Dear Old Michaelian's,

This is the last letter I shall be writing to you as Chairman of The Old Michaelian Association. It has been a very enjoyable three years, which, like time generally at our age, has flown past.

I have been a member of the Old Michaelian Association, like most of you, since the day I walked out of the school, equipped for the outside world! I did lapse for about three years in the early seventies,
but that is about all. Why do so many keep in touch? I don't know why or what it is, or was, but there seems to be that 'something' that makes the last weekend in October special, every year.

From time to time, throughout the year, a letter from an Old Michaelian drops through the letterbox.
The reasons for this vary, members who have heard some news of someone, do we know the whereabouts of so-and-so, etc, etc. The most remarkable are probably the one or two a year from someone who went to the school and has just discovered that the OMA still exists.

Recently I was talking to someone who went to a school in Surrey which closed its doors in 1974.
There were approximately four hundred pupils at the school at any time, and it was open for more than
fifty years. They had a reunion this summer and they only had fifty old pupils attend their weekend.

As so many of you know our reunion weekends are always enjoyable, and that is what makes them so
successful. Every year a 'new face or two' appear, but circumstances also mean that someone else has
to miss a year. If only we could get you all together... what a wonderful bash it would be. Some people
worry about how they've changed. The certainty is that we have all changed, some are bigger (!),
balder (!), wiser (?). I know there are people I would be very pleased to see again, and I know that I
am not alone in these thoughts.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all the committee members who have made my three
years so pleasurable, and occasionally, good fun! We meet twice a year around March/April at
someone's house, and in July at the Le Strange Arms, Old Hunstanton. Over the past couple of years a
lot of effort has been made by several people to ensure The Mitre retains the standards it has enjoyed
over the years, whilst also keeping up with the times. A job well done by those involved, and my
thanks to you all. (My apologies for the consistently late Chairman's Letter!). Those that arrange the
reunion weekends also put a lot of time and effort into making these a success every year. It is difficult
to make changes each year, whilst at the same time retaining the core reason for the weekend.

Finally I should like to thank all of YOU for supporting YOUR Association so enthusiastically.
Without you there would not be an Association, let alone a Reunion. Thank you.

My final request is that you ALL continue to support the Old Michaelian Association, and the new
Chairperson and committee, as enthusiastically as you have in the past.

Yours

Bob Hill.
 

---

So here we are again just a few short weeks to the next reunion and I have no doubt that you will have discovered the ticket application form on page 26. Do make the effort and come.

You will have found in the preceding pages articles by both OM’s and their erstwhile leaders and for these many thanks for putting open to paper, it has eased my job of having to fill the magazine and you will find not as many "fillers" as previous editions.

I have also included some articles culled from previous Mitres, some even from the very first 1961 edition and I shall continue to use these for as long as "new" copy is in short supply, so if you have any strong feelings about this, one way or the other, let me know but above all write down your memories and reminiscences and let me have them for inclusion in forthcoming Mitres.

If you are clued-up electronically and use the WEB you will have found our very own web-site www.oma.org.uk and many thanks must go to Bill Cullin for his hard work and long frustrating hours in setting up this site for the benefit of all Old Michaelian’s here in England and in the far flung corners of the World where OM’s now live and work. If any of you have an e-mail address which the Association does not have and would like to be included in the ever increasing list of OM’s on-line then send it to me at martin.graville@lineone.net in return I will send you the full list of OM’s who are similarly equipped.

I look forward to seeing you all in Hunstanton in October and to receiving your articles for inclusion in the Spring Mitre Very best regards

Martin

PER ARDUA

    With the arrival of the latest THE MITRE I feel it's high time I honored a pledge given several years back to write a little something -if only to fill those pages. A (nother) wet summer's day affords me just such an opportunity....
    1 arrived at The Pottery from smoky, smelly Teesside, a difficult and in some ways daunting first curacy after ordination in York Minster. It was a wonderful education in that Teessiders believe in calling a spade a bloody shovel (even worse!).Visiting happened daily so one could never be accused of idling away the time. They are a most hospitable people and when you were invited into their homes (as you invariably were) you took them as they were...put on the kettle and maybe wash up the cups if you want a cuppa. But of course, those were the days when double-shifts in both the chemical and steel industries were there for the taking.
    Heacham, parish and school, was a whole universe away from what was to follow. I recall being driven around Heacham, ingoldisthorpe and Hunstanton by RPP but was nonetheless disoriented for some little while. AII credit to Mukhlis therefore for taking me under his wing and endeavouring to explain Who was Who and What was What. A vivid memory is of the start of the September '63 Staff meeting during which everybody but me grabbed the classes they wanted for the subjects they taught, so that when it was all but over I remarked that 1 seemed to have a modest teaching commitment. So, it was back to the drawing-board and at last. l was In!
    Tales such you and I could tell about St. Michael's are the stuff of legend. And I can tell you I've given many an off-the-cuff taik I've named A Ragbag of Memories to many, many societies. And, what's the bet that when leaving they confide to each other that he DID tend to embroider - to exaggerate. Wrong!
It was as a result of an advertisement in the CHURCH TIMES for RAF Chaplains that I was able to get a free trip to London for interview. I actually then had no such intention of wearing the Queen's uniform... but, a free rail ticket was part of the deal. My favourite theme is the part that Chance has played in my own life. And so it was with me.
    I said Farewell to St Mick's in May '56' and was given a signet ring by the boys of the Ingoldisthorpe boarding-house which I treasure to this day.
    Within a few months of leaving, suitably attired for warmer climes than UK, 1 found myself in S Yemen and what turned out to be the final year of the British presence in S Arabia. Aden was the centre for nationalists intent in driving the British out sooner rather than later, urged on by Marxists from Egypt, China and Eastern bloc countries, who were generous in their supply of arms to the Arabs. British troops were involved in shooting incidents sometimes 40 times daily and as chaplain to the military hospital I was constantly on call to attend to the spiritual needs of the wounded, the dying - and the dead. Active Service was an experience I wouldn't have missed for the world. Everything that was to follow would be anti-climax. Incidentally, I paid a return visit to Aden just 18 months ago - and how the memories flooded back, more especially when I participated in the Remembrance Day services at the 2 military cemeteries...'there is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England'.
    I was not destined to return to UK when the final pull-out occurred in late '67'. Instead, I was posted to Sharjah in Oman, another desert station, far removed from dangers and difficulties, but challenging in quite another way. Let's put it like this, the temptation within most if not all of us when in an isolated outpost with seemingly little to do is (a) to lie back and do nothing (b) to moan excessively. And yet, in the nearby village there was another lifestyle altogether. My church building was used as social centre, cinema and even worship - and yes, the British are inclined to be more religious when far away from Home.
    Reluctantly in my own case, I returned to Lyneham in Wiltshire, then the departure-point for most overseas-going aircraft. The RAF chaplains also happened by some unusual arrangement to be in charge of the civilian parish...a dramatic happening because it meant having to deal with the moaning Minnies who complained about just everything. And what did WE care or know, seeing we were birds of passage, here today and gone tomorrow. Mmm!! I
    '69' and my posting order arrived for a fighter station in Scotland, Leuchars by name - in the Gulf Stream and so quite often warmer than in the deep south. This was the time of the Cold War when Russian Bear aircraft attempted to penetrate our defences and had to be intercepted....continual noise throughout the 24 hours, fascinating in quite another way.
    Two years were to pass quickly before I was told that I'd been posted to the plummiest of the plum postings, to Singapore. But, this was also the time when the British presence generally was being withdrawn from east of Suez. I therefore found myself working with the army, navy and air forces of the 3 constituent parts of the ANZUK force. Australia New Zealand and of course, UK. Here was the Day of Pentecost updated! There followed 30 months of hard work - mustn't forget that! - plus exploration up-country to the delights of Malaysia and even to one of the islands of the Maldives group. l thrived in the tropical climate. Who WOULDN'T be reluctant to return home?
    March '74' saw my return to Cosford and the Apprentices Training School - pretty much like a sixth-formers in uniform and under discipline with money in their pockets. Pretty volatile. And impressive too inasmuch as one almost felt the pride and the urge for adventure.
    A Maintenance Unit was my next home for over 3 years whose main job was to supply the entire RAF with its supplies of whatever. And then to Sealand near Chester for my final 3 years in uniform - here, a mix of servicemen and civilians in a ratio of 1:2. Their high rate of pay came about as a result of their technical skills, their working environment demanding and stressful in a dust-free environment....plenty of opportunity here to prop up the workbench and talk over whatever featured on the menu.
    I became Chaplain & Head of Rl and Teacher of English at Woodbridge School in '83' - not at all like The Pottery,'nuff said. A year's unemployment in '89 came to an end when I was offered the living of St. Paul's in Newport S Wales, scheduled for closure.This was to be combined with the chaplaincy of the 2 town-centre hospitals..... if you seek a quiet 9 - 5 job, most emphatically DO NOT apply for a hospital chaplaincy. But I loved it. An average week would see me talking with something in the region of 500 people of all sorts and conditions.
    In August '99' I decided to call it a day however and have since enjoyed doing my own thing in the currently not-so-sunny south!! find it impressive that these many years after the school's closure so many still wish to relive some of the Pottery experiences. I for my own part acknowledge just such a debt and an attraction.
    One final thought....! occasionally meet up with parish clergy whom I knew in my undergraduate days and find myself wondering how on earth they could have remained decades, within the same rather dull parish routine, within the same diocese or the same province. Never (it seems) a thought that there is a wider and infinitely more exciting world beyond. Education is a lifelong experience!!!

Bill Kelly
 

A Pen Portrait

    At the age of 20 I changed jobs and the people I worked with had a collection and bought me a Parker pen. Probably having endured my writing for 2 years they felt that my next employer should have something better to work with and a good fountain pen enhances any person's writing. I used the pen for several years until, eventually, it ceased to function. I sent it off for repair but Parker had a policy of planned obsolescence and due to the pen's age they offered a discount on the purchase of a replacement but no repair.

    I purchased a replacement and the old one collected dust in a corner, being retained for sentimental reasons. Some years later I mentioned the pen to a colleague. By amazing luck he had a neighbour who, before retirement, had worked as a pen repairer. He arranged for me to visit but warned that Albert was the most cantankerous person imaginable. I was warned to be punctual and on arrival was greeted by this huge man dressed in a suit.

    He immediately destroyed my image of my former colleagues by telling me that my pen was already obsolete in 1966 when I was given it and added "They probably got it cheap as it was old stock!" Albert stripped my pen down and suddenly looking up said " You've dropped this, don't you realise this is a piece of precision workmanship?" He continued to berate me for 15 minutes about my carelessness while he repaired the pen. Eventually, having refused payment, Albert said, "I'm in two minds whether I should let you have this pen back if you can't look after it." I thanked Albert, grabbed my pen and left but not before I had looked round his workshop at the dozens of old pens, pen parts and trade journals that covered the room. These old pens had intrigued me and about three months later, having found two old, non-functioning pens in junk shops I contacted Albert to see if repair was possible. Albert greeted me on the telephone by saying, "You're the young man who dropped your Parker, I remember you." I realised that I would never live down my misdemeanours with my pen but arranged to visit Albert.

    On arrival, Albert told me the age of both pens - one 1920's the other one slightly later. Albert asked if I would like to see them working. I could hardly disguise my excitement at this prospect. By the time I left one pen was filled with ink and working while I needed to return the following week for the older pen. On return Albert greeted me like a long lost friend and I found that I had indeed made a new friend.

    After this I took to visiting Albert about three or four times annually whenever I had found an old pen. This went on for about three years until, one day, Albert greeted me by saying, "I'm not repairing pens for you anymore!" Feeling puzzled, I asked what this was all about. Albert went on to say, "I'm 82 years old. I won't be around forever. It's high time you stood on your own two feet." Albert then started teaching me some of his skills and, for about three years, we spent entire days talking about pens while we repaired them.....until one day I telephoned and Albert's wife told me he had died some weeks before. It appeared that, as I had always telephoned Albert, they did not have my number. Albert's wife asked me to come over to see her. On arrival she sat with me and went through all the photographs they had. After 54 years of marriage she had a lot to say. Eventually, when I got up to leave, she took me into Albert's workshop and explained that as they never had children, she had inherited everything. She went on to say how Albert had constantly nagged her to make a will but had failed to do so himself! Finally she picked up two boxes full of Albert's pens and said, "I know that Albert would have wanted you to have these."

    I walked out of the house with tears streaming down my face...and the rest, as they say, is history.

David Barry
 

Brockhill

Compiled by R. J. MUNGE 
and J. A. WALLINGTON.
 

Members Letters

Best wishes

Michael Kemsley

Apologies to John King

     It came as something of a  surprise to John when he read in the Spring Mitre that he was no longer responsible for the OM memorabilia, that task having been taken over by Mike Chilvers, In fact Mike is just storing the rather large boards and John is still the OM archivist. I will attempt to get it right on the future. My sincere apologies to all concerned.
      Martin.

I am indebted to Tony Woolven
for these deep thoughts!!

      A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where train stops. On my desk, I have a work station... 

    If quitters never win, and winners never quit, what fool came up with "quit while you're ahead"? 

      I was thinking about how people seem to read the Bible whole lot more as they get older, then it dawned on me. they were cramming for their finals. 

      I thought about how mothers feed their babies with little tiny spoons and forks, so I wonder what Chinese mothers use... Toothpicks? 

      Why do they put pictures of criminals up in the Post Office? What are we supposed to do... write to these men? Why don't they just put their pictures on the postage stamps so the mailmen could look for them while they delivered the mail? 

      How much deeper would oceans be if sponges didn't live there? 

      If it's true that we are here to help others, then what exactly are the OTHERS here for? 

      Go ahead and take risks.... just be sure that everything will turn out OK. 

      If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague. 

      Ever wonder what the speed of lightning would be if it didn't zigzag? 

      Nostalgia isn't what it used to be. 

      How come you don't ever hear about gruntled employees? And who has been dissing them anyhow? 

      Since light travels faster than sound, isn't that why people appear bright until you hear them speak? 

      How come "abbreviated" is such a long word? 

      If it's zero degrees outside today and it's supposed to be twice as cold tomorrow, how cold is it going       to be? 

My grandfather worked in a blacksmith shop when he was a boy, and he used to 

tell me how he had toughened himself up so he could stand the rigors of black 

smithing. He said he would stand outside behind the house and, with a 5 pound 

potato sack in each hand, extend his arms straight out to his sides and hold 

them there as long as he could. After a while he tried 10 pound potato sacks, 

then 50 pound potato sacks and finally he got to where he could lift a 100

pound potato sack in each hand and hold his arms straight out for more than a 

full minute! Eventually, he even started putting potatoes in the sacks.

A new group of male applicants had just arrived in heaven. 
Peter looked them over and ordered, "All men who were henpecked on earth, please step to the left; all those who were bosses in their own homes, step to the right." 
The line quickly formed on the left. Only one man stepped to the right. Peter looked at the frail little man standing by himself and inquired, "What makes you think you belong on that side?" 
Without hesitation, the meek little man explained, "Because this is where my wife told me to stand."

RECOLLECTIONS

      Chris Gibbs

This Article first appeared in "The Mitre" in 1995.

A Trip To Mexico

By William Cullin & Family.

My sister, Stephanie Garcia (Cullin) as many of you will know her, now lives with her husband and family in Guadalajara, Mexico, and this is my brief report of a long awaited holiday in the Sun with them

We speak regularly to each other over the Internet, and had arranged that my wife Jane, my son Alex, daughter Anna, and I would visit them this summer.

             All the details finalised we set off on the long journey flying from London Gatwick via Houston Texas. In Texas we had a 4-hour wait between flights, this gave us time to freshen up and have a look round the shops in the airport.

We landed in Guadalajara at around 11:00 at night to be greeted by the entire family, all nine of us managing to fit into their car, which luckily was a nice big Dodge Ram Charger…. With air conditioning!!

The next day it was decided that, as Steph’s eldest son Jack was due to go away to complete some engineering work in a town that was a few hours drive away, we would go with him and stay in a hotel for a week and do some sightseeing.

We left the house at about 7:30 at night so as not to drive in the midday sun and I thought we had reached our destination at midnight. But Jack had wanted us to see Queretaro on the way to San Juan Del Rio, as it was a beautiful town to see at night with all the lights illuminating the places of interest. A very high aqueduct overshadowed the centre of the town, it spanned the full length of the valley from one side to the other, and the main road ran either side of it.

            Don Juan Antonio de Urrutia y Arana financed the aqueduct, built in 1726, as well as the construction of many beautiful colonial buildings including convents and churches that still stand today.

After our little midnight sightseeing we continued to San Juan Del Rio (St John of the river)… It was now 1:15 a.m. and after winding in and out of the maze of one-way streets we pulled up on a deserted road. Across the street all I could see was a pickup truck with half a dozen pairs of legs hanging out, looking like some of the locals were trying to get some sleep. Jack went and knocked on a large wooden door, I expected “Lurch” to answer, but a young woman opened it and let us in. Inside it very spacious and cool, we booked in and went off to our rooms through a court yard with flower beds and a swimming pool, the rooms were set out on two levels overlooking the court yard.

We set of early once more to drive a few hours to the town of “Tula” where there was an archaeological site. The Toltecs had built a city there with Pyramids, Palaces, Ball courts, Altars, and a main plaza. The whole place was built on a hill overlooking the surrounding countryside. they had a museum with some artefacts found on the site and it was a very interesting day out.

On another day we thought it would be a good idea to take a guided bus tour to see if there was anything we had missed on our wanderings…. The tour did not show much else of interest except it took us around the main churches that looked to have been there since time began and showed us the houses of famous people that had helped in the gaining of Mexican independence.

Near the end of the week it was time to set off back to Steph’s house in Guadalajara, it was planned that we were not going to take the direct route back as there was one or two places we could visit. One very spectacular place was a town called Juanajuato, situated in a deep bowl valley and overlooked by mountains, one of which we had driven down in full view of the town. The town itself was very busy with traffic and tourists from the surrounding states, there were some modern hotels and plenty to see. Most of the small towns that we came across had their old churches and houses of famous local dignitaries. The styles were all of Spanish design, since it was Spanish ruled until independence. Independence was a theme that was greatly celebrated no matter where you went. Nearing the centre of the town the road ahead split up, one part went through the rest of the town and another went down into the ground, I commented “ Well it looks like we are going into the sewers “, It was barely wide enough for cars… but had lighting… although very dim!

             After a few more hours drive we did eventually make it back to Steph’s house in Guadalajara, although it was now getting late at night…. 11:30 I think it was. On the last bit of “Motorway!” we did have to come off to find more fuel as we were getting low, I did not fancy the idea of running out, other traffic for help was few and far between and it was not advised to flag someone down in the middle of nowhere.

Now that we were back in the City, we were able to nip out during the day and do more sightseeing and still be back in time for tea.

On the Saturday before we were due to fly back home to England, preparations had been made for the big Mariachi festival. Bands from all over Mexico turned up, there were parades through the City streets on floats.

The place was packed solid and later that evening in the main plaza where a stage had been constructed all 55 bands played their music one after another. The Mayor of the City and other officials made speeches of welcome and praise to all the visiting bands. I now know of something worse than the saying, “ Packed like Sardines in a tin”!!

On the next day, Sunday, it was time for us to leave Sunny Mexico and return to the wonderful dampness of home. All together it must have taken about 11-12 hours flying and 4 hours driving home from the airport.

We had a wonderful and unforgettable time in the sun and returned home bringing the good wishes of Stephanie to be passed on to all Old Michaelian's and “particularly those who remember me”.

Leslie John Roberts
Known as Les or Nickname   “Bunny “ Large front teeth

At St M’s 1955 to end 1958

Mates with Mick Clarke and Rod Crowfoot

Started as a day boy travelling from Kings Lynn each day with  ????  who’s Dad was a butcher

Boarded in Sept 1957 and was at Gresham House.

Initially in large dorm on top floor which had a small two bed dorm off it. This had the fire escape in it via the window.

Got “ Promoted to 1^st floor dorm with only four of us in it  --- two bunks. Top of stairs and to the left.

Shared this with Rod Crowfoot;  Mick Clarke and  Michael H - Nobby – Clark

Member of Film team under Clifford Wallington.

Played 2^nd eleven cricket  - still got the cap.

Played 1^st eleven hockey  or so it says on my leaving certificate but honestly cannot remember this.

Played soccer for the school but then I think we all did.

Was made a Prefect in 58 only because  I  looked after the oil heaters. This was a great lurk to get out of work on Saturday mornings and at other times. Can still put a new wick in an oil heater – if you can find one.

Main memories

Big fight with Bernard Musson in the top dorm at GH. He gave me a black eye for which we both got four of RP’s best   – not because of the fight but because we lied 

"Bernard pushed the door open  Sir and the knob hit me in the eye. " was the best we could do for an alibi.

Trying to ride my bike with a new raincoat on. Why were they sooo big.

Sleeping in tents at Old Boy weekends so they could sleep in the lap of luxury in our dorms.

Taking short cuts in the cross country run so we could get in front of Anita  ??? and watch her bouncing  yes well just bouncing eh!

Javelin practice on the soccer field and hitting the power lines  - on purpose. Very big flashes.

Cycling to and from school from The Lodge and trying to beat   1) the Bus and 2) Colin Ratcliff. Never did beat Colin.

Learning to dance at the Inglesthorpe Village Hall. The only reason we were there was because the local girls came.

Being madly in love with Lila  ????? one of the village girls and being invited to tea   - grossly embarrassing!

As an alter boy hurtling along with RP driving the Morris Shooting Break on Sunday morning to do Holy Communion at Inglesthorpe and other Churches

RP forgetting there was no wine and having to stop at the Inglesthorpe Hotel to get a bottle of red.

Getting the congregation count wrong -  like 7 instead of  6 so RP ran out of wafers.

No electricity at Inglesthorpe Church – quite a usual occurance -  and Colin Ratcliff ( School Organist for the uninitiated ) playing Toccata and Fugue in G because we had to manually pump the organ until RP left the alter and had a “quite “ word. Not a good image   Sweating alter boys.

Getting severe colds because some idiot told us if we cycled with our chests exposed we would grow hairs on our chest. Many colds and still not many hairs.

Ducking Mr Taylor’s chalk in math’s

Feeling sorry for Mr Taylor in French cos we new he was reading the text book and knew less than we did.

Struggling with Greek and Latin with RP insisting it would help our english. Never helped mine.

Listening to the 8am ? news in the Lodge and hoping to God that you were not pick on by RP to answer a question related to a topic. “ Roberts  Why do you think the Yen is falling ? “”   Gulp Gulp

Sitting up very straight as RP came into the Lodge dining room. That pin hurt !!

Listening to small radios under the blankets after lights out and being caught by a Pre

Fish Pie for diner on Fridays

Duty table or whatever it was that had to serve and wash up – remember the smell!!

Desperately trying to smash a cricket ball through any window in the school. Rumor had it you got ten pounds and four of the best. As nobody ever did it never found out.

Going to Heacham beach  - well rock infested area – and swimming  -  in winter. From memory another

C. Ratcliffe brilliant idea.

Going to the cinema in Hunstanton to watch the latest movies – but you had to wear your full uniform. We all did of course. Got four of the best for not having my uniform on  -  dobbed in by Miss Jewson who was having a great time 3 rows back. Movie was Little Richard in “ Girls Can’t Help It “  I think.

People not mentioned anywhere.

Mrs Roberts who was a cook at the Lodge  and whose son came to the school for a while. 

Mr Taylor  -  teacher of maths and anything RP threw at him. Always poorly dressed – lived in a house at Heacham you passed on the way to the beach. Had lots of children. Really nice guy. 

Many of the overseas guys whose names escape me

Dowda Nigy comes to mind and Nauclus who was from Pakistan

Regards and all the best

Les Roberts

Another Article from the 1995 Mitre

      As I racked my brain over how to begin this article I looked up the word "nostalgia" in my dictionary. It said "A longing for past events". That certainly would not have been my interpretation of the word!

      I don't think that any of us would actually like to go back to our school days. Our fickle minds recall the deep insecurities we had with laughter and we thankfully forget how painfully self-conscience we were most of the time. The constant crimson face when anyone over the age of twenty asked a direct question of you in the middle of a classroom full of giggling youngsters who were only too relieved that it was you and not them being made to look a complete idiot.

      It was definitely not "fun" lying awake at night worrying yourself sick because you had mislaid your school hat...(I was going to say "My bra" but as most of us are now over fifty, too much nostalgia can bring on heart failure and besides I didn't start wearing a bra until I was married!) ...in the vicinity of the football field during the Dark and, oh so romantic, evenings when work was the last thing on our minds. It was vital to retrieve it before anyone handed it in..... (Jealousy can turn anyone of us into a Judas!) .... there was no point in denying it was yours as the evidence was always so damning when held up in the middle of morning prayers. My Mother, Mr. Pott and "Cash's" name tapes made sure any item of mine didn't stray too far.

      Nostalgia... Do you remember "Prep" periods at Ingoldisthorpe, the quietness of the old house as the darkness seemed to mellow it and where many so called "love affairs" were started or rather brutally ended with the passing of a carefully placed note on your desk. 

      Do you remember how you quite literally prayed that Mr. Pott would not choose your classroom to sit in for the evening "Prep" and if by some awful quirk of fate your prayers went unanswered how you would do your best to merge into the background and avoid, at all costs, catching his eye in case he asked you to bring your book for inspection. 

      How terrifying it was to stand in that line by his desk hoping that the bell would sound before you reached the front of the line and the tension in your body made you shuffle like a dummy until you were standing within striking distance, and then nervously you placed your ink stained book in front of him, again praying that he would not find anything wrong with the contents and destroy all your efforts with one stroke of his pen, or worst still, hurling the book across the classroom where you had the added humiliation of retrieving it. 

      I am sure that incontinence was first discovered during those "Prep" evenings! Yet, if he praised you, the warm glow stayed in your heart until the next time you were caught.
I read this quote recently, "To have memories you have to have someone from your past who can confirm them". How true that is. 

      All of you are my past and I yours in some small way and when we meet each year that same warm glow returns and stays with me until the next time, it truly is a real live trip back into my childhood days and for me true unadulterated nostalgia for just a few wonderful hours.... but please God, don't let me have to do it all again!

Felicity Cole

A few deep thoughts