney Harbour Bridge! A sign of age, perhaps? We are happy to furnish more information, if anyone is contemplating any of our itineraries. Let’s face it - English is a crazy language -3: In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell? How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? Page 16 I am not a Staffordian by birth, but my wife, Rosemary, was born in Stafford in 1951 and attended a well-known centre of Staffordian education, St. Joseph’s Convent in Lichfield Road, Stafford. Perhaps, therefore, I can claim Staffordian status by association if not birth. I was born in 1947 at a military hospital in Hampshire when my father was serving as a Flight Lieutenant in the RAF at RAF Odiham. A series of moves during my early life including 18 months spent in Aden eventually found me living in Harleston in Norfolk in 1953 when my father received his final posting to RAF Pulham. I had commenced my education at an Italian Covent in Aden, but the path that was eventually to lead me to KESS really began at Eastholme School in Harleston where I was to spend the next three years. Harleston remains a hugely influential time of my life, and even as a small child I remember being conscious of the fact that many of the men serving with my father had fought in the Second World War, which at that time had finished less than 10 years before. One of the more dramatic local personalities was Bob Bishop an American poultry farmer with three attractive daughters who went to the same school as myself, who had flown with the United States Army Air Force during the Second World War. In 1956, my father decided that he should leave the Air Force in order to enable my two sisters and myself to have a settled and stable education. He joined the Civil Service, passing out very nearly top of his cohort and he was sent to Ipswich for the next three years to train as an executive officer with the Inland Revenue. In 1956, our family moved to Capel St. Mary, which was then a small village about 6 miles from Ipswich, but which is now a huge dormitory for that town and indeed for London and Colchester. Many of the fields and lanes that I roamed as a boy are now covered in houses. I attended Capel St. Mary Primary School, which was a Church of England School where, after attending morning service on Ascension Day, a half-holiday was granted. In those far-off days, the whole school was able to walk down to the church for the service through fields, all of which are now housing estates. Chris Lee (1959-65) AN OLD EDWARDIAN LAWYER’S TALE Two aspects of my life, which were to influence my time at KESS and indeed to the present day, took root whilst I lived at Capel. Firstly, I became addicted to cricket, although I suspect that even at the age of nine, as indeed was to be the case through the whole of my cricketing life, my ability was in inverse proportion to my enthusiasm!! My particular friend, John Wright, lived in the largest house in the village, Churchford Hall. The grounds were considerable and his father created a strip suitable for cricket amongst the trees in the orchard. There, John, John’s brother Trevor and myself practised our cricket throughout the whole year. Our heroes were Peter May, Colin Cowdrey, Freddie Trueman, Brian Statham, Frank Tyson, Jim Laker and Peter Richardson. The second great passion that took root during my time at Capel St. Mary was railways. I regularly used to visit the Liverpool Street to Norwich main line at Bentley Station where the motor power was provided by the new Britannia Pacifics which worked the crack expresses such as The Broadsman and the East Anglian. Local and stopping passenger trains were in the hands of B17 and B12-460s and the most common freight power was J17-060. A J17 or J15 regularly worked the freight branch line to Hadleigh, which ran through Capel St. Mary. The headmistress of Capel St. Mary Primary School was Miss Fincham. A severe lady in late middle age with very white hair, known as ‘Fanny’, she maintained discipline but in a way that never seemed overbearing or overwhelming. All my recollections of the primary school are extremely happy ones. The second master was Mr Tom Alum, who drove a car to school (something of a rarity in those days) and who wrote boys’ books of the Biggles genre and whose main character was Hurricane Harland. The infants’ teacher, Miss Page, lived in the village and cycled to work. Her family ran the local haulage business. I was good at English, but not so good at Maths and in due course failed my 11 plus. If I had passed I would have gone to Ipswich School and who knows then what the future might have held? As it was, in September 1958, I was to attend the new secondary modern school at East Bergholt, the headmaster of which had recently returned from a teaching assignment in St. Helena. The return journey to East Bergholt was some 10 miles. There was no school bus and the East Suffolk County Council duly provided me with a bike, a cape and leggings but no lights for the bike, since I was expected to be back before dusk fell and I was Page 17 expected to make my way to and from school by bicycle. I still remember the route very clearly and the stretch of road where on an icy January morning, I lost control of the bike and the front wheels of a car missed my head by about two inches! There may be some who wish the car driver had been more accurate! East Bergholt was situated very close to Flatford Mill made famous by John Constable; on occasions I would use the bike to drop down to the River Stour and take in the beautiful countryside immortalised in Constable’s paintings. I attended East Bergholt for two terms and during the second term sat the 12 plus. Before the results of the examination were received, my father completed his training with the Inland Revenue and was posted from Ipswich to Cannock and so it was in April 1959 that my family and I came to live at Top Corner, Market Street, Penkridge and my association with Stafford began. During the summer term in 1959 I attended Wolgarston Secondary Modern School where the headmaster was Mr Hughes. During that term I met David Stanley who was in the same class as I and who was to become one of my friends at KESS in the future. Sometime during the summer, the results of the examination taken at East Bergholt came through and I had apparently passed. Although I have no recollection of the interview, I was seen by the headmaster of KESS, D J D Smith Esquire, on or about 23 September 1959 and interviewed with a view to admission to the Grammar School. It is worth quoting from the letter to my parents, which I still hold, “Although his attainments are somewhat below the level which I should expect from a grammar school boy of his age, nevertheless, on the recommendation from East Suffolk and his present headmaster, I am prepared to offer him a place here and I suggest that you agree with Mr Hughes about the best date for the transfer”. Very shortly afterwards that transfer was made and I arrived at Form 4C and Worswick House. I made a very modest beginning at the Grammar School, finishing 29th out of 31 in my first half term in 4C. THOUGHTS (For Those Who Take Life Too Seriously) I just get lost in thought. It is unfamiliar territory. What happens if you get scared half to death twice? Change is inevitable, except from vending machines. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments. I used to have an open mind but my brains kept falling out. Inside every old person is a young person wondering “What happened?!” Page 18 Paul F J Craig ( 1947-53 ) The End Of An Era In June this year I went to an open evening at the Oval Annexe of Stafford College to bid a fond farewell to one of Stafford’s oldest educational establishments, the old Girls’ High School. Who can ever forget the clandestine cuddles and kisses, out of sight of the ever vigilant Miss Whitehurst, after school. Although the evening had been well publicised in the local press I was astonished at the huge number of people who turned out. As I made my way through the various displays of the current art students I was struck by the number of exHigh School pupils that I met, some over eighty years of age, who recalled with great fondness their time at the School. One such group were recalling their time during the Second World War and their visits to the shelters during daylight air raids, when the carrying of gas masks was compulsory. I found another group of ‘Old Girls’ accompanied by various children and grandchildren, searching for the rooms where they had been taught different subjects, but unfortunately some rooms had been altered beyond recognition and there were a few disappointed faces that night. . “Are they pulling it down then?” I heard one elderly lady ask her friend as they viewed one of “Are they the displays, but she was reassured that it was to be made into flats and the building itself would remain. That particular conversation filled me with pride, when, two years previously, the answer pulling it down to that same question may well have been “Yes” or “Possibly”, as the Art College, in 2003, had then?” 1 heard declared that the Oval Annexe, the two Victorian houses on the site and the land they stand on was one elderly lady surplus to requirements. As an old KESS boy, who is Stafford born and bred and who has seen a lot of Stafford’s historic and beautiful old buildings demolished, I was appalled at this news and ask............. I went to a meeting in August 2003 to support the opposition to the College’s intentions. At that meeting I was elected Chairman of the S.T.O.P. ( Save The Oval Please) Campaign and my Committee and I have worked tirelessly since to save this lovely building from the bulldozer. When the properties and land were offered for sale in April 2004 we had a stall in the Market Square, when we alerted the passers-by of the College’s plans. The response we received was overwhelming and made us even more determined to thwart the College’s intentions. Luckily for our Campaign and the people of Stafford, the buildings and land was purchased by a company who specialise in converting old buildings , such as the Oval Annexe, into apartments and having seen their plans I am sure that this fine old building will thankfully be preserved for future generations. HOME REMEDIES If you are choking on an ice cube, don’t panic! Simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat and presto! The blockage will be almost instantly removed. Clumsy? Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away. For high blood pressure sufferers: just cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, then you will be afraid to cough. If you have a bad toothache? Smash your thumb with a hammer and you will forget about the toothache. If you woke up breathing, congratulations! You get another chance. Finally, be really nice to your family and friends, you never know when you might need them to empty your bed pan. Page 19 Lost for Words? Our vocabulary is constantly being added to and since the 1960s many new words and expressions have come into common usage. How many of them are familiar to you and do you know their meanings? Here are just a sample:- AC/DC ............................. bi-sexual, “swinging both ways”; from two forms of electric current (alternating current/ direct current). Big bang theory................ a theory of the creation of the Universe which posits the massive explosion of a single compact mass of extremely hot material (trillions of degrees ) from which spring all subsequent elements. The explosion is thought to have taken place 20 million years ago and the Universe has been expanding ever since. CFCs...................................chlorofluorcarbons: any one of a variety of compounds made up of chlorine, carbon, fluorine and hydrogen. They are used particularly in refrigerators and aerosols. They are thought to be harmful to the ozone layer. Deep throat........................the original Deep Throat was the super-confidential high-level source used by reporters Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward in their investigation of the Watergate Affair for the Washington Post. Since Watergate the term has been used for any secret source. ERM...................................exchange rate mechanism: established as part of the European monetary system to promote co-operation and currency stability in the EC. Floppy disc.........................a flexible storage medium, circular in shape, on which data can be stored, memorized or retrieved by a computer. Glitch................................. a hitch, snag or malfunction; first popularized by USA astronauts. Its origin is in electronics where a sudden change in voltage results in the addition of a new load to the circuit. Heavy metal.......................a type of rock music that is invariably played very loud and it depends on a succession of sound-alike riffs. Its main audience is usually adolescent boys. Insider trading dealing......the use of privileged information by members of the Stock Exchange to line their own pockets - definitely illegal. Junk mail...........................unsolicited commercial advertising, posted to millions of homes, couched in highly appealing language, that rarely goes further than the waste paper bin. From “New Words and their Meanings” Jonathon Green 1991 K.B.A [Architects] Ltd. (Chairman: Keith Boardman RIBA) Strategic Partners to Staffs County Council for All Design Services to include:- Architectural and Quantity Surveying Services at Unit 8B, Frank Foley Way Greyfriars Business Park STAFFORD Telephone: 01785 60 40 20 Page 20 Rod Hammerton ( 1952-59) Many years ago I was travelling back from a business trip to Australia when, just before my departure, I was asked to make a call in Hong Kong. Reluctantly, I changed my plans and flew to an afternoon meeting on Hong Kong Island. Following the meeting my local agent advised that he could change my flight to a much more comfortable one wherein the aircraft would be less than a third full so I would receive excellent service at no extra cost. I agreed to change. The flight was an unscheduled TWA jumbo going to Rome. This was okay for me because en route back to the UK I was intending to visit our Spanish office and thus it would be a relatively simple flight change at Rome airport. Tales of an ‘Educated’ Old Edwardian So my journey began! The aircraft was barely a quarter full and the service was quite splendid! Then things began to become strange: On the route to Rome we must have landed at least three times whereas normally this plane can fly the whole route without re-fuelling. After each landing, the plane went to an outlying, almost deserted part of the airfield where it was surrounded by police officers but nobody would explain the reason for same. The result was that I had no sleep on the flight which, bearing in mind that I had earlier that day travelled from Australia, meant that I was exceedingly tired when I landed in Rome. Normally, I would then have gone to the TWA business class transit lounge to await the call for my onward flight (to Madrid). This time, however, I felt so tired that on realising that the next departure lounge was very close, I simply went to the lounge and rested on one of its comfy seats. The next thing that happened was that in the distance and approaching the lounge area where I was seated, I saw an old girl friend but I couldn‘t remember her name! I thus made the bold decision to approach and greet her on the basis that once I heard her voice my memory would return. So up I got and began walking in her direction only to be diverted by two ‘heavies’. I stopped walking and asked them to move out of my way. One of them responded’ Where are you going? What are you doing?’ I replied that I was walking over to speak to an old girl friend. They immediately stepped back and apologised saying they were sorry but hadn‘t realised that I knew Gina Lollobrigida. I responded ‘No, I don’t, I think I’m suffering from jet lag!’ Hence, I returned, very embarrassed to my seat and said no more. Incidentally, Gina caught the same plane but travelled first class so I never saw her again because first class passengers de-plane ‘first’ . Let’s face it - English is a crazy language - 4: You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on. English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible. Believe it or not, the above were created by an American! Page 21 REQUIEM FOR A DREAM Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm and that life isn’t always fair . Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children, are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. Incidentally,. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Panadol to a student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. Finally, Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense finally gave up the ghost after a woman failed to realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, I’m A Whinger and I’m A Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realised he was gone. If you still remember him pass this on, if not join the majority and do nothing. Alan J Smith (1944-49) PLEASED TO ASSIST Captain David Keates MBE is a friend of the Association, and is the Company Commander of Staffordshire and West Midlands (North Sector) Army Cadet Force. He regularly attends our annual Remembrance Service at Newport Road and sounds The Last Post and Reveille. In September 2004 following from an Appeal by the Cadet Force, a donation was made by the Association to the Corps of Drums (Grenadier Guards). The Appeal was made to purchase a side drum as a memorial to three former members of the Corps who had lost their lives recently – Cadet Corporal Clare Shore; Trooper David Clarke and Guardsman Timothy Hollinshead; all were young persons. The Dedication of the Memorial Drum was part of a Drumhead Service which took place at RAF Stafford on 23 January 2005. Our President Mark Ashton and Alan Smith, together with their partners were in attendance. The Memorial Drum This is our drum Beat it well, For we will march again, On display or on parade, In sun, wind or rain, Then into Church to sing a hymn. This is our drum Beat it well, Now we march again Claire, David and Tim. Page 22 Terry Marriott (1948-55) More FROM ILFRACOMBE Dear Peter, Herewith the latest epistle from the deep south. We’ve had a spell of really hot weather of late, which I used to thoroughly enjoy. However, when you are strapped into a wheelchair, things are somewhat different as you can’t escape the “rays”. Just to think of the long hours I used to lie scorching in the heat of the summer. Now I go out in a sweater and sun-hat and even go for a drink indoors rather than sitting in the sun. Mind you my best news is that I still go weekly to physio and they say that if I can correct my balance even more they’ll let me bring the crutches home with me. They’ve been making me “walk” up and down the stairs at the hospital and even outside and sit in a staff car. I’m quite proud of these achievements and really looking forward to the time (hopefully in about a fortnight) when I can ‘walk’ up and down stairs at home. Social Services has already installed extra banisters on the wall-side of the stairs. Apparently our original banisters are not really strong enough to support my vast weight. Talking about my weight, I can‘t shift the extra stone to enable me to go on the Tall Ships next month. I have to be 16 stones or less or they will refuse me entry to the ship. They say it’s all to do with their insurance. Mind you the real reason I’ve cancelled is the cost. To get from here to Chatham in Kent, the departure port, after a lot of quotes, is a minimum of £600.00 and this is to add to the £1,750.00 which it’s costing for my carer and me. It seems to me an exorbitant amount for 6 days on board. This is on top of the trouble I went to getting a carer to go with me. When I took early retirement I thought my pension was a good one, but when I see what the young teachers are getting now, I realise how far we’ve slipped behind. I’ve told some of you that I’ve had letters published in the local press. This is a paper which is distributed all over north Devon. I’m constantly being stopped in the street, by both able-bodied and disabled people who are eagerly awaiting my next letter. These letters are not all “bemoaning” the fate of the disabled, but actually do praise the various authorities, when I feel this is necessary. I hope you didn’t suffer too much during the winter from any structural damage. I’m afraid we did. We woke up after a particularly rough night in March to find a bit of damage had been done to our garden and house. We had to have several tiles replaced on our roof and the rear gates were damaged and the greenhouse has been practically stripped of glass. Insurance is a wonderful thing though and we’re more or less back to normal now. The easiest thing to put right was the cast-iron garden furniture that had been flung to the four corners of the garden. I still attend my day centres on 3 days a week and thoroughly enjoy myself there. We do a large variety of different activities, including pottery, trips out in the minibus when it’s available over the school holidays, and a variety of games, including Upwords, Rumicub, Crib, Chase the Ace and also have a lot of outside folk come in to sing at us, including the local junior school. The staff in both day centres are fantastic and include a lot of volunteers. I make my own way up to the Ilfracombe Day Centre, about a mile and mostly uphill, but if it is wet the minibus picks me up together with most of the others. I’ve been elected as chairman of the clients’ committee at the Ilfracombe one. We don’t have much authority but can decide such matters as whether we should have an ice-cream service and what kind of lunches we want. I’m also on the committee of a group called Access Ilfracombe. This is a mixture of Do-gooders, councillors and me (the token cripple). We decide such things as which premises are accessible to wheelchair users etc. We’ve been busy lately producing a map of the town with gradients and various other info for the visitor disabled and also local disabled. The map we were using as a basis for our info. was an OS one and it had a lot of new, to us, symbols. One of these was PW. We eventually discovered that it stood for Place of Worship. I suppose ‘political correctness’ has reared its ugly head again. Our Muslim brethren would of course be offended by the little cross which has been used since the year dot, wouldn’t they? Annabelle is out shopping in Barnstaple at the moment but is due back very soon so I’d better get myself into bed for my bed rest, before she arrives home. With very best wishes to all my friends, Lots of love Terry and Annabelle, Brooklands, 7 St Brannocks Rd, Ilfracombe, N Devon, EX34 BE G Page 23 Graeme Card (1969-76) HARLEY DAVIDSON 100th ANNIVERSARY - ‘THE RIDE HOME’ In 2003 Harley Davidson celebrated their 100th anniversary with a “Ride Home”. I shipped my Road King to the USA and “Did the Ride”. Here are my diary notes for eleven Harley Riders biking through San Francisco to Milwaukee, via Oakdale, Lone Pine, Yosemite, Death Valley, Las Vegas, Flagstaff, Albuquerque, Amarillo, Oklahoma City, Emporia, Bethany, Waterloo, Ashippun , Milwaukee, Elgin and home. 14 August 6:45 am -to San Francisco via Paris Charles De Gaulle, the rest of my gang have a faulty plane at Newcastle, so I meet them in San Francisco ! 15 August - 127 miles Set off to pick up the Harleys. There are 250 Aussies with police escort in front so we let them lead over the Golden Gate. Great views of the Gate and Alcatraz. We end the day in Oakdale. 16 August - 258 miles The temperature falls as we rise to nearly 10,000 feet. Yosemite! Stop off to look at some rounded granite outcrops, then on into Lone Pine. 17/18 August - 236 miles Nevada —HELMETS OFF! Death Valley is aptly named! It’s bitterly cold as we set off, we stop just outside Nevada for jackets and pictures. The views are stunning. We pass a guy cycling in - he must be stupid (and probably dead by now!). Deep in Death Valley is Stove Pipe Wells, where we stop for “gas”. Too hot for me, we head for Las Vegas and “The Strip”. If you ever get the chance don’t bother—Vegas is Blackpool on Steroids. 19 August - 291 miles To Flagstaff over the Hoover Dam and then onto Route 66. At the gas station locals say expect rain, “you can smell it coming” and sure enough it does. As I had no waterproofs (it was the NEVADA DESERT OK!) everyone but me stops to put on rain gear and .. gets wet! I keep ahead of it and stay dry . 20/21 August -321 miles Onwards to Albuquerque. We stop off to “stand on a corner in Winslow, Arizona”. The Arizona Desert is stunning, so colourful. We pass the site of the first Atom bomb tests, but no three-headed folks about. Then Albuquerque - a spread-out city with two huge mountains. You get a great view as you are riding into it. 22 August - 297 miles On to Amarillo (yet another song) I arrived at the dealers (Tripps) early to fix my Harley as it needs a rocker box cover gasket – it’s drinking oil. The others arrive much later as my buddy had a blowout -front tyre too - he was really shaken. 23 August - 254 miles Oklahoma. . . 24 August - 231 miles And so through Oklahoma! To Wichita with the Wichita Lineman playing in my head. On the Kansas Turnpike one of the bikes breaks down in the heat miles from anywhere - it’s worrying. Then a guy is stood next to me talking into his walkie-talkie - a camper van stops and women produce ice cold drinks, water, Coke -I check his back for wings! The bike is shipped into the camper and they take us to Emporia - Saved! 25August - 209 Miles, 26 Aug - 233 miles, 27 Aug - 182 miles.. The mid-west rolls on by, our next destination is just outside Milwaukee. At Prairie du Chien we meet our host and take a scenic ride over Route 60 east to Ashippun where we pitch tent, play guitar, chat and drink until the small hours. 28 August to 31 August The Harley Party, Bands, 100,000 Harleys, need I say more? The final event - a concert with the Doobies, Kid Rock (who? I said that too) and Elton John. The party ends with a superb fireworks display. 1/2 September 97 miles Goodbye’s all around now as some head off to do the Coast to Coast, others to Niagara Falls. I head for Chicago down the 67 and then Route 12 to Elgin and my last stop. A little shopping for the wife and kids before I decide to find the drop-off point for my Harley. 3 September And so to the shipper, where Hog and I part company. A dull flight back to Paris though I manage a few hours nap. Change flight at Paris Charles De Gaulle and home. RIDE OVER. Total Mileage 3036 miles plus touring around. Petrol consumed - over 31 US Gallons US States - California, Nevada, Arizona, Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Kansa, Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois Page 24 John Wood (1944-52) PAST PRESIDENT RAY BOYLES An Obituary at All Saints Church, Brocton, Thursday 3rd March 2005 Ray’s life began in July 1933. Shortly after his mother was widowed and she brought up Ray and his brother single-handed in Brocton. His schooling began at Walton on the Hill and ended at KESS in Newport Road, Stafford. He was an energetic boy even in those days and had a great capacity for taking part in varied activities especially sporting ones. He was a regular church-goer and became a choirboy at the Mission Room, Brocton, which subsequently became Brocton All Saints Church. However, at the Dedication ceremony the Bishop of Lichfield was more than a little surprised to find Ray, who was acting as Server for the occasion, sporting a black eye acquired during a boxing match the previous evening! At KESS between 1945 and 1951 Ray played a full part in both the academic and sporting side of school life where one of his greatest successes was, not surprisingly, Boxing. Even out of school Ray found plenty to occupy him and he was instrumental in arranging unofficial “friendly” soccer matches between a Brocton Youth team and teams from KESS. After leaving school in 1951 Ray successfully completed an apprenticeship with English Electric. Two years of National Service followed, including representing the RAF at Boxing, before Ray returned to EEC, ( later known as GEC ALSTOM ) with whom he spent 40 years of service before retiring as an area Sales Manager . It was during his early years with the firm that he met his future wife, Pat, who was an evacuee from Ramsgate. There followed 49 happy years of marriage blessed with two daughters, Sue and Tracy. Ray continued his many interests - he was a long-standing and enthusiastic member of Stafford Operatic Society and he became a keen golfer, being a member of Stafford Castle Golf Club for over 30 years, highlighted by his year as Captain in 1992. However one of Ray’s greatest passions was something that began as a Radio ‘Soap’ in 1950 - The Archers. Ray heard the first episodes and was immediately hooked; so much so that he only ever missed three episodes right up to his final illness. But it wasn’t merely listening to ‘an everyday story of country folk’, Ray produced it in part of his Brocton home. The spare room was known as “The Ambridge Room” the walls were a mural of the Village and its surrounds including The Green, The Church, The Bull, Lower Loxley, Great Gables etc. Brookfields itself is a doll’s size model- complete with its own lambing chair. However he was equally proud of his real town, Stafford, becoming one of its Freemen. Ray was a tireless and long-standing worker for the Old Edwardians’ Association and he was honoured to be President for the second time in 2004/5. His bravery during his illness knew no bounds and the courage he displayed in getting to his feet and speaking at the Annual Dinner in January last won him a standing ovation - three weeks later he died. His death was a great loss to his family, the Association and many facets of local life. The numbers of people here attending his Funeral speaks volumes for the love and respect everyone had for him. We shall all miss him very much. Snippets Many of us remember with affection Bill Griffiths and his catch phrase: “It’s not me - it’s the Headmaster!” Well, his predecessor as caretaker was Hiram and, of course, the Bell was Hiram’s Bell. But I bet that you didn’t know that Hiram’s real name was Samuel Clarke and among his many duties he was a keen gardener. Why Hiram? Well, Hiram was the King of Tyre! Does that explain everything? Ever since the Old Edwardians’ Association was formed in 1926 it has always contained a Dobson in it. First there was Leslie who subsequently became Mayor of Stafford; there was Alan who sadly died earlier this year; but we are pleased to report that his brother, Eddie, remains an active member of the Association. Did you know that two well-known Staffordians, Trevor Tucker and Leonard Mould, made their acting debuts with the Old Edwardians’ Dramatic Society in 1954 in a thriller called “Suspect”? Both were said to have given “a good account of themselves”. (The Staffordian, Autumn Term 1955 ) Page 25 Bill Richardson (1948-53) ONCE A MARINE ALWAYS A MARINE A lan Dobson has been a most important part of my life. Our Mothers pushed us in our prams around Rowley Park in 1937. Since then we have been firm life-long friends. We grew up together and in our early years were often “looked after” by Alan’s sister Bunty and brother Edward. Our childhood was spent during the war: playing soldiers, climbing trees and reading Rupert Bear books. I called Alan Algy - after Algy Pug and I was Bill Badger. I guess that Rupert Bear was Brother Edward or perhaps an old friend Freddy Sandy. At the age of four or five we were sent to the Green Hall, the prep school for the Girls’ High School. We both spent many hours in solitary confinement in the main hall for misbehaving. Bunty used to take Algy to school and he often “played up” and sat on the pavement, making Bunty late for school. At last we were sent to the prep. department for King Edward VI Grammar School and life changed for the better. We went up to the school together and Alan worked hard and sport was his main interest. As many old Eds know he was good at all sports. He was a good rugby player, a competent boxer and a great cricketer. He batted and bowled well and was an excellent fielder. He played for the school and captained Stafford Cricket Club teams in later life. During his school life he took part in the school plays; The Taming of the Shrew, Julius Caesar, Merchant of Venice and Henry 1V. He was an active member of the Old Eds. Like me he was impressed by Enoch Powell, who had been a pupil of our headmaster, Mr Smith, and who came to give the prizes one Speech Day. He used to go to the School Camps and the Lakes walking tours so when it came to National Service he was very fit. A lot of us did National Service and Alan and I decided when we were children that we would join some special regiment like the commandos. Brother Edward served in the RA and was ‘our hero’ as he saw active service in the Korean War. In 1955 Alan joined the Royal Marines and after training, being so fit, he joined 42 Commando at Bickleigh on Dartmoor. In July 1956 President Nasser of Egypt took control of the Suez Canal which Britain owned. Forty-two Commando was sent to Malta to join 40 & 45 Commandos in 3 Commando Brigade Royal Marines. I was serving in 45 Commando and we used to meet for ‘a run ashore’ in Valletta and Silema to drink Hop Leaf, Blue Bottle and Becks beer instead of Joules. We used to speculate on what would happen. Alan was a rifleman in B Troop of 42 Commando and on 6th November 1956 he landed in the first waves on the beach at Port Said. He spent a day in action clearing streets and securing key objectives in the harbour area. One of our mutual friends, Ted Ufton from Burton on Trent Grammar School, was killed in action clearing the Customs House. Alan and I helped to get his memorial placed in the new school in Burton a few years ago. As well as a skilled and trained rifleman Alan was chosen to be the Troop Commander’s Clerk as he was bright, literate and good with numbers and could be relied upon to deal with matters with integrity. He enjoyed this extra responsibility. Over the years Alan and I have talked a lot about the Marines and he was also a member of the 42 Commando Association. He epitomised the Royal Marines Association Motto:- “ONCE A MARINE ALWAYS A MARINE” During his working life he worked for the family wholesale tobacco business (from the age of 12 we had a free supply of cigarettes) . I used to meet him in Shropshire when he was calling on his customers selling cigs and baccy and I was trying to sell Marley tiles. Most of all in his life he was the father of superb children that he and Jackie have brought up. Andrew, who is sadly not with us today in body but I am sure he is in Spirit. Malcolm who has confidently organised today and James who Auntie Bunty tells me is a fast Taxi Driver as he used to take her to the hospice. (see also obituary on page 38) Page 26 Without doubt my favourite and most nostalgically remembered room at KESS was Bud Fisher’s Biology Room. Just to gaze around the shelves and walls at the range of birds, beasts, reptiles and amphibians, it was a pint-sized natural history museum of a classroom. When lessons became a little tedious these exhibits could readily transport the schoolboy imagination to exotic wild places. Certainly it kindled in me what has since become an enduring interest in the natural world that now manifests itself in bird watching trips to India and hours of absorbed television wildlife watching. Whilst at school it encouraged me to develop a small nature collection of my own at home and I was thrilled when Bud Fisher made some direct specimen contributions to it. I remember receiving from him a bottled adder pickled in alcohol, a stuffed vole and a prehistoric shark’s tooth all of which had pride of place in the box room at the top of the stairs that became my own museum. There had to be some compensation to having a father on the staff! Little did I realise then that but a handful of yards away from that room and in what now seems just a handful of years later a jungle of a very different kind would be developed bringing with it a vastly different collection of “animals” — beastly machines! Yes, TESCO’S WILDLIFE PARK is now very much in town! To create it a whole menagerie of armour-plated, steel jointed beasts arrived to foul the air with their noxious fumes, deafen the ear with their clanking limbs and their infernal internal organs. Their purpose- to set about destroying Nick Balmforth (1951-56) a hallowed area of town centre turf, to transform it into a veritable concrete and plastic retail jungle. First to arrive were the water pumps. Strategically placed to drain the land they squatted like giant parasites. Long rubber proboscises sucked the land of its vital juices as they chattered contentedly on through long sleepless nights, belching occasionally in damp protest as filtered throats fought to digest a dubious cocktail of choking grit and the blood and sweat of many sporting schoolboys over many generations. Their work complete, a whole family of earth removers took residence. Yellow toads crawled about the crust, huge jaws displaying fixed toothless grins as they shovelled and pushed vast quantities of defenceless earth into sterile and monotonous uniformity. Next on the scene, rogue giraffes, heads held high in apparent unconcern at our head-aches and tortured nostalgia as they rhythmically pile-drove their way around the site relentlessly stomping the ground in anger, jarring the brain and numbing the senses. To further our misery, a battalion of diggers was set loose. Giant lobsters each with one humungous claw, leaving behind their wake deep scars and mounds of defecation as they picked their way with apparently playful yet clinical precision, blighting what was once a proud sporting arena, and it was not yet ended. Cement mixers, like a herd of baby hippos with insatiable appetites, were hand-delivered by unconvincing-looking midwives out of giant transporters. An abrasive diet of cement, sand and gravel was quickly shovelled into their gaping mouths and swilled down with cold water. Heads spinning, they chewed and digested their turgid meal before curiously regurgitating, vomiting grey porridge-like sludge into predetermined trenches. BEASTLY MACHINES As a finale, elephantine steamrollers cruised up and down the newly- laid access roads, seemingly unable to make up their mind whether to come or to go, tortured surfaces spreading and hardening beneath their rolling gait. Unspoilt by progress? Those for whom that Newport Road playing field was once the site of so many of their proudest memories and noble achievements must surely “kesstion” it! The School Cricket Field KESS 1997 Page 27 Syd Hudson (1933-38) More Nostalgia It was quite nostalgic to read the items from Old Boys in the Staffordian, and once again to see (and almost hear) the names of masters who for one reason or another ‘impressed’ me. I remember so well that Claude Woodger always impressed me (with his hand to the back of my head) during his regular perambulations around the class, but we learned to endure it, if only to indulge in his popular diversion of abruptly stopping the Geography and moving on to the more rewarding business of cigarette-card swapping. ‘Crip’ Knott impressed me in his study (with his cane) for taking part in an ‘orderly’ protest in the bike shed one lunchtime. We were trying to register our displeasure at some unpopular ‘management’ decision by mustering some 50 dissidents and ringing our cycle bells. But I think deep down (very deep) he had a sense of humour, because my next contact was an invitation to take tea with him in his cottage on the Chase. I enclose copy No 58 of your missing ‘Staffordians’ and would be grateful if you could pass it on to your Records Secretary. I think I shall also give him a call to see if he has access to No 71 of Easter 1938! I am interested in having sight of the cross-country report in that copy, because I think it was the year that I won the event (despite losing a shoe in the mud in Castle Fields ). I am told that my record time for the run lasted for many years. I remember collapsing in the entrance to the school gates, having been in a sprint with Joe Willshaw from the railway bridge. ‘Tank’ Averill was bent over me assuring me that I was not going to die, and asked me if they could call it a dead-heat because Joe was virtually on my shoulder as we arrived at the finish. I wonder if Joe is still with us and remembers the day. . . . . . I fear that my time at the School was only marked by magazine references to some sporting achievement. Like being ‘the find of the Rugby season’ in 1937, and a ‘brilliant cricket fielder’ in the following summer that was to be my last. Despite my abysmal academic performance (not enhanced by drawing a large mouse -with every hair in place- in my Latin final and leaving early for the Odeon,)I have a lot to thank KESS for. Shortly after leaving school I sat an Open Examination for two jobs in the Civil Service and came top from 200 applicants, and when I ultimately went into the Royal Air Force I managed similar results in every examination leading to commissioning. I stayed 27 years in the Service, and did some fascinating jobs. My wartime experience of flying as a Navigator on Mosquitos was a very high point, but the General Duties Branch of the RAF offered considerably more than flying. I taught Navigation for several years until an opportunity arose to study Russian at London University and go on to some very interesting work keeping tabs on the Russian Air Force. From there I went to Staff College and thence on to teaching Work Study to a reluctant Air Force. I followed that with a move to commanding a Squadron of Thor Missiles as part of our nuclear capability in Bomber Command, and had the honour/pleasure of launching a practice missile down the Pacific firing range in California. Very comforting to be told that it landed just a few yards over and to the right after 1400 miles!!! My final tour of duty was as the Air Force Interrogator, and probably the least said about that the better!! However, it gave me a close insight into the training of the SAS, and I have nothing but admiration for the invaluable unsung work they do around the world. When I left the Air Force I continued very much in the ‘general duties’ mode: moving from Training Manager with Rank Hovis, to managing a furniture factory, to ultimately (via a redundancy) dropping into retirement aged 64 from work as an accountant with a big Insurance company. Altogether quite a roller-coaster, and I sincerely believe that whatever success I achieved was almost certainly attributable to the seeds sown during my time in KESS. SNIPPETS While Peter Stead was at KESS (1944-49), during any free periods or lunchtimes he sneaked off to the Stafford Railway Station train-spotting. Was he the only one, I wonder? The amazing thing is that even to this day he can be seen entering and leaving the Station with his train-spotter’s handbook! (I remember on one occasion accompanying my schoolmate Derek Harrison on a train spotting session on the railway station, and also listening to him give a very well informed talk to our first year class on the workings of a steam engine. Ed) Page 28 Just before Christmas 1953, I once again joined the queue at the Stafford Post Office, to try and obtain a temporary job over the holiday period. This time, however, the interviewing panel noticed that I would be eighteen in November, which meant I could work nights, so they offered me a position at Stafford Railway Station, which I accepted . Having taken the precaution to sleep before my first night of work, I arrived at the station and was introduced to my permanent post office colleagues and two temporary workers, like myself. Basically my duties consisted of loading and unloading sacks of mail in and out of various trains and Post Office vans, simple enough I thought! On the second night I was in the guard’s van of a very long train, picking up sacks of mail and throwing them onto the platform, when suddenly the train started to move and I envisaged myself ending up at the next stop, which in this case, would have been Rugby. In sheer panic I ran to the entrance of the guard’s van and literally threw myself onto the pile of already piled sacks of mail on the platform. Lucky escape I thought, as I clambered out of the pile of sacks, only to find my permanent colleagues grinning, as the previously moving train had come to a stop. They then explained that, because it was a very long train, the last four carriages had not P F J Craig ( 1947- 53 been able to stop alongside the platform and the driver was merely moving the train a few yards in order for passengers in those carriages to alight. Was my face red? ) Railway Postman Paul My two temporary colleagues had full time jobs and for about two hours every night no trains arrived or departed, which was an opportunity for the rest of us to hitch a lift on a Post Office van to have a meal in the Post Office canteen. Because it was a very harsh winter, these two men would seek out a carriage on one of the little used platforms, where the heating had only just been disconnected, and have a nap and my job was to wake them up when we returned. All went well for the first two nights, but, on the third night, when I went to wake them up, the carriage had disappeared. I immediately contacted a railway employee who informed me that the carriage had been moved to a siding about three miles away. I explained that my colleagues were in that carriage asleep and he said that the carriage was not due to be moved back until the next day. About two hours later the men turned up, shivering with cold, having apparently discovered their predicament in the siding, and walked back alongside the track to the station. Needless to say they found somewhere else to sleep when we went for our meal again. Because the sacks of mail needed to be collected from and delivered to the various platforms we had to use a lift, but, one night the lift broke down and we were faced with the difficult task of transporting these large sacks of mail across the railway tracks of a very busy main line station, which regularly had non-stop express trains hurtling through at breakneck speed. Thankfully, this was the era before electrification, and we had to cross the tracks at the end of the platform, pulling behind trolleys stacked with sacks of mail, when there were no express trains hurtling through, of course. The present day health and safety people would have had apoplexy, but, in those days you literally “ got on with it”, despite the obvious risks. All we had was a railway employee waving a hurricane lamp at the end of the platform, presumably to warn these express trains not to come through whilst we were carrying out these hazardous tasks. Ha! Ha! All went well for the first three or four journeys then disaster. The front wheels of the trolley became wedged between the tracks and the trolley tipped over, spilling the mail bags onto the tracks. With the prospect of an express coming through at any minute, everyone rushed to right the trolley and retrieve the mailbags, which probably took five minutes, but to me seemed a lifetime. We literally managed to rescue the last mailbag and were safe on the platform, when, about two or three minutes later an express thundered through. When I’ d recovered my breath, the man with the hurricane lamp assured us all, that the express would have been halted by a signal, if we hadn’t cleared the track, and “pigs might fly” I thought, as I sipped a warming cup of tea. In the station the Post Office had a room and one night we heard someone running past the room several times and 1 was sent out to investigate. The platform was deserted except for a man in RAF uniform, running along the platform. As he approached me he stopped and explained that his train was not due for at least an hour and he was trying to keep warm. I naturally invited him in to our room, where he warmed himself by the fire and we gave him a cup of tea and he told us that he was the Combined Services sprint champion at 100 and 220 yards (no metres in those days) and I often wonder if he went on to represent this country. I rarely use the trains these days, but I look back with fondness to those days when I helped to ensure that the mail was delivered on time. Page 29 Letters to the Editor Sir, Old Eds’ magazine a delight. Lately in touch with many old friends, Harry Powner, Philip Wallbank and Roger Batlin to name but a few. Where is Harry Mathews? Is this a sign of growing old and me a mere 74 year old? I have not seen the new Tesco Store. It seems������������������������������������������������������������������������� sacrilegious������������������������������������������������������������ to have built on such an historic and open space. Note to councillors - PLEASE respect your heritage. I think of the Brine Baths - sorry - THE ROYAL BRINE BATHS. I remember swimming or should that read “dipping” in the brine bath - a cup of oxo was always on hand served by an attendant. A hosepipe to wash your eyes out on the side. A Mr Scott was superintendent, whose son was a super swimmer, and won all his races. Wonderful to think he belonged to Centre House. Wonderful parties when we had full freedom to pursue treasure hunts over the building. Do hope your councillors keep the remaining areas such as round St Mary’s Church, Church Lane, which of course remains very dear to me. Good on ya, Freddie!! I rejoice in the improvements of Victoria Park. Any pics available? (Ed; Not yet. Is there more interest in this genre?) I look back to the times when band concerts were the ‘norm’- What a dreadful expression! And then during the war years when all flower beds and lawns sprouted cabbages, carrots etc. “DIG FOR VICTORY” was the cry. Saint John’s Market Hall, How did it get its name? During the war, it was taken over by the MOD, RAF 16 MU, and was turned into an ammunition store. I lived opposite in Crabbery Street and took the 2 airmen their nightly cocoa. Walked through long passages stacked from floor to ceiling with enormous bombs and boxes of ammunition. What a brave little boy I was?!! Yes, remember bomb falling on E.E, the bombing of Coventry, the only night we took to the cellars. Remember Swynnerton?.... another bomb depot during the war. The fields around were dotted with false fabricated houses and churches, making it look like a little village from the air. On one bicycle ride we were arrested for trespassing on MOD land. Such concern and traumas when police officers called once asking questions of all members of family. Who were the friends I went with on that memorable, innocent bicycle ride? I have gone on far too long, I wish you well for continued success of the Old Eds. Regards Gerald H Taylor (1939-46) Dear Sir, Terry Marriott’s “My Story” in the Staffordian 2004 reminded me how curious it felt to have my daughter Rachel attend “the Old School”. By then, of course, it had become the colour-filled, comfortable centre of excellence called the Chetwynd Middle School. Not the spartan setting we knew with the top corridor open to all that nature could throw at us! Like Terry, I appreciated the Middle School System exploited so effectively by the staff at Chetwynd under Keith Evans’ headship. How well they enabled the children who, having gained basic Building Blocks of Education at their infants’ school, were ready to branch-out, free of all the imperatives of gaining a certificate, that would come later. At Chetwynd Middle School, teachers were there alongside the pupils as together, they explored opportunities, and tested themselves. It was a pleasure to work with Terry and the other staff members engaged in the school production of ‘My Fair Lady’. Once again, the potential of each child was never in question and, as ever, each one rose to the challenge. This was one of a line of musicals the school had put on in that acoustical nightmare of a place, the Hall. Rachel had landed the part of “The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain” - Eliza. I, therefore ,was a ‘sitting duck’ when the call went out for help in designing the scenery! Terry’s stage-crew were professional: pupils dressed in black and wearing gloves to avoid marking the scenery during set-changes. I was back in the days of inter-house Plays competition! Walton House produced a thriller, in which I was a Detective Inspector. Gerald Taylor took the female lead, dressed up to the nines! Back stage, while waiting to go on he produced an elegant leg from beneath his skirts. He then carefully stroked his nylon stocking taut from ankle to thigh! Quite fascinating; if not titillating. All grist to the mill in Shakespeare’s day no doubt! We won the cup that year. Brian Lambert (1942 - 48) Page 30 I had been feeling off colour for some time - edgy and distracted, stomach playing up, unable to sleep properly etc. In the end I thought that I must get something for it and I duly made an appointment with Doctor B. Doctor B. knows me very well - indeed I am one of his ‘best’ patients (in a manner of speaking)! He gave me an all-over check and then pronounced his verdict: “You have a severe case of Ashes-itis” he said “Do I need anything for it?” I asked. “No, I don’t think so, but I will see you again in a month’s time, just in case.” Feeling somewhat reassured but a little puzzled at his diagnosis, I resolved to take my wife out for the day the following Sunday, as we had both been under some strain for several weeks. So Sunday 25 August saw us about to head for the Stiperstones in Shropshire. The forecast was encouraging and good walking country beckoned. However, before setting off, I put the following notice on the dash-board of the car : ‘PLEASE DO NOT SWITCH THE RADIO ON UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW THE SCORE!’ So cricket was not listened to or talked about at all - yet even when we were enjoying the lovely sunshine on top of the Shropshire hills our minds were unwittingly at the Test match at Trent Bridge. We arrived home shortly after 6 o’clock still not knowing the score but my wife, unable to withstand the uncertainty any longer, immediately rushed inside to the television. “We only need 16 runs to win!” she shouted. P M Jones (1949-55) A very unusual complaint “How many wickets left?” I yelled back from the car. “Oh, I don’t know. Wait a minute! (a pause). Four!” “What! Oh no!” I groaned, “I’ll just have to watch it after all.” Horror of horrors! Within seconds, Geraint Jones was out- three wickets left and 13 runs were still needed. “B****y hell!” Unable to look any more, I pulled on my trainers and set off distraughtedly (is there such a word?) on my regular two mile village walk, Not a soul was to be seen anywhere! I plodded on sick at heart - but it was no good, after 20 minutes of mental torture I succumbed. At Cuttlestone Bridge I switched on my pocket transistor. “Four to win!” I heard “Who’s batting?” I screamed at the radio. “Hoggard and Giles are still there!” came a voice, as if in reply. I sat on the parapet as Hoggard squirted a two off his legs. Then it was Giles to face the demon Warne with 2 needed. He prodded and pushed, was within a whisker of being bowled, and then he chipped the fifth ball of the over to mid-wicket for the most precious runs he will ever score in his life. England had won by three wickets, were 2-1 up in the series and a certain person was to be seen shouting and dancing on Cuttlestone Bridge. A watery fate in the River Penk had been avoided. Now you may think that that was the end of the story and that I would quickly recover my wellbeing. Not a bit of it, the fifth and final Test was still to be played – England had to survive it with a draw at least, otherwise the Ashes would be lost. Well, survive they did – just! My wife’s comments at the very end best summed it all up: “Thank goodness it’s all over – I can’t stand any more of this!’ My sentiments exactly. A short while later I revisited my doctor. “How are you?” he asked. “ My Ashes-itis is easing. I’m feeling better already.” I replied. “Don’t be surprised if it re-occurs in a year’s time!” was his cheerful comment. Page 31 A DISTINGUISHED STAFFORDIAN PROFESSOR NICK HALES A Biochemist who elucidated the mechanisms underlying diabetes and the relation between foetal growth and longterm health As Head of the Department of Clinical Biochemistry at the University of Cambridge for 25 years, Nick Hales provided outstanding intellectual leadership at the interface of basic and clinical science. Charles Nicholas Hales was born in Stafford in 1935. His father was an oral surgeon and his mother, herself diabetic, a milliner. Hales was educated at King Edward VI Grammar School, Stafford, and then read medicine at Trinity College, Cambridge. After clinical training at University College Hospital, London, he returned to Cambridge in 1960 to study for a PhD in the Department of Biochemistry. At that time the biochemical mechanisms underlying diabetes were largely a mystery. He developed a modification of method that greatly facilitated widespread application and led directly to the world’s first commercial radioimmunoassay of any polypeptide. The immediate impact of this work established his reputation. His far-sighted Nature paper in 1968 envisaged the use of enzymes or viruses as alternative labels capable of providing even greater assay sensitivity. Diagnostic methods based on labelled anti-bodies are now a worldwide, multibillion-dollar industry. In 1970 Hales was appointed head of the department and honorary consultant in chemical pathology at the Welsh National School of Medicine in Cardiff. A later generation would have been quick “He especially enjoyed to patent the resulting inventions, but Hales was firmly committed to the scientific debate in convivial notion that new ideas should receive the speediest and fullest dissemination if they were to deliver maximum benefit to scientific colleagues and, most locations ...............retiring to importantly to patients. the nearby Bun Shop pub to In 1977 Hales returned to the University of Cambridge as head of the continue discussions” department of clinical biochemistry and honorary consultant at Addenbrooke’s Hospital. During a sabbatical year in Seattle in 1984 he discovered with Dan Cook an ATP-sensitive potassium channel in insulin-producing cells that helped to resolve the problem of how glucose instructs the pancreas to secrete insulin and is a target for an important class of anti-diabetic drugs. Hales enthusiastically supported younger scientists. He especially enjoyed scientific debate in convivial locations, a habit developed when he first set up his own research group in Cambridge and would frequently suggest retiring to the nearby Bun Shop pub to continue discussions late into the evening. He strongly advocated the importance of combining university and hospital departments of clinical biochemistry. The strength of his own departments testified to his vision. He was a member of the Medical Research Council, 1985-90. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1992 and received awards from the British Diabetic Association, the European Association for the Study of Diabetes, the Society for Endocrinology, the Association of Clinical Biochemists, the Royal College of Physicians, the Royal College of Pathologists and the Biochemical Society. Professor Nick Hales, FRS, medical biochemist, was born on 25 April, 1935. He died on September 15, 2005, aged 70. Extracted from The Times obituary October 2005 In HONOUR OF STUPID PEOPLE On packaging for a Rowenta iron : ‘Do not iron clothes on a body’ (but wouldn’t this save me more time?) On Boots Children’s Cough Medicine : ‘Do not drive a car or operate machinery after taking this medication’ (We could do a lot to reduce the rate of construction accidents if we could just get those 5-year olds with head colds off those forklifts) Page 32 Bill Keleghan ( 1957-64) ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST I had a grand time growing up in Doxey. The late fifties and early sixties were times when simple pleasures were enough for a youngster with sporting inclinations and a love of the fresh air. There were always enough lads about for an impromptu game of football or cricket and for a change, there was organised sport to watch at the Universal. We also had a large expanse of derelict land that, euphemistically, we called ‘the fields’. Nowadays, the term would be ‘brown field site’. It provided our pitches, coats for goalposts and whatever we could erect for wickets, and our crosscountry cycle track. In the middle was a concrete structure, two-storeyed and open to the elements, where we happily risked life and limb. I have never been sure of its original purpose. One terrifying day, one of our number fell in and was swept under the railway. A drowning seemed inevitable........ The Doxey Brook ran alongside ‘the fields’, under the railway and out into the area that has become Doxey Marshes. The nets and jam jars came out every year. For the most part, the brook was a quiet stream but, after heavy rain, it became a torrent. One terrifying day, one of our number fell in and was swept under the railway. A drowning seemed inevitable, but, after an interminable thirty seconds, a very shocked and very wet boy emerged into the daylight. I still regard this as a minor miracle. The railway, or should I say railways, enthralled me. I could just see the main line from the side window in my parents’ bedroom and my own bedroom window offered a clear view of the line to Shrewsbury. Like most of my pals in those final days of steam traction, I was an avid train-spotter. We played over ‘the fields’ and watched the trains at the same time. We knew the schedules and some of us (but not me), could recognise different classes of locomotive by their sounds as they emerged from Stafford Station and approached the Doxey Bridge. I was never a railway buff although, in recent times, I have acquainted myself more thoroughly with the history of the steam locomotive - a triumph of mechanical engineering. My approach was along the lines of ‘Thomas The Tank Engine’. Locomotives had a character or their own. Express engines tended to be handsome, shunters were quaint and black fives (‘mickeys’ to us) were just black fives. Consequently, I did not play a full part in the Railway Society at KESS but I did enjoy going on its end of term trips. Journeys to the Eastern, Western and Southern Regions were all undertaken (more than once) and I remember clearly a day at Crewe Works. It was my first experience of the horrendous din created by heavy industry and there were no ear protectors in those times. However, one trip stands out in my memory. The party travelled to Bangor and made its way to the quay. From there, a narrow-gauge train took us up to the slate quarry at Bethesda. It was the most odd experience. There were disused assemblies all over the site. It seemed more like a railway graveyard than anything else. My friend, Brian Judson, has a black and white cine film of the trip to Bethesda which, I think, was led by Ken Judson and George Davies. Ronnie Rooke is another master whose name springs to mind in connection with the Railway Society, but I could be wrong. What is certain is that the pupils of KESS were indeed lucky to have so many teachers who were prepared to assist with extracurricular activities. In recent times, I have had little reason to return to Doxey, although I have made a point of driving through occasionally. Houses have been built on ‘the fields’ - I hope that the foundations are adequate. More new houses have replaced the old prefabs at the northern end and the community has achieved Parish Council status. It is to be hoped that this latter development will prove a good thing. Years ago, Doxey did not need an institution to ensure a true community spirit. By and large, people were there when their neighbours needed them. There are still many folk in the town whose faces light up when they see a childhood pal from beyond the two bridges. Yes, I enjoyed growing up in Doxey. (One of Bill’s final actions, even when very ill, was to complete this promised article on his early life in Doxey. Editor) Page 33 Ye Kronikuls of KESS An it didde cumterpasse thad fore yungjentul menne, on thair lasst dai ad KESS, synd apl ege toreet urn to Stafourde to reeve hisit thair olde whorents in fifte yere stym. Thu sit wos, in ye yere 2005, thad thai mette ow tsyde ye Staishun. Ail ament Wiv gre tins maid, ye Staishun Pubbe Re-m emberin irl ear apier dais, Wos thair ime dyat aym. Alasse! Alakke! Ye street spar tgon, Bagen-ulls Toi Shoppe mus be thair. Alasse! Alakke! Itsa garidge nhow, It sre lee sutch ash aym! Thair skule in Nupoured Troad wos soret, Budt imaj in ye dis mai, Awl van isht in fin ayr. Reet racin thair steppes to Dayls thay whent, It ad bean anam azin playce! Budt Alasse! Alakke! Anuva shoppe Ye fee ulds nome ore. Alasse! Alakke! Ad van isht wiv owt trayce. Bye Tesgo it sbee ne boret. Wivowt adr inke an dhow nat aret, Owr erose won tedf-oode Soe in ye Maaked Skwair thay stud, B wil dert an dow ncassed. A Jassp ersb un wud du ye trik Yed ad lee ste ye Bair an Swon reem ayned Budt oan lee ‘In-dyan’ cud b ad. Sum betta nues ad laste ! Rava weir ynow, a Bryne Bavs swym Th enn sitin darn wiv pynts inant, Wud suve thair akin fheat. Af yew tcher Stafourde fis it, th enn? Alasse! Alakke! Jus tof hisais Stud thair ak ros ye strete. Ye Olde Bois awl ag rede. Thair re ele wos nown eed! Editor This really is lamentable verse. It has been written in the original dialect and a rough translation appears on the last page. Page 34 Michael Dale (1932- 40) My early years were spent cosseted by nuns and taught by Sister Benedict at St Joseph’s Convent School. Little did I think that years later I would not only be supplying them with articles of apparel but also nuns and monks throughout the United Kingdom and many countries abroad including Mafia, Canada, South Africa and Malaysia. After I left the Convent School in 1931 I was put into the hurly burly of King Edward’s Prep School and then into the Grammar School proper. The article by John Weaver reminds me of Hiawatha. where I was also a redskin. During the singing practice, ‘Daddy Walters’, the Music Master, tapped his baton and called me out. He bent down and said to me in a soft voice, “Dale, don’t sing, just mime, you are putting the other boys off.” That was the end of my musical career! If you can’t sell ‘em black sell ’em white One quick story about F. T. Nott, the late Headmaster. He lived in the Newport Road just past our family house. One morning, on walking to school, I walked in front of Mr Nott and he told me to walk to school with him. When we arrived at school about ten minutes later, he said, “Now go home, Dale, put your cap on and report to me in my study when you return”. I ran home, put my cap on, ran back to school and reported to his study whereupon he gave me Saturday morning detention for being late! On leaving the Grammar School I was employed at the Administrative Offices of the County Council. They had a control centre in the basement with direct communication to other centres throughout the County, in other words the early days of emergency planning. I, among others, had to do three nights a week on duty in the control room without extra pay and without any time off in lieu. I wonder if they would do that today! In 1942 I volunteered for the Royal Marines, spending a great deal of time overseas until the war was over. When I came home my father was elderly and not in good health and he told me he needed help in his business so I joined the Company. The Company was formed in 1923 by my father and his colleague, James Lee, hence the name James Lee Dale & Company. James Lee, or Jimmy as he was known, was an Irish man, a very good salesman and full of character. The main business of the company was to supply nuns’ and monks’ clothing, either made up or in the case of habits, just the material, because they preferred to make their own. At one particular monks’ Abbey the monk who made their garments could well have earned a lot of money as a professional tailor in London. The reason for the heading of this article is because monks and nuns, generally speaking, wore habits in either black or white, hence the heading “If you can’t sell ‘em black, sell ‘em white”! This was Jimmy’s favourite maxim, which he used to quote many times in his lovely Irish accent! Our small factory was situated on the corner of Mount Street in the centre of Stafford and is still there today as a dress shop. It is a Georgian building and is Grade II listed, so can never be changed. We made specialist items that only nuns wore such as plastrons; coifs; guimps and bonnets. We also made slips and a speciality white cotton plisse nightdress, which was extremely popular with the nuns because it was modest, required no ironing and was extremely comfortable. I expect you are wondering and, yes, we did manufacture ‘unmentionables’. These too came in black or white, fleecy and warm for the winter and cooler nylon for the summer. They also had two pockets in them. When friends used to ask me what the pockets were for I always told them, “One for a handkerchief and one for their rosary beads!” When I joined the Company I was given a small suitcase of samples and a car together with a list of some hundred or more convents in and around the London area and told to visit them all. Pat, my wife, and I sat all day on the Sunday with a street map of London, marking where each customer was situated. I can say in all honesty that my knowledge and driving in the London area was comparable with the taxis! The nuns were always a pleasure to visit; even if they did not require anything, you were always offered a cup of tea or coffee, biscuits or cake. They were also very clever, they knew what they were doing with regard to their finances as well as any Company Director, and in seventy-two years of business, we never had one bad debt. The Communities of nuns could run into several hundreds spread in different-parts of the United Kingdom and all over the world. The head person would be the Mother General who lived in what was called the Mother House usually in Paris, Rome or London. Below the Mother General was a Provincial Mother who controlled the convents in a given area, either a city or town. Under the Mother Provincial came the Reverend Mother of each Convent. In some cases it was a girls’ Page 35 school, such as the Notre Dame Sisters. who still profess to give girls the best education. Other Convents were Homes for the elderly and sick, the largest of these being the Little Sisters of the Poor which is a registered charity, and all these Convents are known throughout the world for their wonderful work. Other activities of the nuns include running specialist and general hospitals in places where Governments do not provide them. All in all, they are a great asset to communities at large. Contrary to the belief that nuns and monks are very serious ~ they do in fact have a wonderful sense of humour. One time I had to go to Birmingham to measure a rather well-endowed Reverend Mother who needed some new overalls, as she was a nursing sister. I was presented with the problem of getting my tape measure round a 54” bust but the nun soon solved that one for me by saying, “You hold one end of the tape, I’ll hold the other and you walk round until our hands meet”. I did, and I got all the measurements’ needed. Another nun from Glasgow, who did social work in the poorer areas of the city, was chosen as ‘Woman of the Year’ and attended the luncheon in London. She told the story of one of the little boys under her care who informed his mother that Sister had been chosen as ‘The best dressed Woman of the Year’. . . . . . . . . . Of course, we thought so too! One last little story is about a nun who was Reverend Mother of a Convent in the North East. I knew her for some thirty odd years and in all that time on many visits I never called her anything but “Reverend Mother” and she never referred to me as anything but “Mr Dale”. Some years ago, I went to a Convent in London, which was a Home for elderly and infirm nuns and they told me that this particular Sister was with them and was approaching death. I asked if I might see her and permission was granted. In her room the frail little lady, eyes closed, was lying in the bed. The nun with me said, “Mr Dale has come to see you Sister”. She put her hand out and in a quite audible voice said, “Hello, Mickey!” She died that night. I am indebted to my secretary of many years (now retired) for transcribing this article for me. Well done Pam. John Wood's Flower Centre 01785 258173 3A Salter Stree t Staf ford ST16 2JH (Ed:Michael is now registered Blind so wife Pat does all his reading and writing work. She reads articles from the magazine to him which have prompted this article dictated by Michael and produced by his exsecretary Pam.) Local and Interflora deli veries In HONOUR OF STUPID PEOPLE On a Sears hairdryer: ‘Do not use while sleeping’ (Curses! That’s the only time I have to work on my hair.) On a bag of Fritos: ‘You could be a winner! No purchase necessary. Details inside’ (The shoplifter special?) On a bar of Dial soap: ‘ Directions; use like regular soap’ (and that would be how???) Page 36 OBITUARIES It is with sadness and deep regret that we record the following obituaries: James Collier was at KESS from 1929 until 1935 and was a member of the farming community until joining the RAF and carrying out operational night flights during World War II, flying Wellington bombers; later he joined the 614 Pathfinder squadron. Returning after war service to his farm, he became founder chairman of Stafford Round Table and 1 st XV captain of Stafford Rugby Club, also serving as secretary. Jim died on 27 December 2004 at the age of 84. Neil White attended KESS between 1965 and 1972 and after finishing his studies he went to Worcester College, Oxford and later to Keele University gaining his PhD and becoming a lecturer in computer science. An elder brother of his also attended KESS and his father was Headteacher at Gnosall Junior School. Neil died on 15 January 2005. Jack McColl passed away on 25 January 2005 at the age of 82 whilst playing in a national over 80s tennis championship near Birmingham. Jack joined English Electric after leaving Newport Road and he rose to Technical Director in GEC Rectifiers and chairman of the Power Board of the Institute of Electrical Engineers. He was outstanding in all sports and represented Staffs in tennis, badminton, swimming and rugby. In badminton Jack gained 31 England caps and he captained the national side, later becoming England team manager . Ray Boyles was at KESS from 1945 to 1951 and was in his second term as President of our Association when he passed away on 22 February 2005 aged 71. See separate tribute. Peter Newbold was at KESS from 1942 to 1947 and he died on 22nd February 2005 at the age of 73. For a number of years Peter had had cardiac-related problems, having undergone cardiac grafts some time before. Roy Holford was at KESS from 1941 to 1947 and we were informed that he had passed away in July 2004. Michael Buttress died in Apri12005 at the age of 88. He attended KESS from 1925 to 1935 and we understand that he worked in local government during his working life. John Teasdale was at Newport Road from 1940 to 1946 and he spent his working life as an architect. He was an accomplished artist and was enthusiastic about flying and aeroplanes. John died in April 2005 at the age of 76. Stan Cartwright attended his first Annual Dinner of the Association in January 2005, having left KESS in 1953 after seven years schooling. He was commissioned as an officer whilst serving in the Royal Artillery and thereafter he spent his working life at Evans and Evans, qualifying as a Fellow of the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors and later becoming a senior partner in the firm. Stan was a member of Cannock Round Table and Cannock Rotary Club for many years, playing an active part in both organizations. Stan died in May 2005 aged 70. Maurice Johnson was at KESS in the 1940’s and he spent his working life at English Electric and its later name changes, in the Finance Department. His great love was cricket and he spent a lifetime playing for Sandon C.C. and later serving as a committee member . Maurice died on 7 June 2005 aged 69. Peter Johnson attended KESS from 1942 to 1947 and he joined W.G.Bagnall on leaving school. With his experience of steam,he later joined the Blue Funnel Shipping Line where he qualified as a chief engineer. Subsequently he moved to Vickers at Barrow-in-Furness on the administration staff building nuclear submarines. His final move was to Hitchin where as a technical author he wrote manuals for ships and oil rigs. In spite of several strokes Peter rarely missed an Annual Dinner. He died on 9 July 2005 aged 73. Neville Tipper attended KESS from 1944 to 1950 and afterwards went to Keele University and Alsager Teacher Training College. He taught in Primary Schools in the Stafford area initially and then in Wolverhampton until ill-health caused early retirement in 1989. Nev, as he was affectionately known, earlier enjoyed playing various sports especially rugby and other interests included amateur dramatics, narrow gauge railways and camping. Nev died on 5 August 2005 aged 72. Geoffrey Powell was at Newport Road from 1940 to 1945 and thereafter he started work with British Rail. Subsequently National Service saw him in the RAF involved with the Berlin Airlift. Later he joined English Electric where he trained as a draughtsman, serving in Rectifier DO until his retirement. Geoffrey died on 7 August 2005 aged 76. Maurice Pitcher attended KESS from 1952 to 1957 and on leaving initially he went to Art College. For a while he worked at the George Street Press and later at English Electric in the Publicity Department. A subsequent move took him to employment at the Foreign Language Services Company in Stafford. Maurice died on 16 August 2005 aged 63. Page 37 Alan ‘ Algy’ Dobson was at KESS from 1945 to 1954 and on leaving became an active member of our Association, serving as Joint Secretary from 1958 to 1970. During his school life he took part in the school plays. The Taming of the Shrew, Julius Caesar, Merchant of Venice and Henry 1V. In 1955 Alan joined the Royal Marines and, after training, that he did well at being so fit, he joined 42 Commando at Bickleigh on Dartmoor. During his working life he worked for the family wholesale tobacco business, he also worked for the Electrical Board and the Sheriff’s Court. Algy died on 18 August 2005 aged 68. (See separate tribute page 26.) Dr WiIliam ‘Bill’ Keleghan was at Newport Road from 1957 to 1964. After gaining his PhD at Leeds University he worked as a self-employed chartered engineer in coal preparation before moving to South Africa, reaching the top of his field in minerals and engineering. Bill was an outstanding cricketer - he played for Milford and Stafford locally and earlier for Leeds University, being capped for the Combined Universities team. When abroad he played club cricket for Johannesburg. Bill died on 21 August 2005 aged 59. (See story on page 33) Prof C N ‘Nick’ Hales FRS was at Newport Road from 1944 to 1953 whence he went to Cambridge University. At University College Hospital after medical training he went into Research at Cambridge where he obtained a PhD. There followed a move to Cardiff where as a Professor he was Chairman of Clinical Biochemistry and then he returned to Cambridge where he worked for more than twenty years. During an outstanding career spent on clinical work and research into diabetes and other areas, Nick received the highest accolade of many honours he received, when in 1992 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society (for Scientific Research ). Nick died on 15 September 2005 aged 70. A complete appreciation of Nick’s life and achievements appeared in The Times Obituaries section on Wednesday 12 October 2005 (see extract on page 32 in this mag.) Victor E Taylor was at KESS from 1944 to 1950 and then joined English Electric prior to National Service, serving in Malaya. After returning to English Electric, a career move took him to RAE Farnborough and a further move to the Safety and Mines Establishment at Sheffield followed where he worked as a scientific officer for some thirty years up to retirement. At the age of 51 he gained an Open University Degree. Victor died on 30 September 2005 aged 72. John M Bristow started life in Chatham, Kent and he moved to Stafford with his parents and brother in 1938. John started at KESS in the Prep in 1942 and he stayed at Newport Road until he was 17. On leaving school he joined Barber and Woolcock to become an estate agent and surveyor, and later a partner in the firm. During his time doing National Service he served in the Royal Engineers as a driving instructor on 3 ton lorries. John was actively involved with many organizations - Round Table, the 41 Club, Rotary, and he was a Freemason. In addition to all his other interests John served as Joint Secretary of the Old Edwardians’ Association from 1958 to 1970. He passed away on 8 October 2005 aged 73. John R Brandon came to KESS in 1942 and left in 1946. He left school to continue in the family farming business and specialised in cattle breeding. He died 28 November 2005 after a long illness aged 74. Obituaries for Old Boys of KESS are recorded each year in The Staffordian. Some were members of the Association, others were not. We do our best to pay tribute to all Old Edwardians who have passed away, but we do rely on committee members being kept informed. If there are any inaccuracies or omissions please accept our apologies. In a few instances we have received longer and more detailed Tributes than we are able to include. It is hoped that these can be posted in full at the Annual Dinner on 27th January 2006. Alan J Smith (1944-49) Page 38 DINGBATS 1 2 ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO ADO LEFT FOOD 3 4 mind ehtnibats thought mind 5 6 ANYTHING U P LLUERFCTH 7 8 T LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE 9 DAY DAY 10 L1FET1ME midsowdle Page 39 Solutions: THE CHRONICLES OF KESS. And it did come to pass that four young gentlemen, on their last day at KESS, signed a pledge to return to Stafford to revisit their old haunts in 50 years’ time. Thus it was, in the year 2005, that they met outside the Station. A Lament With greetings made, the Station Pub Was their immediate aim. Alas! Alack! It’s a garage now, It’s really such a shame! Their school in Newport Road was sought, But imagine the dismay, The Field’s no more. Alas! Alack! By Tesco it’s been bought. Without a drink and down at heart, Our heroes wanted food. A Jasper’s bun would do the trick But only ‘Indian’ could be had. Rather weary now, a Brine Baths swim Would soothe their aching feet. Alas! Alack! Just offices Stood there across the street. Remembering earlier happier days, Bagnall’s Toy Shop must be there. Alas! Alack! The street’s part gone, All vanished in thin air . Re-tracing their steps to Dale’s they went, It had been an amazing place ! But Alas! Alack! Another shop Had vanished without trace. So in the Market Square they stood, Bewildered and downcast. Yet at least the Bear and Swan remained – Some better news at last! Then sitting down with pints in hand, The Old Boys all agreed. A future Stafford visit, then? There really was no need! Dingbats 1. Much Ado about Nothing 2. Left over Food 3. Stab in the Back 4. Two minds with a single thought 5. Put up with anything 6. Left in the lurch 7 Afternoon tea 8. Live for today 9. Pig in the middle 10. Once in a lifetime Page 40
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