Fosterian Magazine 1979 - Old Fosterians and Lord Digby's Old Girls

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note how easily things went. Each watch was on duty for eight hours, one half ofthe watch acting as look-outs, log keepers, (those who could write) andteamakers, whilst the other half tackled the sails and general duties. For the firstcouple of days there was a little knot of forlorn looking souls congregated by thegunwale to le'w'rd (having learnt their lesson by vomiting into the wind) which,not suffering from seasickness myself, I thought no end of a joke.Somewhat irksome was our first eight hour watch which was from midnightuntil 8 a.m., this having been spent in my case at the helm, peering tiredly at adim-lit compass and picking my wayup to the darkened forepeak with frozenfingers .In the rough weather which ensued for the next forty-eight hours, those ofusnot sick (about ten) were stood to continuously, which meant, for me, five hourssleep; however, "Wyrd saves oft ..... " etc. and it was with a great sense of reliefthat I was despatched to the crow's nest on the morning of the 27th. Wrapped inmy oilskins I was soon sound asleep in my lofty fortress. I was woken by a youngLiverpudlian who clambered over me with the expressed intention of obtainingsome "photeys" of an oil rig. Somewhat peeved I resolved to ignore his ceaselesschatter but when, somewhat perilously he sat astride the yard feet clear of theratlines in a high sea and wind I was moved to interest I had never seen a manoverboard and could think ofno more deserving candidate. The fun began with afaint heard order to "come about" from below, the helm turned in 400, the coursespilt its air and then flapped with a whipcrack almost knocking my companioninto oblivion. With a yell he sought for a hold and flailing-armed, caught aclewline, losing his camera which gracefully went to a watery grave. This was thefirst and last time any frivolous oaf ascended the masthead to takepictures.After five days at sea we saw land, rather flat land, not at all fjord-like; it wasHolland, which had been our goal from the outset, only we didn't realise!Clad in our ship's jerseys we sailed up the narrow canal to the Isselmer orZuyder Zee as I thought!, and Amsterdam. I was given the honour of acting ashelmsman together with two of the Swedes, and in this capacity, a'cting upon thescarce-heard orders of the Dutch pilot whom some moron had logged as"Mynheer Van Den Bog" I turned through five degrees of starboard wheel andsucceeded in demolishing a buoy, property of Her Highness the Queen of theNetherlands· governmentThere followed two days in Amsterdam, a somewhat dissolute andunwholesome place; fortunately nobody was drunk, the price of beer being toohigh, but in our short stay our crew made their presence very much felt I believe Iwas alone in sampling the" cultural" as opposed to carnal pleasures Amsterdamhad to offer, "offer" being the operative word.Most of us were glad to leave Amsterdam, a sad place and a warning; eventhe Dutch hate it!A short uneventful run to Scheveningen was next, and we found this smalltown much more to our liking. The evening in Scheveningen became an overnightstay when the captain did not return at the arranged time.When we were told that our next port ofcall was to be Alderney we were allhappy, thinking of cheap beer and duty free goods. It 'vas even better thanexpected After a riotous spell ashore during which the police were called out toeject some over enthusiastic revellers, I was in the unusual position of being oneof four sober people out of fifty.36Only Jersey lay between us and our return home, and the short haul fromisland to island was done under full sail in record time, making a mean twelveknots as opposed to about five in the North Sea. By this time we were becomingalmost proficient and certainly felt more competent than the myriads of Frenchyachtsmen who hove to.The presence of these Frenchmen irritated our Bosun who had us line up allthe split and useless Wellington boots from the stores (about three dozen in all).There followed a grand wellie-throwing competition in which my shots lost inaccuracy what advantage of range they had. Having taught the Frogs a lesson wesettled down to other competitions such as racing up the rigging and arm wrestlingin which I was only beaten by a cheating first Officer.A lasting memory of this period is my having to clear a blocked "head" aspart of my duties; tempers frayed and I ended up going a bout with anobjectionable Chief Engineer.Consternation in the Ward Room was occasioned by the "desecration" ofSir Winston Churchill's plaque which depicted the statesman and which wasgiven a generous slavering of shaving cream, giving him the" rabid look".The cruise, although it may not be the "adventure of a: lifetime" as thebooklet would have you believe, is certainly well worthwhile; it is a demanding,degrading, uplifting and vastly enjoyable two weeks, and provided you are notseasick and are sociable and have a lively sense of humour then I can recommendthe S. T.A. to you. You will end with a passing knowledge ofthe sea and a fund ofstories unsuitable for staid school mags.STEPHEN WHEATLEYImpressions of a First-time Visitor to FranceHaving had it suggested to me (by subtle and not so subtle means) that, as asixth-form French student I was a little long in the tooth never to have visited thecountry itself, the situation was remedied in no uncertain fashion by a stay ofonemonth on a small farm on the Cherbourg peninsula. Some of you may, indeed,remember my hostess, Madame E. Lerouxel, who was our liaison for exchangevisits in the town of Periers, a few years back. It has been said so many timesbefore that complete immersion in a family environment is the best way ofimprovingorie's French. Drawbacks there are, however, (the badjokes about theNorman conquest, women prime-ministers, and being used as an excuse by theoccasional visitor to practise the smattering of English he retains from Iyceedays), though these are far outweighed by the advantages. Certainly, it is naturalfor groups of students visiting France to speak French only when it is absolutelynecessary, not to mention their having a nasty reputati011 for indulging in suchanti-social activities as graffiti and shop-lifting, (at least, foreign school childrenin this country do!) These then, are the impressions of a first-time visitor toFrance, and I hope they may be of some interest.The traveller'S first encounter with France, leaving aside, of course, thegood old "Maid of Kent", who has been plying back and forth, betweenWeymouth and Cherbourg twice a day for goodness knows how many years past,is likely to be their road or rail system, both of a degree of excellence calculated toarouse jealousy on the part of an Englishman. The roads are not only wellmaintained, but even the smallest routes departementales are furnished with37
almost exhaustive signposting, their neat, legible, accurate concrete and metal affairs being in great contrast to the archaic fingerposts still prevalent in rural England. Here, however, we see one of the many paradoxes of France, for occasionally the very narrowest ofroads are little more than grass tracks with two ruts ofdecrepit asphalt, which one is reluctant to follow however impressive the signpost! Their rail system is, however, almost impossible to fault. The more generous loading gauge ofthe continental railways has made possible a standard ofcomfort unknown on British railways, and the stock and permanent way are so . impeccably maintained that it is actually possible to wn·te legibly whilst on the move. The entire French philosophy on transport is radically different to ours. While British Railways pour vast amounts of resources into prestige projects, likethe Advanced Passenger Train, and leave the rest of the system to be run without-moded multiple units of immediately post-war vintage, the French place theaccent on standardisations. In contrast to the rather undignified British post-warhaste to modernize, the S.N.C.F. initiated an organized programme ofelectrification, a scheme now nearing completion. We cannot help but admiresuch far-sightedness as we watch the realisation slowly dawn on the WesternWorld that oil supplies are far from infinite. Those lines which are not yetelectrified seem to be worked by "turbos", a greatly superior relation ofthe dieselmUltiple unitFor those whose pockets are slightly less well lined, for it must be admittedthat, on the question of fares, S.N.C.F. is no improvement on B.R, the bicyclemight have its attractions. This is so until one remembers that the Frenchapproach to road building is also different to ours. The countryside of theCherbourg peninsula, with its gentle, rolling hills, is virtually indistinguishablefrom that of Dorset; the fonner is known as "bocage" - small fields bordered byhedgerows and deciduous trees, occasionally broken up by water meadows. Butwhereas English roads tend to wind sinuously through the countryside, keepinggradients as gentle as possible, even comparatively minor French roads are builtdead straight, in the Roman fashion, and therefore follow the ,lie of the landexactly. This gives rise to the bane ofcyclists, the not particularly steep, but verylong and tiresome uphill slope. There is one particularly fiendish one just outsideCherbourg on the road to Paris, so those intending to see France by bike mightwell be put off at a very early stage! A far more leisurely, though naturally ratherhaphazard way of getting about is hitch-hiking, "le stop" as it is simply known.My own theory on the even greater popularity which it seem to enjoy over theChannel concerns the proverbial difference in temperament between theFrenchman and the Englishman. To stand in full view of all and sundry at theroadside, to lay oneself open to public ridicule, to coolly ignore the Volvos andMercedes which sail past with acres ofspace at their disposal, to put up with thosewho wave and smile, or gesticulate in a less polite fashion, but never stop, to defy,on occasions, the gendarmes, requires the sort of bare-faced cheek andconfidence which, quite frankly, most of us just do not possess. It also requires acertain amount of courage. However, it is apparently no longer a question ofthedangers of getting into a car with a total stranger, but of the dangers of letting atotal stranger get into your car. In any case, I met a number of young people whohad hitch-hiked all over the country often alone, since their lycee days, yet hadhad no trouble with what are delicately termed "the wrong sort of hitches".This almost child-like confidence is indicative ofthe peculiar mixtUie of childand adult in French young people which became apparent to me during Lhe courseof my stay. On the one hand I quite often found myself involved in profound andoccasionally impassioned discussions on political, social and environmentalmatters. And on one occasion, primed with a bottle ofwine between three of us, Igot completely out of my depth as my two companions embarked upon adiscussion on the psych-ology of simple friendship. At such times I couldn't helpbut feel that French young people are more adult than their Englishcontemporaries, that they showa.great awareness of the world around them andits problems. And then events would occur to shake my conviction, such as acen. in night spent in the town of Caen, events to make me think them morechildish than English youth. On the night in question, having suddenly beenseized with a desire to go out, at around midnight, myself and a few other youngpeople embarked on a moonlit tour of the town centre, which included suchactivities as dancing through the streets, picking flowers from the middle ofroundabouts, unrolling shop blinds, "repositioning" bags ofrubbish in the path ofoncoming traffic or leaving them on the bonnets of parked cars, "borrowing"bicycles and exchanging incisive witticisms with the bikers sitting outside thecafes. For the most part I remained an interested spectator and concealed mysurprise as best I could. On my return to England, the first question someone towhom I'd related this little story asked of me was "were they drunk?" They werenot, and this would seem a reflection of how the less stringent French laws ondrinking would seem to encourage a more sensible attitude towards alcohol. Incafes, which appear to stay open until the last customer chooses to leave, it isalways freely available, whilst strict licensing hours merely encourage people toget as much of it while they can, and therefore inevitably drink to excess. Thusconvinced that French youth are far too frivolous to be regarded as adult, I wouldthen discover that the girls staunchly refuse to go out alone in the city after dark,which would sway my opinion again. Then I would discover that many youngpeople live a hand to mouth existence, hitch-hiking around the country without acare, picking fruit or taking on any other work which will bring in money, and so itgoes on. Perhaps, after all, the same contrasts are present in all young people, butthe English are naturally more reserved.One characteristic of the young people I met was the great respect they hadfor me as an Englishman. The adults were not averse to making the occasionaljoke about women Prime Ministers or William the Conqueror, but their childrenshowed no such tendencies. This was, so I learned, due to the esteem in whichthey held a knowledge of the English language. To understand English is tounderstand the lyrics ofBob Dylan, Paul Simon, Billy Joel, or, at the other end ofthe scale, Stiff Little Fingers and others. With the music of such great artists asFem!, Tachan, Brassens, Brei and others at their disposal this came as a greatsurprise to me, until I realised that the attraction of the exotic was, as ever, atwork. English is the language ofescapism, of dreams, ofdancing, while French isthe humdrum, everyday way ofexpressing oneself. Given the English ~oncept ofthe French language as a great vehicle ofromance I feel sure there is a lesson to belearned here somewhere.I have purposely avoided giving an itinerary ofmy travels, as I feel that thereis very little one can say about the Bayeux tapestry, the Mont StMichel, orParis which has not been said before. Seeing the sights has a habit of being abitter-sweet experience. The view from the top of the Eiffel tower is indeed3839
Page 1 and 2: to== ~•~ - - - ... -- - ~ - - -
Page 3 and 4: 1978-79GOVERNORSOFTHESCHOOLH. F. W.
Page 5 and 6: STAFF NEWSA number of changes in ou
Page 7 and 8: Stephen Wheatley, Jason Brack, Lesl
Page 9 and 10: Ordinary Level - Fifth FormP. N. Ba
Page 11 and 12: The fixtures continued with the usu
Page 13 and 14: The above results seem to suggest a
Page 15 and 16: Beginners' Race:Junior Re/ay:Under
Page 17 and 18: messenger and sprite ofthe woodland
Page 19: Over breakfast in a pine-copse over
Page 23 and 24: These trips were made by everybody,
Page 25 and 26: had by all. Our special thanks must
Page 27 and 28: At last, after what seemed like an
Page 29 and 30: As countdown proceeded. excitement
Page 31 and 32: The men in the pits Swarm round it
Page 33 and 34: covering part of the City Docks and

Fosterian Magazine 1979 - Old Fosterians and Lord Digby's Old Girls

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