Posts

Et in Arcadia ego

Image
Well, you be very pleased to learn that I have decided to give the London Water Closet a rest for the time being. But maybe you are wondering what happened after I left LWC. Well, you are about to find out.  It is imprinted on my mind, that amazing sight of the fat envelope, lying on the doormat of our house in Alma Road. Even before I opened that fateful piece of stationery, I knew that I must have been given a place at Oxford. Yes, why would they send a fat envelope if it just contained a brief rejection letter? I have almost no photos at all for most of my four years at university, but in the summer term of my second year Tim Hinton contacted me. He was doing a degree in Photography, so could he come up to Oxford and take some photos? Could I put him up for a day or two? I am deeply indebted to Tim for these photographs, as they are almost the only records I have of my time at Oxford. Who is this young man, smoking the clay pipe and carefully pouring port into the decanter...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Rather Tubby Dinosaur

Image
I promise that this is definitely going to be the last of my LWC reminiscences for the time being, but I really have to write a bit more about Mr. R.T. Davies, my Latin teacher. Yes, you may have already read my eulogy for R.T.D., the one that I never got round to giving at the memorial service. The Rather Tubby Dinosaur was also supposed to be in charge of the College Press, the printing shop that became my sanctuary from the compulsory games that I hated. Well, here is Peter Booth’s “write-up” for the R.T.D.’s memorial service that appeared in The Sower .                                 YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE                                    Memorial Service for R.T.D. Roger Davies certainly got the send-off he deserved. The affection in which he was held and the impact he made o...
Post a Comment
Read more

Educaring, 4

Image
“Sticks and stones May break my bones, But words will ever hurt me.” Yes, that is a playground rhyme, but I wonder whether it is really a playground crime. Words do hurt and often we will remember them long after a bruise or even a broken bone has healed and been forgotten. I would like to tell you that there was no bullying, verbal or physical, at the London Water Closet during the 1970s, when I had the misfortune to be there. It would be great if I could mention that I never took part in any bullying of other boys. I would also be happy to inform you that absolutely no bullying went on at LWC after I left. Unfortunately, none of these statements are true.   Part of the reason for the bullying in the 1970s was the laziness and general indolence of most of the teaching staff. Yes, they taught their lessons and took games, but that was about it. When a master was “on duty”, he would usually just stay in his flat, watching TV, cooking a meal or doing some other activity. The ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Mash

Image
Why do we give nicknames to people and to things? Is it because we have affection for them, we love them, or is it because we do not like them and maybe we are even afraid of them? Is a nickname a way to make something smaller, less frightening? During the Second World War, Londoners called the V1s “buzz bombs”, while Americans have “Old Sparky”, aka the electric chair. At the London Water Closet, we had “Mash”.    Why was the headmaster, C.A.N. Henderson, nicknamed “Mash”? I never found out during my seven-years-and-a-term at LWC. Something to do with potatoes? Or an American TV comedy series about an Army medical unit? Or silly pop song about Dracula and various monsters?  As I have mentioned before, schoolboys have a cruel sense of humour. A colleague once told me that one of his teachers had been called "Notch", as he had been involved in a tragic accident. A pram had come speeding down a hill, right in front of his car, so his students joked that he had carved a no...
Post a Comment
Read more

Another 2026 Gardening Bore

Image
  One of the best things to do with your garden is to sit and admire it. The thought of getting up and doing some work in the garden is somehow not so pleasant and enjoyable. Well, I suppose it is time for me to interrupt my Tristram Shandy- like recollections of the London Water Closet and so I might as well write a bit about our garden.     Yes, the old cartwheels are looking pretty good. They blooming well ought to, as I spent long enough painting them. We have had a lot of rain recently, so I cannot use the tractor mower to cut the grass. Our lawns are just too soft and soggy at the moment.     My dear wife's roses really are looking lovely this year. The white rose bush has produced a lot of beautiful flowers for the first time and the old red bush by the "secret garden" is still doing well.   We continue to have some excellent scoffing from the asparagus bed and, for the first time, the fig bushes look as though we are going to have a good crop of yum...
Post a Comment
Read more

Mark Whittow

Image
It is time for some more LWC reminiscences. It was a cold morning in December and I was walking around the Cambridge colleges with Karen, the daughter of my mother’s friend. (Yes, I did have a big crush on Karen, just in case you were wondering.) Just on the off chance that he might be at home, we called at Mark Whittow’s home. Mark was one of my heroes at the London Water Closet (and I did not have many). Even though I was three years younger than he was, h e kindly tolerated my presence,  probably because he knew that I was also a fan of W.L.F. and all things historical. (In particular, I remember Mark patiently correcting my understanding of the caracole , a cavalry tactic in the Thirty Years War.) Not only was he a brilliant actor (his performance as Doctor Stockmann in An Enemy of the People  was superb), Mark was also a school character and an all-round eccentric. He treated the teachers at LWC with a mixture of casual indifference and flippancy. On the morning in ques...
Post a Comment
Read more

Getting Into Print

Image
Well, I have started on a rambling recollection of my days at the London Water Closet, so I might as well continue.      It was after I left Junior House that I found a good way to skive out of most (if not all) of the compulsory sport: the College Press, aka the printing project. Hidden behind the school's admin bloc and the headmaster's office was the printing shop, a large room with a strong smell of ink and an old Cropper Minerva printing press. Don't let your fingers get squashed during printing - this is the origin of the phrase "To come a Cropper".       I must confess I love my press, For when I print I know no stint Of joy.     Well, my joy was to get out of games. As well as teaching Latin, Mr. R.T. Davies, aka the Rather Tubby Dinosaur, was the master in charge of the College Press. R.T.D. was usually in a panic because some programmes had not been printed for the upcoming school play or there was some other printing job that neede...
2 comments
Read more