Francis John Parsons Raleigh House 1954 - 1963
Shoreham Grammar School.
Deus Horam Dat (God gives the hour).
My nine years at Shoreham Grammar. 16.9.1954 - 17.12.1963
61 years ago, I attended Shoreham Grammar School for the first time and it is 52 years since the end of my last term. In the autumn of 1954, my eighth birthday was just three weeks away and meat rationing had ended only two months before. King George had passed away just a couple of years ago and the new Queen was beginning to appear on coins. My father had bought a television set to view the Coronation and our friends and neighbours in our road came in to view it with us such was the rarity of a TV set. Being interested in numismatics I noted that Queen Victoria was still alive and well and appeared on many penny coins (and ha’pennies too) in ones change!
I well remember my initial interview with Mr. Bruder, the Headmaster. He was a large, solid gentleman who looked at you very directly, gauging you, with no nonsense eyes; I say that because by his manner, he commanded total unequivocal respect from the boys in the school. Upon that afternoon in his office, I was required to read a passage from Thomas Hardy and, having sailed through that simple exercise, I started my first term very soon afterwards. It was to be very different to my previous experience of school, which was Frobell Kindergarten in Southwick, a large Victorian house which I had come to love. It was run by a Miss Tasman (a descendant of the founder of Tasmania), a very elderly and kindly lady. It was a sheltered and stable environment for a small boy to start his schooling and which I commenced there in the summer term of 1951 at the age of 4½ years. I recall the clock in our classroom had Roman numerals, and although I never actually met any of these clock making Romans, I decided that they sounded interesting enough to investigate. And so, my interest in history took its first tentative steps. This interest in history was fuelled by Mr. Bennett and under his tuition my fascination in the subject mushroomed.
I clearly recall my entry to Shoreham Grammar on that September day. My journey, unaccompanied, was by Southdown single-decker pre-war bus (everything in those days was pre-war) and it was a very uninviting, wet, cold and blusterous day. I somehow found my way round the playground to the 1st Form, which was situated up against the north boundary wall of the school and my eyes alighted upon a long, green corrugated iron building with a black matching roof. It looked as though there were additions, also in corrugated iron, painted green and with cream window frames. All in all the school seemed vast and rather forbidding on that grey September morning. Miss Bradey was a very strict Irishwoman with a brusque manner. She ran the 1st Form with a rod of iron, or to be more correct, a rod of wood, and very soon I felt the very painful rap of her short square mahogany cane, which, administered across the hand, left twin red marks to serve as a reminder not to let ones attention wander and to pay far more heed in future! Miss Bradey was an excellent teacher and took most lessons in Form 1 excepting Scripture which was taken by Mr. Kennedy. I have endeavoured to remember all the teaching staff in those early days, but by the time I had worked through to the lower third, the list of teachers was more or less as the list appended here (and importantly described with their nicknames in brackets!).
You must understand that this was a pre-biro age and thus we all had inkwells in Miss Bradey’s classroom (and for a few years thenceforwards), the inkwell being dropped into a hole the requisite diameter at the top right-hand of every desk. The ink was jet black and made up by the ink monitor from a powder. Naturally there was always some bright spark who derived much amusement from rolling blotting paper into wee black inky balls, by way of immersion in said inkwell, and which were then flicked deftly across the classroom. Darned messy, a complete pest and very irritating, the only consolation being that within a very short time, the culprit would have the pleasure of the square cane.
When I arrived in the Lower Third, I worked in the office some Wednesdays prior to the end of term as well as periodically in the holidays. As I could type (I made out sales invoices in the my father’s office too) it meant I also typed out the invoices to parents, including that to my father for my terms schooling, 58 pounds and a few shillings I think it was. This seemed quite a large sum to a youngster in the 50’s (my father’s Manager was paid nine pounds a week). A frequent visitor to the school office was a Governor, a Mr. Kirkman, a tall gentleman. I also remember much work went into routeing boarder’s luggage, and “Carter Paterson & Co” were the carrier. My remuneration for an afternoons office work was generally two shillings (10p), and I considered it very well paid when compared with my pocket money which stood at two and six (half a crown).
New Masters joined the strength during my time, and some left for other posts. My recollections of the staff was that they were mostly in their late fifties and sixties and it hadn’t dawned on me at the time that so many men in their younger years must have been killed in the war and therefore there was an entire generation missing. It wasn’t until the end of the 50’s that younger Masters (such as Bebbington & Roe) started to filter through from University. Mr. Bacon was distinctive in that he took pride in wearing his black gown and mortar board whereas the other Masters kept those clean and instead wore jackets, in various stages of repair (usually leather patches on the elbow)!
Mr. Bruder (Bird). Headmaster.
Mr. Wills (Willy) Deputy Head. Maths & Geometry.
Miss. Johnson. School Secretary.
Mr. Lewis. Art.
Mr. Maxwell. Art (after Lewis).
The Rev’d. Kennedy (aka Wally). Religious Knowledge (also Latin).
Mr. Reynolds. English (Juniors only). He arrived when I was in the Third.
Mr. Thomas (Gobbo). English Literature.
Mr. Wright (Soapy). English Language.
Mr. Marsh (Slimy). Music.
Mr. H.Curtis (Clarence, or Clarry). P.T.
Mr. Richard (a Frenchman). French.
Mr. Kent. French (after Richard).
Mr. Bennett. History.
Mr. Petherbridge (Hey boy). Physics.
Mr. Pocock (Harry Po). Chemistry.
Mr. McLoughlan (Clocky). Algebra & Trig.
Mr. Kellett. Geography.
Mr. Bacon. History.
Mr.Roe. English.
Mr. Lane (before Kent?). French.
Mr. Bebbington. Economics & Sport.
Mr. Bush (Geometry?).
Mr Moult. Assistant Master, in Remove.
There was also a lady whose name I cannot recall, and who had arrived after Miss. Bradey’s departure, and taught English. Mr. Maxwell had by then replaced Mr. Lewis as the Art teacher, Mr. Lewis was a tall well built man with a black beard, who cut a very imposing figure. Certainly by the time I was in the Upper Third or Fourth, Mr. Bacon (history) and another young teacher, Mr.Roe, together with Mr. Bebbington, had arrived on the scene.
Mr. Bruder (his ancestors were of German extraction I understood) was a large man who commanded complete respect, and effortlessly so. It was interesting to see the effect on the boys when he entered the classroom, there was a visible hush, perhaps engendered by the vivid memory of his administering six of the best rapidly (and effortlessly). It is worth noting that this was perhaps a rarely exercised, but very necessary performance (a little fear goes a long way). The offending individual would be positioned at the front of the class standing, the master at his desk. Five to seven seconds later Mr. Bruder would enter in his slow, measured fashion and walk up to the boy and signal to him with his cane to bend over. The caning would be administered, Mr. Bruder would then turn and walk out and the boy would return to his desk and lessons would commence, the whole being carried out without a word being spoken, by any of the parties. The administration of the ‘correction’ was quite magnificent to behold, it was an exact science, terrible in its poetry and near permanent in its result. On the rare occasion of a master being unwell and unable to take lessons then Mr. Bruder would take the period; lessons in those days were termed periods. He would enter the classroom and in a seamless manner launch into the lesson as though he had just taken the previous period and that this was a natural continuation of the last. The whole would be marked by a reverent hush on the part of the boys, any usual tendency to slouch or play with ones pencil, or gaze out of the window would have been a cardinal error indeed on the part of the individual. I was full of admiration for the man, and the way he could teach any subject so easily while commanding undivided attention, and complete and utter respect, even from those very few who had scant respect for a Master.
Mr. Wills was deputy head, I believe he lived in Steyning and was the son of a baker; he had a brilliant mathematical brain and was a large, kindly man, and could also be a little abrupt, somewhat sharp when administering a rebuke, but he was well liked and respected. He was also Scout Master and I remember him telling me that, before the War, he had met Hitler while over there with the scouts.
After the Frenchman, Mr. Richard, had left, he was replaced by a highly unpopular teacher, Mr. Kent, for French. He was a short individual with a rotund face which matched his body, and had a thick black beard which, while sitting at his desk, he constantly stroked and worried with his right hand. He drove a diminutive putt-putt motor cycle and cut a very amusing figure. He departed at the end of the term when he had a serious scuffle with a pupil. The pupil was considered a hero and was not expelled! He was no loss, unlike Monsieur Richard he taught us little, and we were constantly frightened and intimidated by his violent outbursts and the ballistic speed of his blackboard ‘rubber’.
Mr. Petherbridge I found to be an excellent physics teacher, and after our mock GCE exams he confided in me that I would be sure to pass the GCE exam the next year. I was very sad he left. He was replaced by a young teacher, who was completely useless, was often intoxicated drinking in class, and he taught us nothing in the run up to the GCE examinations. He didn’t last long, about a twelve month; there was some wrongdoing with boys and drink. I enjoyed Physics but that enjoyment ended abruptly when the new master took over and quite a few of us failed this GCE subject.
Mr. Kellett, who drove a large silver Mercedes, was a very strict disciplinarian, he was also an excellent master. He looked as though he might have been foreign as he had a small white moustache (do foreigners wear small white moustaches?) and because he drove a German car we suspected he was German spy. My pal, Tom Fisher, and I kept a close eye on him in case of any strange or suspicious behaviour, or surreptitious letter passing. It would have been good to find a message in code, though I’m blessed if we knew what we would do with such evidence, take it to the nearest police station perhaps, or the Home Office (wherever that might that be, probably in Brighton, it was the nearest large town!). We didn’t read books like the “Famous Five” for nothing and they had spies and smuggling and dark deeds which had to be uncovered and reported!
Mr. Marsh was also most strict, he constantly wore a “we are not amused” - a weary expression. There was no ribbing with him, I think he might have despaired at our musical ineptitude. The poor man had been gassed in the First (war) and only had one lung. We only sung conventional songs like Strawberry Fair and The British Grenadiers. Those who enjoyed pop music found it boring and irksome. One day a boy had stolen my bus fare (four pence) and not knowing what to do I happened upon Mr. Marsh near the station, he gave me the money to get home. I always remembered him for that kindness.
Mr.Wright was a good master, a kindly man, but he could become tetchy if one didn’t follow. Looking back I wonder we didn’t drive him daft sometimes poor man. English Language wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea and those who found mathematics easy tended to be slow at English. I was the reverse, I understood maths but I was too slow and precise but I sailed through Art and the English subjects with ease. Mr. Wright especially liked me to stand up and read in class, he simply liked my reading I suppose and it was something I found very enjoyable and easy.
Mr. Kennedy, our RK master, was a kind man, a clergyman who was not in robust health, having suffered from polio at some time. He was on (too many) occasions cruelly teased; unfortunately boys can readily take advantage of a weakness and have scant regard for their victim. The cane however is a wonderful antidote; it both condenses the mind and subdues the wayward spirit! Tom imparted to me that ‘from now on’ they were trying to be kind to Mr. Kennedy and as Tom was in the A stream and I was in the B perhaps I would pass that on to my form, which I did.
There are blank spots in my recollections; the passage of half a century has blurred some memories.
When I was in Remove we were looked after by a part time teacher (who had “retired”), a Mr. Moult. He was a decent man with a wonderful sense of humour (and a forgiving nature - see the story about the old lab door).
The Tuck shop. ‘’Pop’’ (Mr Chitty) was the caretaker, but he was always ‘’Pop’’. He ran the tuck shop with his rotund wife. Gob stoppers were a penny, but I was a Mars bar boy, they were thruppence I think. Pop also stoked the coal boilers, he must have shovelled hundreds and hundreds of tons of the stuff during his time, it was no wonder he had a tired step, and was a distinctive figure with his hunched slow gait and reluctant nod in acknowledgement of a greeting. The boilers were situated in the cellars under what I called the “new block” which lay to the right of the main entrance.
SPORT. This is the one thing in the term that was completely meaningless to me, my main interests were medieval history and art and this predilection for rushing about after a ball seemed simply a complete waste of time. Worse than that with a game like football it could be positively dangerous to have the ball. I therefore applied a cardinal rule when it came to ball games - it was - lose the ball, and in double quick time. Mr. Andrews was an elderly (retired) man who returned and acted as a supervisor for the long distance (cross country) runs, which I didn’t particularly enjoy since they entailed navigating the deep ditches north of the Toll Bridge (6d to cross by car by the way), not much fun getting wet when you were within a mile of the finish. However, I always considered I did well, placed at about eighth - from the back! I had little capacity for sport, whichever activity it was it seemed to me that most entailed running after a ball which you had no hope of catching and if you did a whole scrum of idiots fell on you because they wanted the confounded thing. However, cricket was at least civilised, the ball moved about but nobody was particularly concerned who had the thing. In fact the whole idea of that game is to get rid of it the very instant you had it (the complete reverse of football). In consequence I don’t recall any injuries during cricket, I did suffer mild concussion once when I collided with another footballer, we were both looking behind us. Oddly enough I was good bowler, not fast, but my aim was excellent and a slower ball did really quirky things when it hit the ground short of the wicket and that often confounded the batsman, to his utter dismay and disbelief. It was the downfall of many a victim! I was useless as a fielder; I simply can’t catch a missile coming directly at me, so I applied my first rule, avoid the ball. When ‘batting’ it actually entailed sitting waiting to go in, usually under a large tree in the shade, and I recall one day sitting without moving for two periods under that tree - jolly good game cricket!
The Herne Baths. These public baths were in Worthing and yearly we were transported via coach to attend the swimming events. This was good as I didn’t compete, even though I did actually enjoy swimming (no ball involved), but only as long as the water was completely flat! And so, for me, no “sports” were actually involved on that day. It was quite fun, at least the road journey was an excuse for a jolly. On the way back to school it was an opportunity to sing “the school song” which included the lines “You can tell by the smell, we are nearing it now, good old Shoreham by the Sea” – this was accompanied by much laughter, especially from the Masters. Almost anything went, and a shout would go up “what do horses eat?” The answer was a deafening “hey, boy” – aimed at Mr.Petherbridge, and he was the one who laughed the loudest! It was a really jolly good natured time. It reminds me now, how, by and large, most of the boys were really jolly good natured chaps.
The playground was large enough and covered in gravel, which, in the summer months was a very dusty environment. In the winter it was exposed and draughty! I wore a pocket watch since my first form days, purely since I couldn’t get on with wrist watches and still today I wear one (the other five are in a drawer). It didn’t seem to be a novelty to other boys, pocket watches in those days were not unusual.
The school bell. This was housed by the milk shed and by the rear door leading out to the playground from the Entrance Hall. Being asked by a Master to ring the bell was pretty exciting, and far less onerous compared to pumping the chapel organ by hand! It was many many years before I took the courage to ring a church bell, of which there are anywhere between five and twelve, and so ringing a solitary bell, it must be said, is pretty simple.
The Houses.
There were four Houses, Nelson (yellow), Grenville (green), Rodney (red), and Raleigh (blue). I was in Raleigh; I always liked blue so was quite happy about that. Nelson were to be reckoned with, they were invariably top in most things including sport, Raleigh were usually next, then Grenville, and last came Rodney who were hopeless and were invariably greatly derided! They obviously had a whole bundle of boys who were as useless at sport as I was, and as much emphasis seemed to attach to sport they were doubly damned.
Boarders at Shoreham.
There were a certain proportion of boarders at Shoreham, compared to day boys like myself; I don’t know the ratio however. There were a good number of chaps who came in daily from Horsham, on the steam train, the ‘’Beeding Flyer’’ (but we knew it as the Steyning Stinker!). A number of boys boarded because their fathers were in the diplomatic corps abroad. There were several boys of foreign extraction, and looking back at those times I now realise that they were not singled out for their colour, as far as we were concerned they were the same as us, they spoke excellent English and not a second thought was ever given about race, creed, or colour, it simply didn’t feature. I suspect that if we had been told about race discrimination we might well have practised it, small boys are contrary beings (so perhaps ignorance is bliss). I knew a boarder, and looking back I realise he was foreign (might have been Iranian or similar) and mother organised it that he came home one summer day for afternoon tea, which he enjoyed.
Friends at school, boys in my class, and other activities (including detention!).
I remember Hannah, he had a cultured soft Irish brogue, very tall with a stoop, he was a cousin to Reggie Maudlin, the then Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was a very likeable fellow with a very good sense of humour. Blakeney was keen on soldiering and was in the cadets, he had a very loud voice (useful on the parade ground) and was a direct descendant of Nelson it was said. The whole cadet thing had one rule obviously, making a lot of noise, bellowing and stamping about, even if it was raining hard (that was definitely not for me). Perfectly fine for those who enjoyed noise and only one step away from sport and those damn infernal balls!
My closest chum through the years was Tom Fisher, a great nephew of Lord Fisher (Archbishop of Canterbury), his father was a Canon and had a living near Hove. We once had strayed into the prefect’s garden to make a short cut and had been hollered at by a prefect leaning out of the prefect’s common room (noisy useless creatures prefects, too full of their own importance!). We disappeared quickly and to disguise ourselves so as not to be identified Tom decided that I would wear his glasses and he would go without any. The result was he couldn’t see anything, it was a complete blur, and I also found exactly the same problem. That disguise didn’t last long! We were somewhat influenced by the exploits of two schoolboys, Jennings and Darbishire, in the books by Buckeridge. Life was extremely busy, Tom and I did a lot of cycling, going to Burgess Hill one fine afternoon and then back for tea at his father’s vicarage. There were also jobs to do; his elderly grandmother lived in a great house near Hove station with vast coal cellars and with a cobbled drive leading to stables at the rear, without horses by then but hay in the mangers still. We ripped up the old lino in her kitchen and laid a new tiled floor one afternoon in less than three hours! We both had benches, his in his garden shed, and I used my father’s in our garage. We were always sawing up wood, timber was very useful and a good wood store was a must have. Woodwork at school however was a trifle boring, tiny pieces of wood, lots of planing and careful measurements and fussy little joints; we were used to timber 3”x2” in 6 foot lengths and using three inch nails whacked in using a heavy hammer! Building a shed would only take us a weekend. I built my first shed at the age of 9, with a sliding window for ventilation, and during my lifetime I have managed to erect five! I preferred a shed to being indoors and would work in it till nightfall (and beyond if necessary). My model railway layouts started life in my shed. My father taught me bricklaying when I was ten; very simple, only three things to remember, string, right angles, and verticals. That came in most useful in later life when brick outhouses, a railway signal box and coal bunkers were tackled, though not necessarily in that order. Some kids today complain they are bored, they very obviously don’t have an urge to build things and a liking for bricklaying and messing about with planks of timber!
Attendance times at Shoreham Grammar were unusual compared to other outfits in that Wednesday was a half day (those unlucky souls who had erred had detention on Wednesday afternoon, up to 3 periods), and we had three periods of lessons on Saturday morning concluding at noon thus making up our weeks schooling. It made for a shorter weekend which was a disadvantage, especially in the summer months as we often had our caravan at my Aunt’s farm in the New Forest. I managed to fall foul of detention on just a few occasions, I can’t think I was that good, maybe I simply evaded getting caught. I recall having done one period (I was in for three) when the Masters swapped and Mr. Curtis (Clarrie) arrived for the second period. He looked at me in amazement, “what are you in for” he asked. “I’ll give you the slipper and you can go” – great, freedom in exchange for very little! For those occasions when ‘lines’ were administered as a punishment I devised and made a very useful tool, a workbench and suitable materials being key! It was simply a piece of wood drilled to accept 3 biros (biros had arrived thank goodness), and held at the correct angle it wrote lines 1, 3 and 5. Moving down a line you then wrote lines 2, 4 & 6. In that way the handwriting varied, it worked well and never failed me. The design also did good service for other interested parties, who quickly cottoned on that I had a device of considerable worth and so I turned out quite a few for friends who found them an invaluable! I may have charged a penny, I can’t quite remember.
The Masters Common Room. This was reached by the right hand passageway running alongside the main staircase which led to the classrooms on the first floor. A smoky gloomy little panelled room, and whenever I needed to go there would be packed full to the brim of masters, some standing out of necessity!
The old lab door. In ‘Remove’, which was housed in the original old 19th century wooden lab, we were looked after by Mr. Moult. We decided one morning to unscrew the lab door and having done so it was positioned very carefully back in its frame! We heard the scrunch of striding footsteps on the gravel growing nearer and nearer and Mr. Moult’s distinctive and exaggeratedly loud cough. He grasped the doorknob and the door promptly came away in his hand. To his credit he collapsed with laughter, and as a consequence he went up several dozen notches in our esteem and became an immediate all round good cove!
The new lab. This was another timber building parallel to the old lab and set further out in the playground and thereafter the old lab to the east of it was then out of use. The old lab had a central bench running down the entire length and with small white enamelled sinks, by then somewhat stained and cracked, and with high sit up and beg taps. I didn’t find chemistry very interesting and one soon lost the plot with various substances which soon were quite out of control (it could be very smelly and messy). However physics I understood and enjoyed.
Latin. Although I didn’t actually study Latin, we used it, and perhaps unwittingly! When some dark deed or mischief required some privacy, someone was posted a little way outside the classroom, and often I was on guard. Perhaps I was reliable (?!). Upon any sign of danger, such as a master hoving into view, one would leap in to the classroom giving the verbal warning “KV” – from Caveo, which is of course Latin for beware!
Sex education. There wasn’t any, and as far as I recall as a consequence it didn’t feature in our makeup, it simply wasn’t something we concerned ourselves with and so we could concentrate on our studies, and importantly our hobbies and pets. I maintain that as soon as you teach children about something then they want to try it, they forget everything you have warned them about and fling themselves into it with gusto. I recall Mr. Kennedy saying to our class, when we were older and in the upper fourth form, that a couple (the fellow was by then an old boy) were very proud as they had seen each other in the nude before they were married! There was much chuckling at that I can tell you; just think, to see a girl in the . . . well, my goodness me! Miniskirts hadn’t arrived, we didn’t even see girls knees (did girls actually have knees?).
Smoking. Because our parents told us cigarettes were bad and not to try it, we immediately smoked them in my friend’s small shed at the bottom of the garden. Woodbines could be bought from street machines, packets of five for a tanner (6d). They were pretty darned horrible, I gave them up very quickly. A friend used to unscrew cigarette stubbers while travelling from school on the train, the walls of his garden shed were lined with the things which were screwed in position in their new home. I thought it rather pointless. I suppose the Southern Railway were resigned to a fair number of fitments disappearing from their carriages, stubbers, pictures, light bulbs, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Outings/excursions. We went on just the one, a day to the Isle of Wight. It was late summer in ’63 and taken by Mr.Bacon. Although it was a third form outing he had asked both Tom Fisher and myself since he knew we were chums and particularly as he knew my interest was history. The itinery included Brading Roman Villa and Carisbrook Castle. We left Shoreham station and arrived at Portsmouth Harbour at about ten o’clock in the morning. Strangely enough I still have an essay on that days events, it has survived all these years; not a worthy effort featuring high in the list of famous annals but I thought at the time it was a fair account of an enjoyable day, and overseas too. Someone once queried my definition of the Isle of Wight being ‘overseas’ and I maintained it was and defied him to walk to it! The “sea voyage” was by steamer, exciting in itself. At Ryde pier we stood on the platform and admired the steam locomotive which was being oiled up and there appeared to be no rush to get underway. I remember being impressed by the old Victorian stock which was comfortable to travel in. I didn’t take a photograph of the locomotive as I was saving the 36 frame film for the old buildings – oh what a mistake, one which I later regretted! There was a stiff walk from the station at Brading and the weather was good, a fluffy cloud day and with good views across the island downland to the sea. I remember the donkey wheel at the Castle, and from the top of the walls I particularly noted the distant smoke which was the passage of a steam train through the scenery. Ryde was reached at dusk and the Post Office vans in the street were (very) pre-war I recall. Everything on the island was pre-war and in some cases Victorian.
Travelling to school. My first day was on a Southdown bus, invariably it was a single decker with the cab out in front with the engine to the left side, and of course there was a conductor. I liked the pre-war green Southdown’s but other than during the winter months I used my bicycle.
Some hobbies and other stuff. My developing interests were medieval buildings and churches, the history of the Port of Shoreham (of course) and history from the Bronze Age onwards, including archaeology, and also meteorology, and numismatics. King George had passed away two and a half years before I arrived at Shoreham Grammar and the New Queen began to appear on coins; the currency was composed of pounds, shillings and pence of course, not this new fangled decimal nonsense, after all, what is the point in a unit of ten since it is not divisible by 3. Eggs come in dozens and a fathom equals six feet. There are 16 ½ feet in a rod pole or perch rather than 15 agricultural feet since the foot was reduced (by 10/11th) to fall into line with the woodworking foot in the reign of either Henry III or Edward I. This entailed corresponding reductions in the size of the yard, ell, inch, and barleycorn. Furlongs and rods, however, remained the same, but the rod changed from 15 old feet. All these old Imperial measurements are far more interesting than continental dimensions all divisible by a hundred. And just exactly what is a millimetre? Something that has a multiplicity of legs and is found under rotting wood perhaps?
There was still an abundance of Victorian “bun” pennies and ha’pennies to be found in ones daily change, that is to say coins with the young head of Victoria. Most such coins (1860 onward) were very worn but there were some to be found in reasonable condition and I always kept an eye out because I had been interested in numismatics since the age of seven and became an avid collector, some of which were gleaned from antique shops in the Brighton Lanes, and others via mail order from Seaby in London. The Rev’d Kennedy ran a stamp club and I joined being a collector; he also helped and encouraged me with the numismatics side.
History. Thanks to the enthusiasm of Mr.Bennett my natural interest in all things to do with the subject were nurtured and quickly developed into an active interest in archaeology. I went on to join the strength of a team digging a Roman Villa in Hampshire on my holidays at the age of twelve, and then in my 20’s I joined the amateur team at the Salisbury Museum and we dug sites which included medieval DMVs, Bronze Age sites and so forth. I gave my first lecture on Anglo-Saxon Churches in 1972. I also became a Member of the Salisbury Industrial Society in the 70’s. The annual outing included such interesting jaunts as a trip to visit Winchester industrial sites in a 1920’s Dennis bus without glass windows just leather sheets (which we had to drop as we were caught in a thunderstorm half way across Salisbury Plain!).
Other interests flourished, such as steam railway locomotives (and the history of the network) and I ran pre-war MG sports cars. Photography was an early interest; I later built myself a darkroom for black & white as well as colour and with the purchase of a plate camera with a rising front for architectural work. With the advent of digital technology I now employ Nikon DSLR cameras.
About the school buildings, and those formative years and the ancient town of New Shoreham.
The oldest part of the school was the Georgian bow fronted headmasters house. Such a shame this beautiful flint built building has now gone, I believe it was part of a farm house which was used when the school was opened. I remember the well appointed rooms, which could be viewed from the Matron’s corridor. The ‘back’ door was never closed, it was always open and talking to Mr.Bruder one day I was amazed at the beautiful mahogany furniture, the paintings, and the seeming luxury and size of the drawing room and the beautiful silver on display on the dining room table. Note that items like these were on open view, not locked away. I recall a date stone on the frontage, I am sure it was 1842. The newer brick built part of the school lay to the right as viewed from Pond Road, it probably dated to the turn of the century (the last one that is, we have to remember that we are now in the 21st century). High classrooms were separated by sliding wooden panels with glass panes, these were pulled back (making one a heck of a racket) for assembly. Since the chapel was too small for the entire school, half took prayers in the chapel one morning and then in the opened up class rooms the next day, in rotation. The chapel was, I understood, a converted barn, a pretty building in flint and brick. The organ was hand pumped, I know because I did that quite a few times. You didn’t dare slacken because the organ would start to fail and it did not do to risk an icy glare from Mr. Marsh (once was enough!).
End of term services were taken in St. Mary’s. To give the church its full title, St. Mary de Haura (of the harbour). It was a fine and impressive building, although only half the length now compared to its completion in the 13th century. It had suffered badly in the violent storms of hurricane force which decimated the south coast in later medieval times which were, in time, to sweep away half the town (set south of the High Street). By Civil War days the nave was in extremely poor condition and the hurricane which swept southern England in late November 1703 was perhaps the death knell (it lifted the part of the lead roof off Westminster Abbey). Only a pillar of flint walling bears witness to the old West front. It was the beauty of St. Mary’s which launched my fascination of medieval churches, and buildings in general. By the time I was twelve I had made a small model of the church in all its medieval glory and also made Indian ink and pencil drawings of St. Nicholas at Old Shoreham, as well as St. Mary’s, and of Botolphs, and Sompting with its Saxon tower. Mr. Bennett was instrumental in kindling my interest in history, his ready smile and enthusiastic manner made one hang on his every word. A visit to the old Marlipins in High Street was like entering an Aladdin’s cave, really gloomy and full of fascinating nautical things, old wooden blocks, binnacles, lamps, the shelves thick with dust and clutter, more a boat store than a museum, simply wonderful. I don’t particularly like modern museums, antiseptic, too much plastic, electronic gimmickry, too much empty space with too little of interest behind glass. Museums ideally must have atmosphere, and antiquity, and be crammed full and importantly with plenty of dust! I remember being on holiday in the 70’s in Norfolk and noticing a windmill. On walking into the farmyard we encountered the farmer. He very kindly took us up the wooden mill; it hadn’t been used for 30 odd years but the interior was totally untouched, flour dusting every surface. That gave the impression of stepping back in time, and I consider a “museum” should primarily impart realism and that feeling of great age, and visible antiquity.
Seafarers. Due to the influence of the ‘’Famous Five’’ by Enid Blyton, Shoreham had to be full of smugglers! Any lunchtime when I didn’t cycle home several of us would take our sandwiches down to the boatyards on the High Street where we’d keep a wary eye out for any odd characters or evil deeds, any lamps being waved from behind curtained windows, any strange goings on to report! There was an old chap, who dressed in a long heavy black coat, a seafaring man with matching black felt cap pulled down over his eyes, now he could well have been a smuggler! He lived on a houseboat on the mud near the Toll Bridge and would often be seen in the gloom hobbling across with a slow gait, possibly he had a wooden leg (didn’t all smugglers have a wooden leg?). He was probably in his 80’s and so would have been born about 1870, he probably saw life on the last of the great windjammers. Both my father and grandfather were keen sailors, my father built his own dinghy in the 30’s and making his own sails. Grandfather had several yachts, his favourite was “Wisp” a heavy old fashioned Isle of Wight built Lugger some thirty-three feet over the sprits carrying 385 square feet of sail. He pulled her up on Brighton beach, as the fishermen likewise did (in the fashion of the fishing fleet at Hastings).
Clocks & Watches. While in the playground one day some damn fool threw a stone at me and it hit my jacket pocket wherein was stowed my pocket watch. It put a dent in the back, and at some stage before I left school, it finally stopped working and so I bought another pocket watch, an identical make. I still have that second timepiece, not remarkable in any way, it could only have cost ten bob, but it reminds me of the watch that took me through my school days. It sits to this day on my desk and is in working order. I always loved clocks and watches and now have quite a collection. It was only twenty years ago that I discovered the full history of our French Huguenot ancestors, my 6th great grandfather having come across from France with his family in 1686. They settled in London and by 1704 David had a licence to trade (in his father’s profession) as a clockmaker in Winchester, and that trade which lasted through four generations perhaps explains my early interest in watches. A fine silver pair watch of David’s is now in the British Museum and his large town clock hangs over the High Street in Winchester. His son Michael traded in London as a goldsmith and I too took a course in silversmithing in the 80’s and thoroughly enjoyed it.
The ancient town of Shoreham with its quaint narrow streets flanked by high flint walls, its ancient buildings and the imposing Norman church of St. Mary, the gas lit streets and station and the hissing steam trains, the old boatyards and the Shoreham river, all these are held special in my memory. The 1950’s were a perfect time to be at school, pocket watch and all, at dear old Shoreham Grammar.
Francis John Parsons