THE WINTER OF 1962/3

I was still at the ‘Academy’ when it struck, sleeping in one of the small dormitories (eight dorm, I think it was) in the New Building at the rear of The Shooting Lodge. The New Building has gone now, I wonder what interesting things were found by the demolition workers when it was dismantled. The stories about it will live on all the time there are Old Michaelians to keep them going.

Back to the Winter of ‘62/3. Several things stick in my mind. There was the snatching of all the extra blankets you could put your hands on. At that time the best thing about Army Cadets was the great coat! Then there was the HEAVY Mac, sorry Mr Pott, black mackintosh. I also recall that Corona bottles were at a premium, I think I had three or four being used as hot water bottles, well as hot as the water in The Shooting Lodge would permit. Finally, we still had to have AT LEAST ONE window open.

The daily journey to Ingoldisthorpe was an epic in itself. On some days the Double Decker could not get through early in the day and so we walked. For what seems days now when the bus did get through we all had to get off and pushed the thing up Ingoldisthorpe Hill!

I know we always got good (?) food all through the bad spell, thanks to the ladies who did the cooking. I am sure they only struggled to keep going because they thought more of us than we ever gave them credit for at the time.

In five years at the school this was the only time that I did not have to look for an excuse not to play games. I remember Mr Pott shouting “No games today. Get your Wellington boots and Mackintoshes on and walk to Dersingham and back along the back road”.

Provided you could keep warm, the chalk pit was the place to dodge into to rest a while until the more energetic passed by on their way back.

In this same winter myself and an amazing character who shall remain nameless convinced the blacksmith at the bottom of the footpath in Ingoldisthorpe to make us some primitive ice skates that we could strap to our shoes. If I remember correctly the only other thing he did for us when we popped in on the way back from PE in the Church Hall was to nail our gym shoes to the floor! How many of you (boys) remember Mr Rudd and his slipper?

We then went skating at 10.30 at night on the pond in the field behind The Manor Hotel. Returning about an hour later we decided a hot drink and a bacon sandwich would be great before retiring. Just as the bacon was smelling good, headlights appeared coming

up the road. Would they turn in to The School? They did. It was too late to do much, if we hid the evidence there was still the smell which would give us away. We waited for what seemed hours for the inevitable. Eventually the kitchen door opened, and simultaneously as the light went on a voice said “What’s going on here then?”. Relief! It was Cliff Wallington, a teacher at the time, but at least we were going to dodge the worst! Thanks Cliff!

Other things from that winter were pigeon pie. Made from the poor birds we found frozen to the ground in the field next to the rectory. Who of the kitchen staff made the pies I cannot recall.

Then there was the sea at Hunstanton, frozen out to beyond the end of the pier (alas no more). When I tell this story now nobody believes me until I show them the photographs. Did anyone really walk out on the ice to the end of the pier?