in memoriam - East Barnet Old Grammarians

East Barnet Old Grammarians
December 2013 Newsletter
IN MEMORIAM
ANN HARRINGTON
Ann's brother, Alan Harrington (1953-1959), writes: "Peter Smee’s photo on page one of
the EBOG Newsletter for June 2013 has prompted me to send you the sad news that my sister, Ann
Woolmer (neé Harrington1948-1954), died in Barnet Hospital on 2 September 2012 after a long
battle against breast cancer. She is survived by her husband, four children, four grandchildren and a
great-grandson. Ann also appears, sitting next to Miss Stranz, in Terry Griffiths’s photo on page 10
of the September Newsletter".
ANGUS JOHNSTON
Mike Brazier reports that EBGS Headmaster from 1961-1970, Angus Norman
Johnston CBE, passed away peacefully in a Nursing Home on 15th October 2013 after a short
illness aged 91.
Donations can be made in his memory to Prostate Cancer UK and Macmillan Cancer
Care, care of Peasgood & Skeates, 45 Moorfield Rd, Duxford, Cambridge CB22 4PP.
In the September 2010 Newsletter John Lambert (1960-1968) wrote: "Mr Johnston was a
fine musician, and saw to it that music flourished. Under his guidance, the first instrumental
lessons took place at the school (yours truly had a bash on the clarinet) and the school orchestra
was formed in which he played the second fiddle. Under Angus Johnston's leadership, Music A-Level was offered,
and I was lucky enough to participate. I was never a bright pupil, but, thanks to the maximum help from the school,
scraped into The Royal Academy and Kings College London to read music".
LEN BREWER (1942-1947)
Len's daughter, Penny Brewer, writes: Our wonderful father, friend and colleague, Len
Brewer left this world peacefully on Tuesday morning, 22nd October; you who know him well will
agree that being ill didn't suit his strong physical and mental personality plus his love of humanity
and fun! (Ed. note: by an amazing coincidence an EBOG and former schooldays girl friend of
Len's, the late Pat Hobbs, worked for TWA in Los Angeles at the same time as I did. However,
since we were in different departments and rarely spoke to each other, she and I didn't discover this
common bond until we met at a TWA reunion some years later.)
BRIAN E. W. CROSS (1942 – 1947)
John Gubbins writes: It is sad to report that Brian died in August this year (2013) following
a long period of rather poor health.
Brian enjoyed a successful school life during difficult war years. He was a regular member
of the school soccer team which at that time enjoyed much success against other local school
teams. On leaving school in 1947 Brian was conscripted into the army for National Service during
which time he was drafted to Tripoli and as a result of a friendship he made in the army, on
demobilisation, he started work for a company of industrial roofing engineers remaining with them
for the major part of his working career.
There was only ever one girl for Brian and that was class mate Lilian Shepherdson. They were happily
married in 1954 and set up home in Bickley, Kent where they enjoyed a happy family life with their three children.
Following retirement Brian and Lilian moved to Lanhydrock, Cornwall. Sadly in 2002 Lilian died but Brian stayed
on in the bungalow they had shared together.
Brian travelled widely over the years on business and pleasure with the result that he and Lilian assembled a
very wide circle of friends with whom he kept in contact for the rest of his life. His 80th birthday was testament to
this when over the course of a day nearly 100 friends from far and wide gathered at his sons’ house to celebrate.
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Brian battled bravely with health problems for many years but he always remained cheerful always happily
exercising that capacity he had for long conversation and in depth discussion.
He will be missed by many old friends.
DON GOSNELL
Brian Addinall (1948-1953) writes: Having just attained the age of 80, Don has died after a slow decline,
bravely borne. He attended EBGS about 1944 to 1948/9, where he was a great friend of the late Terry Cheetham.
When he left the school, with five fellow keen cyclists, all six rode their bikes all the way to the South of France
and back using their schoolboy French, avez-vous des lits pour six?, which they all remembered throughout their
lives. Their names might ring bells with some people:- Don, Terry, Brian Saxton, Johnny Hardman, Roy Craig, and
Alan Addinall.
SCHOOL PLAY 1961 - THE CRUCIBLE
Maxine Elvey (1958-1965) sent this photo of the 1961 production of Arthur Miller's "The Crucible". One thing that
singled it out was the starring performance of Pete Freeman, who rose to much greater things under his stage name
of Paul Freeman. He had a leading role as the 'baddie' in Raiders of the lost Ark and has had many other highlights.
1947 entry year group at the 2012 Reunion: Joan Rawlings (née Morford), Malcolm Butson, Dave Vincent, Editor
Brian, Brian Barnett
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EBGS MEMORIES OF THE 1950'S
From Tony Dix
to repeat his question. I must have satisfied him
somehow as I started in the First Year in September.
Here is a photo of what the well-dressed,
second-year nerd was wearing in 1956! Yes, short
trousers were worn until the third year and NHS glasses
were not yet in imitation of John Lennon.
Back row: Martin Block and Pete Mcarthur.
Front row: Me, Paul Hercus, Geraldine Stevens, Roy
Bailey and Linda Marquese
It was quite a change from Primary School,
particularly going from the top class in the junior school
to bottom of the heap in the Grammar School. The
whole social structure was more formal, from the
prefects at the top of the pile, through the Sixth Form
with certain privileges and down through the years. The
house system imposed a further artificial structuring of
the population. Boys were still addressed by surname.
Rick Stevens, Carol Bjorck, Geraldine Stevens, Mick
Colle and Martin Block
Each day started either with a full assembly in
the hall or a house assembly in smaller rooms. The full
assembly began with the staff, wearing their black
gowns, filing onto the stage. They remained standing
until the Head arrived, taller than any of them, trailing
his enormous gown behind him. He led the assembly,
reading notices and announcements and finally the
prayers, reading and hymn. At the last stage the school
atheists, maths teacher Mr Wankling and chemist Mr
Bremner, ostentatiously left the platform.
Mr Wankling was one of the few outrageous
characters on the staff. He drove a scooter and spent one
My first visit to East Barnet Grammar School
was for interview in Spring 1954. I soon found myself
facing the monumental figure of Mr Clayton who
questioned me on my understanding of a text I had read
before the interview. Unfortunately, though I
understood the text, which involved the early history of
London Bridge, I could barely understand what the Old
Man was saying, since he spoke with his clasped hands
in front of his mouth and I frequently needed to ask him
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lesson in silence staring malevolently at one of its
wheels which he slammed on the table in front of the
class. According to the local paper he and French
teacher Mr Gilby were once stopped by the police when
riding the scooter up Barnet Hill, celebrating the end of
the school year by singing in an inebriated manner. He
wore a hammer and sickle badge in his lapel to indicate
his communist beliefs and was member of a Morris
Dance group to maintain contact with the working class.
Eventually he left the school to get married in middle
age to the head mistress of a girls school in Jersey.
I met him some years later in Southgate in the
shop where I had a holiday job. His wife and young
baby were with him but mischievously he confided to
me that he had married mainly for the cheap cigarettes
in Jersey.
just missing Mr Flitcroft’s head. (RB later became
principal of a college in Tyneside so I hope his students
were more docile than he was!)
‘Jack’ Taylor taught maths. He was a good
teacher, albeit with some practices which would have
got him in trouble nowadays. A favourite punishment
was to stand behind his victim in front of the class while
twisting the miscreant’s cheeks.
As the worst performer in any athletic field it
may seems surprising that I have great gratitude to Mr
Viney. Having heard of too many cases where PE
teachers take pleasure in tormenting the weaker
performers, I appreciate his constant encouragement and
absence of any criticism. He, as always on special
occasions, wore his Loughborough Jacket and white
trousers, showing that he had been through the best
sports college in the country. In the war he had been a
commando and occasionally came out with stories from
that time. I remember one in which during parachute
training a member of his battalion suffered a parachute
failure and ‘made a hole just big enough to bury him in’.
It amazes people when I tell them that the top
class took GCE’s in four years, but this was achieved by
giving us only a year each of Music, Art and
Woodwork. This sacrifice was made with the intention
of giving a third year in the Sixth Form to take
Scholarship A-levels, but from a straw poll taken during
the big reunion in 1987 it was not considered a great
advantage in practice. Luckily, I discovered music for
myself and married a musician and since retirement I
have taken up drawing with enthusiasm. I fear no
woodwork skills have ever been developed.
Looking back, I regret that I was very little
involved in the life of the school. I was the only boy that
year to come from Brunswick Park Primary School and
so did not have a ready-made group of friends. I have a
copy of the school magazine for 1954 and there is an
impressive range of clubs and other groups, nearly all of
which I did not join. As the person least likely to be
chosen for any athletic or sporting activities so I also
ignored the games community of the school and
attempted to avoid any timetabled exercise also.
However, membership of the Photographic Society has
led to my having a number of pictures of school life,
some of which are included in this article. They are
from around 1960 and show some of my fellow Sixth
Form Science pupils. In the Sixth Form we had the
privilege of using the terrace during breaks and
lunchtime. The black half gowns show who is a full
prefect.
Coming through the school, badly behaved
pupils were told that they would never amount to
anything, starting with not rising to the highest status in
the school. However, in an attempt to modify their
behaviour, the worst miscreants were elevated to
From the left, Roy Bailey, Mick Warr, Martin Block
(unfortunately now deceased) and me
Ed. note: I sent some of Tony's photos to friends
of mine and one of them sent me this picture of what
students in her American High School class were
wearing in 1956)
Mr Flitcroft was a very young maths teacher
who had great trouble controlling our class which was
know for its ‘liveliness’. He got so angry in one class
that he hurled the wooden handled board rubber at R**
B***** who threw it back, striking the blackboard and
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outclassed his contemporaries. By an outrageous stroke
of ill fortune he lost one leg, I think from bone cancer.
(Ed. note: sadly, John eventually passed away from this)
Alan Coren was writing for the school magazine but not
yet showing his full comic talent which led to his career
as a writer and editor of ‘Punch’.
By the way, concerning your comments on the
House system in the last Newsletter, it was still in full
swing when I left in 1961 and anyone who says
otherwise is one of those swinish types from Juniper or
Vialou. (Ed. note: as a proud and loyal former member
of Vialou House, I take extreme umbrage at this
comment.)
prefecthood while the goody-goodies (like me!) were
overlooked. In fact, our protests did lead to a change of
policy but I think I drew from this possibly the best
lesson from the school that in Life you should not
expect to be appreciated for what you do (or don’t do).
Among other teachers, Mr Salamé who taught
German, stood out for me. He had written the first radio
course for German beginners and had much material
from this work which benefitted us. I enjoyed the
language and can still make myself understood in
simple German.
Two pupils further up the school when I joined
the first year were John Allamand and Alan Coren.
Allamand was an extremely talented athlete who far
LETTERS
Brian,
Nothing really much to report other than I met
up with Mike and Beth Wearing last week for lunch they are over from Nova Scotia catching up with friends
and family. It was great to see them both and indulge in
'old' memories. Unfortunately Brian and Sheila Crow
were on this occasion unable to join us so we will try to
plan something for next year. EBOG's seem to be spread
around the world nowadays which probably explains
why several old friends were not able to attend the super
reunion in 2012.
Regards,
Alan Burgin (1949-1955)
[email protected]
I'm in the yellow t-shirt
After leaving school I joined Marks & Spencer
as a Management Trainee. Seven years later, married
with two daughters, I went to work for the OK Bazaars
(1929) Ltd. for two years working mainly in Cape Town
and Port Elizabeth. Not happy with the prevailing
political cloud of apartheid, we came home to England
eventually spending 26 years with Birds Eye Foods in
Sales, later in Sales Development.
On an early retirement I turned to something
completely different, spending some years working at
Nottingham Crown Court as a Court Usher and later in
the Office on a part time basis. Now, as a "young" old
fart I enjoy the world of antiques, walking holidays and
playing scrabble with my lovely second wife, Luise.
Hoping that someone out there will remember
me. Final memory of Mr Yates: "If you want to play
about, boy, you can get outside!"
Good luck,
Norman "Nat" Simler (1948 - 1952)
Tel: (0115) 926 2354
20 Patterdale Rd, Woodthorpe, Nottingham,
NG5 4LQ
No e-mail
Brian,
I've recently been contacted by my old school
chum, Terry Griffiths, who asked me what I can
remember about my days at East Barnet Grammar
School.
In a flash of nostalgia I see smart maroon
uniforms, boys with quiffs and girls in gym slips. Happy
days unless you queued for a caning from Mr Clayton,
the Headmaster. Can anyone remember the School trip
to San Sebastian in 1951?.
Classmates I can remember included Eddie
"Wally" Prentice, Ian "Sloppy" Gilson, Gerald Monk,
Alan Pedder, Johnny Murrells, "Dubby" Baldwin,
Michael Stokes, Michael Twilley, David Coke, Terry
Griffiths, William Rundle, Brian Clarke, David Vincent,
Molly Everett, Molly Giles, Valerie Gilbert, Norma
Skinner, Barbara Thompson, Doreen Arnold, Pamela
Patterson, Eileen Miller, Margaret Harland and Carol
Davis.
Teachers I remember with affection: Mr
Thurman - Maths, Miss Williams - English, Mr Yates Economics, Mr Halliwell - History.
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Hi Brian
Another sunny day here in Oz, 25 degrees today
and we've only just come out of winter!
Your piece about Houses sparked a memory as I
think it was during my era in the late 70's when the
system finally ran out of steam. My year was the
second intake of the comprehensive system (1971+)
Teachers of the day would probably confirm this was a
difficult time at the school. By the time we made it to
the Senior High School (then at Chestnut Grove) the
House system was crumbling. I remember Alan Viney
pulling his hair out at the lack of interest in the House
Football Tournament around 1976 and I think it was at
this time it was finally abolished, something that
displeased me as any excuse for a game of football was
worthy as far as I was concerned.
always willing to volunteer somebody else's time and
labours!
Geoff Weston (né Biddle) (1952-1958)
[email protected]
Hi Terry (Boyce) and Brian
Terry, you'll remember me; Brian I'm not sure if
we met, but that's old age for you. Anyway, this is Peter
Hurt, still fondly known as The Gul in some parts.
I attended the 40th anniversary reunion of the
Class of 65 earlier this year and I'm told there is an
account of it in one of your newsletters. I can't seem to
open them on the website. Is it possible you can add me
to your email mailing list?
In perusing the EBOG site, I had a good look at
the 75th reunion photos and you certainly had a lot of
memorabilia there! Is there anything left by any chance?
I'd love to buy something; it would go well with the old
school tie which I still have.
Sad to see that Angus Johnson passed away but
he obviously had a good innings. He lived round the
corner from me in Byng Rd (I lived at The Avenue).
I've been told that Vern Leonard lives out here
somewhere (Melbourne?) and Derek Finch I last heard
of in Adelaide many moons ago. I'm now on the Gold
Coast, still working, and hoping against hope that we
beat you Pommie bastards and regain the Ashes!
I left England's fair shores at the end of 1975 and
have been back on three or four occasions, even living
and working there for about 18 months in the 90s.
Our 40th reunion was great and credit goes to
Chris Wheeler and the gang for organising it, and to
Chris and to Louise Power (nee Hoffman) for tracking
me down! With the wonders of email these days I am
now in touch with Chris, Robert Hunt, Ian Welch and
Brian Tilley occasionally. Louise and Doj (Ian Graham)
have kept in touch by letter all this time. It's amazing
how strong the links still are and I reckon that reunion
was one of the best nights of my life. Hope to be over
for the 50th!
Good to see you looking so well, Terry, and I
always remember you as a nice guy with a smile on
your face.
Hope to hear from you and regards to all who
may remember me.
Cheers for now.
Peter Hurt
[email protected]
L-R Jeremy Smee, Gary Green, Vern Leonard, Dean
Brazier
On a different note, a few of the EBOZ
boys enjoyed a few beers in the sun at Darling Harbour
in Sydney recently. Present were Gary Green, Vern
Leonard, Dean Brazier and Jeremy Smee, I was lucky
enough to join Dean on a corporate freebie to The
Bledisloe Cup Union match at Olympic Park afterwards
to see The All Blacks thrash The Wallabies, seems the
home country can't win at anything these days. How
times change!
All the best,
Jeremy Smee (circa 1972-1978)
[email protected]
Dear Brian,
Another excellent newsletter, clearly a labour of
love!
As a member of that august group who find
computers just a little tiresome, I have been struggling
with the Alumni website as a person locator. I'm
wondering if a brief "where is so & so?" box could be
introduced in your pages.
In my case, I would like to ask "where is"
Robert (Bob) Berry (circa 52/58)? He lived in
Totteridge, was part of our illustrious skiffle group and
has proved impossible to locate thus far. Yes, I'm
Dear Brian
I am very conscious that I have had two e-mails
from you and have yet to reply. I can't take the pressure
these days!
Len Brewer: I was sorry to learn of his passing.
He was in my year at School and he was a member of a
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the sporting fields. There always has to be a winner or
loser in life!
To write about the School Houses and the Inter-house
sporting competitions - forget about the points from
academic sources or deducted for detentions - I. and
many others I hasten to add, had a fair share of these
and, so, had to make up points in other fields. The
competition between JUNIPER (the best), Hadley and
Vialou, on the playing fields were as vital a part
of School life in my day as were the academic
achievements of others.
Life is competitive and I feel the School was
right to encourage competition both in the Classroom
and on the Playing fields. Even today many Old
Students that I meet will refer to these Inter-House
activities and the competitive element that it
encouraged.
Mike Brazier (1941-47)
[email protected]
very good School Football 1st XI. I think he played for
a time with the Old Students Football Club but
eventually moved South London way and we rather lost
touch. Although I know that he retained a keen interest
in both the School and the Association.
The Association Newsletter: What a challenge
from the Editor who e-mailed me to say - "I normally
don't publish opposing opinions to mine." but gave me
the option to do so.
It surprises me that
an admitted road runner (of
some repute I am lead to
believe) should want to
belittle the contribution that
sporting
contests,
and
individual efforts on the
sports field made. The idea
of Inter-House competitions, in those days, was to
involve every member in supporting their House in
some way, by gaining points either academically or on
Pam Coxen's Spanish Diary
drizzled in, until it has a mayonnaise type texture. We
tucked straight into this before the salads arrived,
usually consisting of lettuce, tomato, cucumber and
sliced red onion, I added lashings of olive oil from the
cruet, to mine. With 3 choices for each course, it takes
some time to decide. Neil selected tortilla, a Spanish
omelette, whilst I chose creamy leek soup for the second
course.
By this time my stomach was telling me I had
nearly reached my limit for lunch-time consumption,
but there was main course and dessert still to come. As I
am almost completely vegetarian I chose a tomato
ravioli, almost envious of Neil's brocheta de chorizo con
champiñones, put simply a kebab of Spanish sausage
and mushrooms. We had to pass off the rest of the menu
and finish our meal with ice cream and coffee. This is
one restaurant definitely benefitting from the recession,
that won't be closing it's doors.
Here is my recipe for tortilla. You need a
couple of good sized potatoes, scrubbed well, skins left
on, and this is where I cheat; I pop them into the
microwave and cook till nice and soft. One onion,
peeled and chopped finely, then put into a medium sized
frying pan with a generous spoonful of olive oil, cook
till soft but try not to 'brown' them. Whisk 4 or 5 eggs
and season to taste. Here I sometimes cheat again and
add a bit of curry powder (how terribly British), slice up
the cooled potatoes and mix with the cooked onions in
the pan (add a little more olive oil if needed), pour the
eggs over the potato mixture, prod to make sure the eggs
are evenly spread, and cook gently , I usually put a lid
It is a known fact that when
times are economically bad, the
Spanish raise their prices in shops
and bars, etc. causing trade to drop
even further, resulting in more and
more establishments closing down
along our Paseo de Mediterraneo
and
shopping
centres. One
delightful restaurant, situated on the beach, with an old
fishing boat outside, which they now use as a barbeque
in which to cook sardines, the aroma alone sufficient to
draw you inside, does seem to have found the
answer. From Monday to Fridays they have produced a
4 course menu for only 7.50€ (£5). You could not cook
it at home for this. Saturdays and Sundays it is a little
more expensive, but the menu is greater for
weekenders. Yes it is Spanish managed, but we
understand that it has been owned for several years by a
well known British Soap Star. From 1pm until 4pm the
waitresses are rushed off their feet.
The menu changes every day, and after 6 visits
you are offered a free bottle of champagne too. The
other day we went along at 1pm, in order to sit as close
to the waves as possible, and to admire the birds, little
boats and beach. At 2pm the week before I counted as
many as 50 people enjoying the same view and tables
getting scarce. We ordered a beer and a bottle of water
(these you do have to pay extra for). They arrived very
soon, with a basket of fresh, warm bread and a bowl of
home made "ali-oli", this is a delicious concoction of
garlic crushed to pulp with olive oil and lemon juice
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November. We had one little thunderstorm a week ago,
but all over in a few hours.
This photo of sunset was taken from our garden
on the 4th of November.
over the pan to help the procedure. When you are happy
that the eggs are set, you can either risk, flipping the
tortilla over in the pan, or do as I do, pop the pan under
the grill to brown the top, you could even sprinkle some
parmesan on it if you wish. Turn onto a serving dish, cut
into 4or 5 slices and serve with, crusty bread, and a
scrummy salad.
I am rambling on a little this time but cannot end
without a mention of our glorious weather, yes, midNovember still getting into the 80's early afternoon, and
I am still swimming 250 metres a day in the pool. But it
has been a very strange year, going back to September
2012 when we had the terrible floods and storms that
claimed lives within a mile of out home. This was
followed by a very wet and cold winter, when our olive
crops were severely damaged, which will be noticeable,
affecting prices of olive oil in the shops before too long.
Summer did not start until early June, followed by the
coolest July in my memory. We really thought we had
got away with it this year, I had not even thought about
air-con. All that changed in August, into the 100's, and
so it lasted through September, October and into
Happy Christmas everyone. Pam xx
[email protected]
MEMORIES OF THE WAR YEARS
From James Gilman
the house was always filled with babbling noise. Auntie
also had a fox fur cape, something I'd never come across
before and was in awe of, representing as it did the
ultimate aura of Hollywood-style glamour, along with
her 'best dress' by Norman Hartnell, the Queen's dressmaker. Every new dress subsequently purchased became
a Norman Hartnell dress by the simple expedient of
having its label changed for the more impressive one.
She also ate grapes -- a luxury fruit during wartime,
which I'd never come across before -- and ate these
peeled, just like they did in Hollywood films. Not
surprisingly, Auntie Hilda was the only one of my aunts
not to have become a Salvation Army officer, which
probably accounted for quite a lot.
Cousin Doug must have had his own life
changed quite considerably by this sudden influx of
relatives, but he took it all very well. He taught me how
to scour the gutters for cigarette cards, to add to my
growing collection gleaned from Uncle Alf's 40 a day
habit (from which he eventually died). Doug let me use
his air rifle, with which we'd take pot shots from the
bedroom window at the row of circular cigarette tins
(Uncle bought his fags by the hundred) disguised as Red
Indians lined up along the top of the rear garden fence,
together with the occasional intruder cats. He let me
read his 'Hotspur' comic, so much more exciting than
my own 'Champion' whose 'Rockfist Rogan RAF' , a
fighter pilot who was also a champion boxer, couldn't
compare with the 'Hotspur's' thrilling stories such as
At Christmas 1940 we
had a large turkey, one of
whose legs Uncle Alf kept for
weeks afterwards. He would
ambush us with this as we
entered a room, holding up the
leg and, pulling its tendons,
make its foot claw away at our
faces, leaving us shrieking in
gleeful horror. Auntie Hilda
eventually gave it to their
Scotch terrier, Mick, who wouldn't go near it, being as
scared of it as we were. Mick was put out into the back
garden every day to do his stuff, and it became my daily
task to clear up after him when I got in from school. To
encourage me in this ritual, Uncle Alf christened me
'The One Great Scorer' (after a favourite poem of his)
and kept a score sheet on the kitchen wall on which I
was required to enter each day how many of Mick's
deposits I'd cleared up, getting a bonus sweet on each
day I managed to enter a score higher than the daily
average. At least it got me intimately acquainted with
the garden. Uncle had an alternative name for me: 'R G',
short for 'Rumble Guts'.
It was all very different from life in
Middlesbrough.
Auntie Hilda had a 'daily', Mrs. Kettle, a
cheerful soul who cleaned for her, having first removed
her false teeth in case she lost them, as a result of which
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consummate accuracy.
I found that my schoolmates spoke Bournemouth, a civilised language indistinguishable from
proper English, unlike Yorkshire, and so I had no
difficulty fitting in with them and spent a happy year at
Alma Road. We had no bombs falling on Bournemouth
during that first year of the war, but there was one piece
of exciting good luck for me and my friends. One night
a lone German plane dropped a land mine -- like a
bomb, but descending slowly by parachute -- which
took it upon itself to land squarely on our school. We
were overjoyed at the sight that met our wondering eyes
next morning; the school engulfed by its own rubble,
with a hastily written message in chalk on a blackboard
at the gate announcing SCHOOL CLOSED.
Disbelieving of our extraordinary good luck, our little
hearts sang with joy as we skipped our way back home,
thanking Herr Hitler over there in Berlin for his
generous gift that day. Of course, other premises were
soon found for us, but we all agreed that that wasn't
Hitler's fault -- he'd done his best for us. What did
surprise me, however, was that on a brief return visit to
Bournemouth and my old school in the 1990s, they were
still talking to their pupils about the landmine that
dropped that day, some 55 years earlier. I expect it was
the only time the school had hit the headlines and, as
such, generated cherished memories.
I had a friend, Alan Crabbe, with whom I often
used to walk to school and back from his house in Alma
Road near the Odeon Cinema. Alan taught me an
invaluable lesson one day on the way home from
school. He stopped suddenly, pointed down to the
pavement, and announced that there was a whole secret
underground world below the ground we were standing
on, full of tunnels and people working away. I was
astounded, and disbelieving of such a possibility. He
then told me there was an entrance to this hidden world
in his garden, and on reaching his house he showed me
a metal trapdoor in the ground in a corner of his back
garden. "If you pull that open, there's a ladder going
down into one of the tunnels!" Dumbfounded and
excited at this revelation of a secret entrance into
fairyland, I told Uncle Alf when I got home. He roared
with laughter, and explained to me all about the
sewerage system and its access via manhole covers in
virtually every street. The aura of magic faded rapidly
from my desolated imagination, but it taught me one
thing: that there was much more to the world than
appeared on the surface, and it left me with a lifelong
fascination with what lurks beneath the cracks in our
everyday experience of life.
Looking back to that memorable year and with
the trauma exorcised by my eventual reintegration with
my family, I seem to recall endless days of sunshine
spent on the beach or walking in the Winter Gardens,
''The Boy Who Broke The Siegfried Line' about a boy
spy, ''The Hairy Sheriff about an ape who became a
Wild West sheriff, 'Buckshot Drives The Death Coach'
another Wild West tale, and 'Lost Boys On The Whirling
Planet', about a class of schoolboys marooned on an
alien planet.
Every Sunday was celebrated with a traditional
Sunday dinner. With Uncle first sharpening his carving
knife and then wielding it with great skill, the meal was
washed down with limitless glasses of 'Corona' fizzy
pop, of which Uncle had a whole crateful delivered each
week. We all lived in the large kitchen, which had its
own toilet together with a sink upon which Grandma
would sit me to wash my neck each Friday, convinced
that otherwise it would never see the sunlight. The
dining room hosted its own billiards table on which, on
Saturday evenings, we would all take our turn under
Uncle's guidance. It also hosted an electric gramophone,
the first I'd ever seen, with a large collection of 78 rpm
shellac records so precious they weren't allowed to be
played with the customary steel needles. Oh no; we had
to use special thorn needles, sharpened periodically on a
special little gadget incorporating strip of sandpaper and
silvery bits that moved up and down. There was also a
Front Room which had its own chilly atmosphere, being
used literally only at Christmas when occupying it felt
like filing into church.
On Sundays I was packed off to Sunday School
at The Salvation Army, armed with my collection
money with which I'd buy an ice cream, sit myself on a
fence opposite the Hall, and walk back home when the
children all filed out. This was my calculated response
to the unfairness of Joan being allowed to stay at home
and help with the dinner preparation. That Christmas of
1939 we had a lovely Christmas tree, courtesy of a lorry
off whose back it fell just as Auntie was walking past
She was good at acquiring things, returning home one
day with a fresh egg which she'd found on the local
post-box lying under the little metal flap which she'd
lifted to take out a stamp she'd just paid for.
My school, Alma Road Primary School, was a
good two miles away from our house, the other side of a
busy main road, yet I was expected to walk there and
back every day, it being taken for granted that any 7
year-old was big enough to do so on his own. My
reward was to be allowed to walk along the same route
and across the same main road on Saturday mornings to
go to the Odeon Cinema Children's show, where we
watched such memorable films as 'Six-Shootin' Sheriff',
in which all the goodies wore clean white Stetsons and
won the fair lady, while all the baddies had dirty black
ones and spat with disgust at losing the same fair lady.
In this way was morality together with the desirability
of cleanliness of clothing inculcated into my young life,
along with a burning desire to learn to spit with
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childhood there, so 'Deep Purple' immediately brings
back the house in Bournemouth and my year there as an
evacuee. To hear the opening lines ' When the deep
purple falls / Over sleepy garden walls' is to be
instantaneously transported back into the garden behind
Auntie's and Uncle's house just as dusk is falling, back
in 1939.
Why this should be so, and what I'm doing there,
I have no idea. Perhaps I'm pursuing the ghost of Mick
the terrier in an effort to improve my score for the day.
Or perhaps I'm just hoping to retrieve that touch of
magic which brightened my young life at the time, and
which I could have done with in much of the rest of that
life. Whatever it is -- thank you Uncle Alf, Auntie
Hilda, and cousin Doug, for such happy memories.
travelling into the centre of town for one halfpenny on a
big yellow trolleybus, gaily dropping acorns into the
brims of ladies' hats below as Joan and I stood on the
bridge crossing one of the Chines or wooded valleys
intersecting the town, and walking Mick the terrier with
cousin Doug through the pine woods at the top of our
road, woods which seemed to magically extend for ever
because we never managed to reach the end of them on
our walks, taken up as these were with much climbing
of trees and collecting of fir cones.
It was Noel Coward who once remarked that it
was strange how potent 'cheap music' was. If J. Alfred
Prufrock in T S Eliot's poem of that name measured out
his life with coffee spoons then my life, it seems to me,
has been measured out by songs. Just as 'Rainbow On
The River' immediately brings back Tsingtao and my
LETTER FROM CONNECTICUT
from Valerie Kent née Dodd
immigrants as possible new citizens and not aliens, and
to elect representatives and senators that were out to
serve rather than to disrupt the government, have come
to naught.
This week on public television they are running
programs every night about the life of Kennedy, how he
became president and how he died. There are still
people who do not believe that Lee Harvey Oswald was
the sole killer of the President. The programs are very
well done and nothing is whitewashed. One gets to see
what it takes to become a President, how one has to
bend one’s morals and manipulate individuals as well as
groups of people to win the office. It is very
discouraging, but after living here for so long I have
become accustomed to politics and politicians. To my
fellow East Barnet alumni it must seem as if we in
America have lost all sense of control of our
government this past year, and that is how is seems to us
too. But this is what democracy means -- one man, one
vote, and the majority wins. The good thing is that we
are constantly changing our ideas and ideals here,
particularly as the population mix changes, and there’s
always a different group in power from one year to the
next so if you wait long enough your party will get their
turn.
I have been voting since 1975 and there really is
no choice for me. Only once did I vote for a Republican,
and that was Gerald Ford because I thought he was a
good man since nobody could find anything criminal
about him! After Richard Nixon, he seemed like a
bargain. Now we have a Democratic president, who I
voted for, who is having a tough time. One can blame
the Republicans all one likes for making life difficult for
him, but he has to take some blame for himself. The roll
November is the saddest month in New England.
The leaves are almost all fallen and need to be raked,
the trees are bare, the weather is getting colder and for
me, it seems, that death is on our minds. This Monday
was Veterans’ Day when we think about those who died
for our country or were injured, and we are also
remembering President John F. Kennedy, who was
assassinated 50 years ago on November 22nd. Finally,
personally speaking, this is the month I lost my
husband, two years ago, so maybe that colors
everything.
Most people who were alive when Kennedy was
shot remember where they were and what they were
doing on that fateful day. I was riding in a car with my
husband from Hertford to Stevenage, to visit one of his
cousins and her family that evening. We were young,
only 25 years old. We were listening to the radio when
the music was interrupted by an announcement that
President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas, Texas, and
it was possible that he had died. The broadcast
continued and we learned that this was indeed true. It
seemed too horrible to contemplate, but we knew
America in the Sixties as a violent country, with lots of
problems with poverty and civil rights, so in one way
we were not totally surprised.
We could never have imagined that fifty years
later we would be living in that same country, the
United States, and would have been here for more than
45 years. Along with a vastly improved standard of
living and a very interesting and fulfilling life, the
violence, the poverty, and the distrust of the government
would become so commonplace to us that we no longer
thought we could do anything about it. Efforts to make
laws governing gun control, to feed the poor, to treat
10
out of the Affordable Health Care Act (Obamacare) was
a disaster. He says that “nobody could be madder than
he is” but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I can
only hope that the next two years of his presidency
improve and he leaves feeling that he has accomplished
something. There is so much to do, so many people
living on the edge of poverty: eating in soup kitchens,
living on food stamps (which
have now been cut by the
Republicans) and looking for
work without any hope. On the
other hand, the stock market is
going up daily and the top one
per cent of the nation is getting
richer and richer. I can barely
read the Real Estate section of
the New York Times any more because the prices are so
outrageous. None of them seem real to me, and the gap
between the poor and the rich is wider than it has ever
been.
What does this all mean to those of you living in
Britain? I am coming home for Christmas and will hear
from my relatives in Barnet what life is like there. They
already tell me not to even think about coming home to
live permanently because I would find it too difficult to
adjust and the price of property is even worse than in the
U.S. with less value for money.
I guess when I watch re-runs of “Doc Martin”
every Saturday night I am looking at a fantasy world.
This looks like the Britain I knew in the Sixties, as
though nothing has changed. Even November in
England I remember as a place of fireworks and fun.
Tell me that I’m not wrong, that there are still places in
Britain where such a life exists.
Valerie Kent née Dodd (1949-1954)
[email protected]
Israel Diaries 8
from Roni Hermony née Marsha Cannon
Not much of it is good. For example my niece had a
baby just over a year ago. My sister told me that if you
wanted bed linen or a pillow you had to bring it with
you and if you wanted the bathroom, make sure
someone was beside the bed to guard your possessions.
I remember that my parents, well, I don't think
I'll go there… Suffice it to say that when my father got
run over and his ankle was crushed, he was neither
operated on nor did he get a plaster cast. "You are a
pensioner – go home and rest – it will heal
(eventually)!" He walked with a stick for the rest of his
life.
Here not all is rosy. I waited a year for this
operation and received it only because someone
cancelled. I had a date for next March. I have no idea
how long I will have to wait for the left hand ….
When I had a hole in the macula (left eye center of the retina where all the light collects) I had to
wait over 6 months and by then, pertaining to eye
surgery, it was a serious business. Having written that I
must say that I did get the best surgeon in the field and
except for the transparent scar in the center of my left
eye vision, which I rapidly learned to ignore, I have put
all that behind me and I see better than my husband with
or without my glasses.
Like most services in various countries all the
services have their advantages and disadvantages – long
waits etc., but no complaints about the treatments.
Doctors and nurses strike occasionally and they are right
– their pay is absurd for the hours and devotion to the
profession – but as it is popular to say today – at the end
Recently I underwent surgery on my right
hand. Brian, our revered
editor, suggested that I
write an article this time
comparing the Health
services in Britain and
Israel.. So let me share:
My typing is very
slow and I am correcting a
lot of typos. I am using my
ring finger on my right hand and all the fingers on my
left. My hands are not in the regular position and I tap
the wrong key.
The funny thing was today when I caused the security
exit in a shop to go crazy because of the Titanium pins
in my two first fingers. It rang bells and whistles!!! The
finger op is called Arthrodesis.
I also had the osteoarthritic bone in my thumb
removed – Trapezectomy, I guess because the
bone removed is trapeze(wedge) shaped. The
pin removal was quite traumatic...it was not as short as
the diagram and projected beyond my thumb under the
plaster cast.
Recently, 2 months after surgery, I started
cooking again, occasionally, not a lot of chopping and
last week I started driving too, short distances. I didn't
realize, when I had the surgery, what a long healing
period would be involved and I am still doing
physiotherapy.
I know very little about the British Health
services except what I have heard from my relatives.
11
of the day – I am not dissatisfied with the service I
receive from the Health service that I subscribe to.
A short article this time. More stories from my
history next time.
Happy Thanksgiving, Seasons Greetings to you
all and Happy Hanuka too,
Roni Hermony (1958-1963)
Israel
THE CLAYTON DIARIES 5-5-1951 TO 8-5-1951
Transcribed by Brian Warren (1951-1953)
Executive examination. She placed 28th and is now
working for the Ministry of Supply in the newly-formed
European Purchasing Commission.
Almost a month later Mr Huffer accepted the
vacant History post.
Mr. Hughes gave a lecture on South America to
the Senior Society.
85 East Barnet Carnival Brochures were sold
and the profits went to the Sports Fund.
On the 14th of May the HM discovered a
burglary in which Mr Vialou's gifts of coins and medals
had been stolen.
Wall Hall Training College sent nine Chinese
Malayan educationists for a day's visit to the School.
On the 1st of June the lights were not working
and there was a gas leak in the Domestic Science Room.
Later in the month the September intake of boys
and girls were measured for their school uniforms and
on the 6th of June the H.M. spoke to 3rd and 4th year
pupils about the choice of optional subjects.
On the 13th of June Dennis Hodges and Brian
Stanley appeared in the Boy Scout Pageant produced by
Ralph Reader at the Royal Albert Hall.
Early in the new term swimming lessons began
for 1st year girls.
In the Hertfordshire Schools' Athletics Meeting
John Wrighton won the 220 yards in 24 seconds and
David Shott the 880 yards in 2 minutes 7.6 seconds.
Alan (Ben) Brown won the Long Jump with a jump of
17' 7½".
At the Barnet and District Secondary School
Sports Meet EBGS boys won the Mather Cup for the
5th year in succession while the girls' team came 3rd.
During the term Dennis Hicks gave tennis
coaching.
On the 1st of May Latin teacher, Miss Weavers,
attended the rehearsal for the opening ceremony of the
Festival of Britain. Two days later she sang with the
London Philharmonic Choir at the opening.
On the 5th of May the Old Boys' Football AGM
was well attended. The officials elected for the
following year were President: Mr. Clayton, Secretary:
R. Wilkerson and Match Secretary: K. Jelley. The
Clubman of the year was J.A. Dearman.
At the University Presentation Day on the 8th of
May at the Albert Hall, Miss Lehmann was awarded an
M.A. and Mr Wankling an M Sc. On the same day Mr
Russell of the Headmasters' Employment Committee
gave an evening lecture on careers for Grammar School
boys attended by about 60 boys and their parents with
Mr Clayton in the chair.
The Old Boys Cricket Club dance was held on
the 26th of May with the Jan Beuscher Band and Rex
Faulkner as M.C.
Peter Sore, when playing for Cockfosters 2nd XI
against Bowes Park took 6 wickets for 7 runs, including
5 wickets in 5 balls in one over!
R.W. Postlethwate stumped all 3 wickets for a
hat trick.
On the 2nd of June there was a reunion of
former students and staff. There was a cricket match
followed by a dance in the evening.
Former student, Beryl Clark, gained her ARCM
for piano playing at the Guildhall School Of Music.
Vernon Jones won the Henderson Open Scholarship for
pianoforte at the same institution. Peter Chapman
gained MB, BS (University Of London) at St. George's
Hospital.
Peter Hurst and Geoffrey Bowne took a
Chemistry Honours course at Regent Street Polytechnic.
Iris Hyde, B.A., passed the Civil Service
Please send Newsletter contributions to Brian Pritchard [email protected]
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