Bulgaria with Noodles

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...

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...

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...

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...