Association - Old Scarborians

1 

Tene Propositum 

SUMMER TIMES 

The Journal of the 

Old Scarborians’ Association 

Members of the Association are former pupils 

and members of staff of 

Scarborough High School for Boys 

Volume 61– November 2011 

Old Scarborians’ Association 

Web address: http://oldscarborians.org 

Price £3.00

2 

David Pottage 

IEng AMICE 

Managing Director 

John Jacobs Golf Associates Ltd 

Golf Course Architects and Consultants 

A Complete Service 

from 

Project Appraisal 

through 

Detailed Design 

to 

Turnkey Development 

70 Whitesmead Road 

Stevenage 

Hertfordshire SG1 3JZ UK 

Tel: +41 (0)1438 488922 

Mobile: +41(0) 7770 981618 

E-mail: pottaged@hotmail.co.uk 

Member: European Institute of Golf Course Architects

EVENTS DIARY 2011/12 

ANNUAL GENERAL MEETING 2011 

TUESDAY 29th November 2011. SRUFC 7.30pm. ALL WELCOME. 

ANNUAL CHRISTMAS DINNER 2011 

FRIDAY, 2nd December 2011, at 7pm for 8pm. To be held at SRUFC, 

Scalby Road, Scarborough. (The new club premises are between Scalby 

and Burniston on the right hand side of the road after leaving Scalby 

village) Price £25 which includes limited wine. All Members are welcome. 

Please use the enclosed form and book as soon as possible. Contact 

Mick Bowman with any queries, 01287 634650. 

LONDON LUNCH 

SATURDAY 17th March 2012, East India Club, London, £55 including 

limited wine. Please use the enclosed form and book as soon as possible. 

Contact Bob Heaps with any queries, 01723 362118 

ANNUAL BOWLS MATCH 2012 

PROVISIONAL DATE FRIDAY 31st AUGUST 2012, Manor Road, Please 

contact Chris Found for details. (Contact details on page 2) 

ANNUAL GOLF TOURNAMENTS 2012 

THURSDAY June 14 th & THURSDAY September 20 th . North Cliff Golf 

Club. Please contact John Brinkler for details. (Contact details on page 

3) 

OSA TIES— New style Association ties are available at £10. Please 

send your order accompanied by a cheque to the Treasurer. For new 

members please send £20 to include Life Membership. 

Please send items for the next Summer Times to Peter Newham, 

(address on page 2), as soon as possible please, but to reach him by 

15th February 2012. Items sent by e‐mail are of great help, otherwise 

please type or write your letter and mail it on to him.

CONTENTS 

1. Events Diary 

2. Contents/ Committee Contacts 

4. Editorial 

4. Officer’s Reports 

6. Sporting Events 

9. Apologia 

9. From Here & There 

21. Obituaries 

29. Notes on Sport 

30. Philip Dalby 

30. Austro Swiss camp revisited 

31. Prints of Scarborough 

33. Nicknames 

343 Further Cameos. Life at Scarborough 

34. The School and what it gave me 

39. Woodwork 

39. Education 

41. The London Lunch 

41. A few reflections on my life 

44. Speech Day 1965 –Queen Street 

45. Atkinson Grimshaw 

48. Trivia 

49. Pleas for letters and articles 

SUMMER TIMES 

PRODUCTION: 

EDITOR 

Peter Newham 

‘Badger’s Rise’ 

8 Southcrest 

Hunsbury Hill 

Northampton NN4 9UD 

Tel: 01604 767895 

E‐mail: the.newhams@btinternet.com 

2 

DESIGN & LAYOUT 

David Fowler 

Farthings Publishing 

8 Christine House 

1 Avenue Victoria 

Scarborough. YO11 2QB 

Tel: 01723 365448 

E‐mail: dgfowler@farthings.org.uk 

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE 

2009/10 

PRESIDENT & MEMBERSHIP 

SECRETARY 

Geoff Winn 

‘Kingfishers 

5 Beech Court 

North Street, 

Scalby, 

Scarborough, YO13 0RU 

Tel: 01723 362414 

E‐mail: Winn.geoff@talk21.com 

VICE-PRESIDENT 

William (Bill) Temple 

305A Scalby road, 

Newby 

Scarborough YO12 6TF 

Tel: 01723 362584 

William.temple@btopenworld.com 

IMMEDIATE PAST 

PRESIDENT & TREASURER 

Chris Found 

Pinewood Cottage 

Silpho 

Scarborough North Yorkshire. 

YO13 0JP 

Tel: 01723 882343 

E‐mail: deefound@btinternet.com

SECRETARY 

Mick Bowman 

9 Ilkley Grove 

Guisborough 

Cleveland TS14 8LL Tel: 01287 634650 

Email: mjwb@supanet.com 

Assistant SECRETARY 

Bob Heaps 

67 Newby Farm Road 

Newby 

SCARBOROUGH YO12 6UJ 

Tel: 01723 362118 

E‐mail: bobheaps@yorkshire.net 

COMMITTEE: 

ARCHIVIST 

Peter Robson 

Forge Villa 

High Street 

Ebberston 

North Yorkshire. YO13 9PA 

Tel: 01723 859335 

E‐mail: Peter.Robson@btinternet.com 

INDEPENDENT REVIEWERS 

Peter Berry 01723 362633 

Alan Thraves 01723 360851 

MAGAZINE ADVERTISING 

Chris Found 

Pinewood Cottage 

Silpho Scarborough 

North Yorkshire. YO13 0JP 

Tel: 01723 882343 

E‐mail: deefound@btinternet.com 

PRESS & PUBLICITY 

Maurice Johnson 

Cottage Farm 

Foxholes, Driffield YO25 3QF 

Tel: 01262 470272 

E‐mail: dairymagic@aol.com 

3 

SPORTING EVENTS - GOLF 

John Brinkler 

20 Barmoor Close 

Scalby 

Scarborough YO13 0RZ 

Tel: 01723 362665 

E‐mail: jovalbrinkler@gmail.com 

SUMMER TIMES EDITOR 

Peter Newham 

‘Badger’s Rise’ 

8 Southcrest 

Hunsbury Hill 

Northampton NN4 9UD 

Tel: 01604 767895 

E‐mail: the.newhams@btinternet.com 

WEB SITE MANAGER 

http://oldscarborians.org 

Bill Potts 

1848 Hidden Hills Drive 

Roseville 

California 95661‐5804 USA 

Tel: +001 916 773‐3865 

E‐mail: osa@wfpconsulting.com 

Howard Acklam 01723 584061 

Colin Adamson 01723 364373 

Don Graham 01723 850177 

Mick Peart 01723 864164 

HONORARY LIFE VICE- 

PRESIDENTS 

Frank Bamforth 01723 364432 

David Fowler 01723 365448 

Doug Owen 01723 360960 

Peter Robson 01723 859335

EDITORIAL 

One of the most 

gratifying conse‐ 

quences of Editorship 

of the Magazine is the 

contacts I have made, 

not only with my few 

contemporaries at 

School (I confess to 

admittedly being somewhat retiring 

and anti‐social at that time) but both 

among Old Boys senior to me, some of 

whom I can recall from afar, and also 

junior (if “junior” be the right word for 

any of us given the passage of time 

and our current ages), and the flood of 

memories which this has belatedly 

stirred. 

Memory is a strange thing, after 

nearly 50 years away from School and 

Scarborough I might be forgiven for 

the thought that it would only consti‐ 

tute a vague and distant recollection... 

Things changed however 12 years ago 

when I belatedly joined the Associa‐ 

tion, and membership and the Maga‐ 

zine in particular brought unexpect‐ 

edly to light a much more detailed 

recollection of my youth, of contempo‐ 

raries, classes and Masters, almost as 

though it was yesterday! Subsequent 

editorship of the Magazine has sharp‐ 

ened these even further and provided 

fascinating contacts with many other 

Old Scarborians, both older and 

younger, with common memories of 

what is now the very distant past. 

It is gratifying to find that many Old 

Boys have maintained contact, and the 

diversity of their careers, interests and 

even the differing parts of the world to 

4 

which they have gravitated is con‐ 

stantly cause for surprise and must 

reflect the standards of the School. We 

may not have appreciated it at the 

time, but ,on reflection, the majority 

will feel that we have cause to be 

grateful for our education at the High 

School and the benefits it brought us! 

A reflection of this is perhaps the 

great success of the appeal for funds to 

keep the Magazine going into the fore‐ 

seeable future! –– but this will only be 

viable if the other side of the equation, 

the incoming articles, letters and other 

material, keeping coming in sufficient 

volume to fill its pages, and for this 

issue, after an initial welcome flush in 

March/ April, I was in danger until 

recently of lapsing into my usual pessi‐ 

mism. 

So I will end my Editorial with 

my usual plea for material, critical or 

otherwise, indulgent or not, for the 

next issue, to keep Summer Times, 

newly financially stable for the time 

being, as an effective twice yearly 

vehicle for communication, contact 

and news of former life at the York‐ 

shire Centre of the Universe! 

Peter Newham (1954-61) 

Editor 

PRESIDENTIAL 

I finished my last Report by refer‐ 

ring to the forthcoming London Lunch 

and hoping it would be the usual en‐ 

joyable event. That was written before 

we discovered there was to be a major 

trade union rally passing by the loca‐

tion of the lunch 

around the time we 

were meeting. Unfor‐ 

tunately, the rally 

was overshadowed 

by the idiotic activi‐ 

ties of rampant mobs 

of so called 

“anarchists” who are a disgrace to this 

country and undermined the peaceful 

manner in which most of the trade 

unionists conducted themselves. I am 

pleased to say that all but one of those 

who had booked made it to the Royal 

Air Force Club and, more importantly, 

all escaped unscathed from the Capi‐ 

tal! It was good to see two new atten‐ 

dees and welcome back old faces. 

Looking forward to this year’s 

Christmas dinner, I am very pleased to 

note that there is already a large group 

registered from the 1961 and 1962 in‐ 

takes. I would like to think it was my 

mention at last year’s dinner that Old 

Boys might consider celebrating anni‐ 

versaries of joining SBHS by attending 

one of the events, but in all probability 

there is another more compelling rea‐ 

son. Whatever the reason, it is good to 

see new faces attending. Wearing my 

Membership Officer hat, I shall be 

looking for new members. There is a 

growing number of younger ( not so 

young now) members attending the 

Christmas dinner since we moved the 

venue to the Rugby Club and I hope 

this continues. Those who commenced 

in 1971 have a 40 year anniversary this 

year so why not put together a larger 

party? 

I have suggested to those organising 

events that a list of Members (or non‐ 

5 

Members) attending should be pub‐ 

lished in Summer Times as this could 

well encourage others to join in if they 

recognise names of those with whom 

they were at school . In particular, I am 

sure John Brinkler for golf and Chris 

Found for bowls would welcome addi‐ 

tional participants. 

The major good news over the past 

year has been the level of donations 

from Members to the appeal fund. 

However, there are still over 200 of 

you out there who have not responded 

with even an update form, never mind 

a donation. The Committee are left 

thinking you are no longer interested 

in the Association and, in accordance 

with the comments in the last issue of 

Summer Times, those who have not 

responded by the cut off date of 30 

September will not receive this issue of 

the magazine, but only a letter inform‐ 

ing them that if they wish to receive 

future copies an update form must be 

submitted. We are sorry to have to 

take this action, but there is little point 

in sending magazines to those who 

have lost interest, particularly bearing 

in mind the rising cost of both printing 

and postage. 

Finally, I welcome Bob Heaps to the 

Committee and he will be dealing with 

the distribution of Summer Times 

from this issue, and, hopefully, taking 

over from Mick Bowman as Secretary 

from the next AGM. 

Geoff Winn (1949-56)

SECRETARIAL 

Thanks to the work 

done by various mem‐ 

bers, the Old Scarbori‐ 

ans Association has 

run very smoothly 

over the last few 

months. It has been 

very pleasing to re‐ 

ceive applications for the Christmas 

Dinner from a number of ʺyoungʺ 

members who started the School after 

1960. 

Can I ask all Members to book early 

for this year’s Dinner at the Rugby 

Club. When you do will you make 

sure you include your current e‐mail 

address, the year you started the 

School and, of course, your cheque 

made out to the Old Scarborians Asso‐ 

ciation. 

The only disappointment this sum‐ 

mer has been the low response to the 

Golf and Bowls competitions. If we 

ʺoldiesʺ can stagger round, how about 

some of our ʺyoungstersʺ entering. It is 

all very light‐hearted! 

I hope to see many of you at the Scar‐ 

borough Dinner. 

Mick Bowman (1954-61 

TREASURIAL 

At present we have 

£10233 in the bank of 

which £8000 is on de‐ 

posit, and £575 of this 

represents advance 

ticket sales for the 2012 

Christmas Dinner. Dur‐ 

6 

ing the current financial year (from 1st 

November 2010) we have received 

further appeal donations of £4522 

which will mean that total appeal do‐ 

nations received were well over £8000. 

Also membership subscriptions re‐ 

ceived increased in comparison with 

previous years and the new ties are 

still selling well. All our sporting and 

meal activities have ended up on the 

positive side and seem to have been 

enjoyed by all participants. 

The net cost of the Spring edition of 

Summer Times was £658 which was 

net of £325 receipts from advertising, 

and the only significant expense was a 

payment to Bill Potts for the £98 an‐ 

nual cost of our website. Be assured 

that the financial health of your Asso‐ 

ciation is continuing and is being care‐ 

fully monitored. 

Chris Found (1951-59) 

SPORTING EVENTS 

GOLF 

TA SMITH STABLEFORD 

This competition was 

held on July 21st 2011, 

11 members attended 

and the result was as 

follows: 

cap 

1 st Paul Gridley 34 

points on 14 handi‐ 

2 nd Richard Bell 34 points on 14 handi‐ 

cap (back 9) 

3 rd Geoff Winn 33 points on 20 handi‐ 

cap.

The attendance was disappointing for 

our two tournaments which were com‐ 

pleted during the summer, so it was 

decided to hold the main event with 

dinner later, in September next year. 

The two dates for 2012 will be June 14 th 

& September 20 th. 

Can I please appeal to all Old Scar‐ 

borian golfers to join in with us next 

year. 

John Brinkler (1950-58) 

BOWLS 

This year’s competition remains in‐ 

complete because of the weather. We 

reached the semi‐final stage and the 

final stages were postponed until 

Wednesday 5th October. Those in the 

semi‐final were Jack Binns, Les Stock‐ 

well, Bill Simmonds and Chris Found 

The final will take place at Manor 

Road, 31st October at 1030am 

Chris Found (1951-59) 

MEMBERSHIP 

MEMBERSHIP 

SECRETARIAL 

Having referred to various member‐ 

ship issues in my President’s report, I 

will restrict this report to purely fac‐ 

tual matters. This is the first time since 

I took over that I have been unable to 

inform you of more new members 

than deaths. On the basis of the age of 

our membership, this could unfortu‐ 

nately now become the norm. The lists 

do in fact cover a year as no details 

7 

were included in the last issue of the 

magazine If you have friends who 

were at school with you, please try to 

interest them in joining. They would 

be very welcome at one of our events. 

Firstly the new members : 

Argent, Patrick (1970‐73) 

Burnett, Graham (1949‐56) 

Copley, Adrian (1964‐68) 

Flinton, Norman (1949‐54) 

Freeman, Tony (1957‐61) 

Gibson, Colin (1951‐56) 

Ireland, Shaun (1949‐57) 

Minnikin, Leonard (1961‐69) 

Moor, Roy (1962‐68) 

Swailes, John (1960‐66) 

Thornton, Graham (1950‐58) 

Wheelhouse, John (1949‐52) 

Those who have passed on are: 

Andrews, Robert (1933‐38) 

Coole, Chris (1955‐62) 

Craggs, James Leslie (1942‐49) 

Davison, Deryck (1936‐43) 

Handyside, Alan (1953‐61) 

Hillarby, Geoff (1950‐56) 

Johnson, Julian (1948‐54) 

Kidd, Harry Raymond (1941‐45) 

Layton, Jack (1936‐41)

Lazenby, Alan (1935‐40) 

Leefe, John (1935‐42) 

Mason, John (1958‐65) 

Medd, Gordon (1932‐39) 

Melton, Basil (1932‐37) 

Simmons, Tony (1948‐53) 

Spavin, Alan (1941‐46) 

Thorpe, David (1963‐71) 

Whipp, George 

Wilson, John (1945‐52) 

Geoff Winn (1949-56) 

ARCHIVIST’S REPORT 

We receive material 

on a regular basis from 

Members. The most 

recent items are as fol‐ 

lows :‐ Eric Rushforth 

( 1941‐48) has given us 

school photographs 

from 1942 and 1946. We 

have a complete collection back to 

1924. 

Ian Ledgard (1955‐62) has contrib‐ 

uted an amusing letter to him from Mr 

Gardiner. In the Easter break of 1962 

Ian had grown a beard and requested 

permission from the Headmaster to 

keep it when the school re‐opened. 

The request was turned down but in 

an amusing and gentle way; “ Army 

rather than Navy” was the school rule. 

I will be happy to receive any such 

memorabilia from Members. 

Peter Robson (1945-53) 

8 

WEBMASTER’S REPORT 

For quite a few months 

now, I’ve been working, 

pro bono, on the Memo‐ 

rex at 50 Web site 

(memorexat50.org). I 

worked for Memorex 

from 1972 to 1980. The 

company was founded in Silicon Val‐ 

ley in 1961, making 2011 the year of its 

fiftieth anniversary. Once the anniver‐ 

sary celebration (October 14 and 15) is 

over, I’ll finally have some free time. 

Not too much free time, mind you, as I 

continue to work on other pro bono 

Web sites, plus the occasional income‐ 

producing one. As life is a non‐stop 

learning experience, I also spend time 

acquiring new knowledge, some re‐ 

lated to improving my website design 

skills, some just because knowledge is 

so interesting just for its own sake. 

This year, Colin Hurd once more 

provided the opportunity for me to 

send out the reminder to all members 

with email addresses of the annual 

reunion of the Scarborough Rugby 

Union Football Club. The more sophis‐ 

ticated software I’m now using for 

mass emailings allows me to track how 

many recipients opened a message and 

how many clicked on any of the links 

in it. Just over one third of all who 

were sent the message were recorded 

as having opened it (although not all 

email software will provide feedback 

on that). Some opened it more than 

once—just a little bit more than twice, 

on average. A very small number 

clicked on the link to the SRUFC site. 

That’s not too surprising, as that site 

only has very perfunctory event an‐ 

nouncements. All in all, the feedback is

9 

encouraging. I suspect that most Old APOLOGIA 

Scarborians are not in a position to 

attend the SRUFC reunions (too far 

away, less than perfect health, not ac‐ 

tually interested in rugby anyway, and 

so on). Therefore, I believe enough 

people opened the message for us to 

regard the emailing as a success. 

The usage of the Discussion Forums 

remains disappointing though. On one 

of my own recent visits there, I en‐ 

countered a serious error message cre‐ 

ated by the server software that man‐ 

ages the forums. Some problem had 

rendered the forums inoperable. I re‐ 

ported it to Infinology, our Web host‐ 

ing company. With their usual reliabil‐ 

ity, they researched it and corrected 

Not only did the last Issue contain a 

genuine photographic puzzle, but as‐ 

tute readers, particularly those men‐ 

tioned and depicted in the errant pic‐ 

ture, may have noticed a mismatch 

between the reference to the Austro‐ 

Swiss 1959 camp and the related 

names in Guy Barnish’s article and the 

accompanying but somewhat earlier 

camp photo which was to have accom‐ 

panied a reference by Peter Dawson to 

the 1951 Wensleydale camp, which 

was held over through lack of space. 

Apologies to all concerned and the 

relevant photo is included on page 31. 

the problem, which I suspect also af‐ 

fected other Web sites, in less than 

*** 

three days. I’m hoping they and I did‐ 

n’t address that problem for nothing. 

FROM HERE & THERE 

The Discussion Forums represent an 

excellent opportunity for those Old Rosh Ireland (1944-52) 

Scarborians with Internet access to stay writes… 

in touch with one another. Even Bill 

Kendall (George Kendall to many of 

us), who can usually be relied upon for 

something at least marginally whimsi‐ 

Provoked by Derek Terry’s lament 

for two lost years (S.T. vol. 60), I offer a 

less bitter account of those years. 

cal, hasn’t posted a message there in I spent the summer of 1952, some 

some months. 

of it working in Jaconelli’s, waiting to 

So, please regard this as a call to my be called up. At that time there were 

fellow Old Scabs to start communicat‐ two ways to get into the senior service 

ing. 

as a national serviceman: to be an elec‐ 

Best wishes to everyone. 

trical tiffy (Potts had taught us a good 

deal about magnetic mines and de‐ 

Bill Potts (1946–55) 

Webmaster 

gaussing, but that was rather out of 

date) or to volunteer for a Russian 

course. I was bound for university to 

read French and German, so Russian 

beckoned. How it came to be taught in 

the armed forces is a long story, best

ecounted in Elliot and Shukman’s Se‐ 

cret Classrooms. 

The call‐up came only in late Sep‐ 

tember, to report to Victoria Barracks in 

Southsea. This was an old cavalry bar‐ 

racks with nineteenth century conven‐ 

iences: hand basins only. For ‘bath and 

wash clothes’ one marched twice a week 

to Royal Naval Barracks in Portsmouth. 

There were some forty in our group 

and the same in a parallel group, in 

general a company of imposing intel‐ 

lect, with most bound for Oxbridge and 

a leavening of open scholars, many of 

whom had already taken the opportu‐ 

nity to pick up a Russian grammar. 

We suffered the square, kit musters, 

sweeping of leaves, nocturnal guard 

duties, running in boots, but not har‐ 

ried by drill corporals, but mothered, or 

rather matroned (possible?), by 

weather‐beaten chief petty officers on 

the cusp of retirement. Since we were 

in training, we were bidden to salute 

WREN officers (a courtesy not ex‐ 

tended to them by real seamen), in 

which we delighted when ashore, cut‐ 

ting off the most sift those who would 

go on to the London or Cambridge 

courses, or the journeyman dashing of 

salutes whenever we encountered one, 

particularly if she had a male compan‐ 

ion. It is strange now to recall that one 

of the first acts of the Navy when it 

received us was to sell us 300 blue‐line 

cigarettes for 7/6, a monthly ration. 

And no, we did not get the grog issue – 

only for those afloat. 

Training over, we moved to Royal Na‐ 

val Barracks, where on the first night 

10 

we had to sling hammocks: very com‐ 

fortable, but very warm in a Ports‐ 

mouth autumn. 

The week we spent there was in 

‘manual labour’, of which I have no 

recollection beyond cheerfully destroy‐ 

ing a large number of metal bunks 

which refused to be dismantled. The 

glory of RNB, after Vicky, was in the 

availability at any time of a hot shower/ 

bath. I still regard it as a luxury. 

Russian loomed only when we 

moved to a joint services camp at 

Coulsdon, next to the Guards at Cater‐ 

ham. This was the army: Nissen huts, 

ablutions far distant and bereft of light 

bulbs, coke only issued for the stoves 

(we raided the Guards for coal), the 

exaggerated form of drill favoured by 

the army, and its webbing rituals. We 

were there in November and December 

of that notorious winter of smog in 

London: at times only a quarter of 

morning parade was visible from the 

front. We worked in big composite 

classes and then broke up into small 

groups in tiny sections of huts where 

the first task was to get the stove going 

(recalled much later reading Solzhenit‐ 

syn on the prime importance of keep‐ 

ing warm). Our own amiable tutor was 

a Czech linguist whom I would meet 

again as a colleague in Australia. He 

had the disconcerting habit of empha‐ 

sising points by driving a large pen‐ 

knife into the desk in front of one. Our 

pay was four shillings a day, which 

meant that two pennorth of chips in the 

NAAFI was a serious disbursement. 

After two months we had a test to

course somewhere in the Midlands. 

Then an Admiralty board of elders to 

determine if one was officer material. I 

had a good start, since the first question 

was, ‘What happened at Scarborough in 

1914?’ My father had remembered flee‐ 

ing town along Seamer Road during 

the bombardment, and the questioner 

turned out to have been in one of the 

cruisers unsuccessfully chasing the 

German ships. 

So the next move was to London, 

where only the navy went, to a small 

room for four on the top floor of a large 

house in Lancaster Square. In the realm 

of Queen Grammar, we were to learn 

Russian for some eleven hours a day 

(classes plus homework) for forty‐six 

weeks in the year. The classrooms were 

in Bedford Square, so we faced the fear‐ 

some crush on the Central line four 

times a day. It was a course provided 

by London University (a source of in‐ 

come for it) and we were guinea pigs as 

it sought to discover just how much 

could be force fed to each successive 

course (of which there were three per 

year). The carrot was intangible: 

achieving a good standard of Russian 

in a short time. The stick was real: a test 

every second Friday decided whether 

one stayed on course or was relegated 

to the lower deck. 

So Her Majesty maintained me in 

reasonable comfort in London for a 

year while I learnt what was eventually 

to be my trade. The year came to an 

end. Christmas leave was limited, since 

the navy thought we needed two weeks 

of professional training: rifle range in 

the mud at Whale Island and visits to 

11 

other theme parks. 

Then we were rusticated once more 

to an army camp on a rain swept hill‐ 

side above Bodmin, but this time the 

idiosyncrasies of navy drill were recog‐ 

nised, and we were permitted to dou‐ 

ble onto parade while army and RAF 

marched sedately. Time was divided 

again into large and small group ses‐ 

sions, though in far better conditions 

than Coulsdon, and the regime was less 

rigid, which did not spare some of my 

comrades being despatched to Devon‐ 

port for punishment drill for missing 

parade. 

A distraction was being sent to De‐ 

vonport to join H.M.S. Bulwark for 24 

hours. We were aboard to swell the 

numbers to cheer ship in the Channel 

as the Queen returned in the royal 

yacht from a tour of the empire. We 

could pretend a little that we were in 

the navy: if we got ourselves to Fowey, 

twelve miles away, we had a whaler we 

could sail and friends in the sailing 

club. 

After six months in Bodmin, we had 

our final examination and became ser‐ 

vice interpreters. As a bonus, the exam‐ 

iner, a two‐and a‐half ringer, taught us 

a selection of modestly salacious 

French songs in the evening. 

What then did the navy do with a 

batch of thirty Russian interpreters? 

Some went off to compile a dictionary, 

and some to minesweepers at Harwich. 

My destination was a wireless station 

at Cuxhaven, not a friendly place for 

British matelots just after the war (we 

were occupation forces then). Surpris‐

ingly, I saw The Cruel Sea dubbed into 

German at a local cinema; it was 

watched in oppressive silence. Now 

Billy Binder comes into the story. He 

had impressed upon me that, in Ger‐ 

many, one must never stay in a Gasthof: 

always in a Gasthaus. So, with a week’s 

leave, I took the train south and came 

to the village of Schwangau, for rea‐ 

sons which will become clear. I walked 

down the street, past more than one 

neat Gasthof, until I found a Gasthaus. 

The landlord (I will call him that) 

seemed bemused that someone should 

wish to stay there, but accepted the 

request. It was in fact a pub, which 

would discharge its customers each 

day at daybreak. Since the locals spoke 

only heavy Bavarian, the only person 

with whom I could communicate was a 

young woman from Leipzig, a refugee 

from East Germany, who had been 

directed to work in the pub. The only 

meal the pub could produce was Ti‐ 

roler Groestl. My reason for going to 

Schwangau again derived from Billy, 

who had extolled the castles of 

Ludwig. So I went to Neuschwanstein 

and Hohenschwangau and took a bus 

to Linderhof. Beyond Neuschwanstein, 

I walked up into the mountains until I 

thought I could look down into Aus‐ 

tria, but came upon a sign warning that 

anyone proceeding beyond this point 

would be shot. I was unwilling to test 

its veracity. 

I was demobbed from Chatham 

two years to the day from when I was 

called up, and was in Cambridge the 

following week. I had intended to read 

French and German, but was unsure of 

my German, even after two months in 

12 

Cuxhaven, took a dislike to what ap‐ 

peared to be a rather stiff and rigid 

German department, and fell back on 

the much more welcoming Russian 

department. I had thought my French 

was not too bad (I should have been 

more attentive to Les Brown’s occa‐ 

sional sarcasm), but I started out at 

rock bottom ‐ gamma double minus – 

and had a hard climb from there. 

At the end of my time at Cam‐ 

bridge, I had passed BP’s cunning se‐ 

lection procedures and the Persian 

Gulf loomed, but I believe my profes‐ 

sor, to whom I had spoken but twice in 

three years, intervened with the Fates, 

as I have an inkling that Joey had done 

on a previous occasion when I had set 

out down one path and found myself 

impelled upon another, and on the day 

of the May Ball I had a phone call 

which would take me two months later 

to Moscow and from there to Australia. 

From God’s own county to God’s own 

country. 

Barry Moor (1962–70) 

writes… 

I finally left the High School in 1970. 

I had overstayed my welcome by one 

year (some teachers may dis‐ 

agree....ʺonly one yearʺ ʹAble, Idleʹ wrote 

Growler Evans on one Physics report.) 

Thanks to Mr. Gardiner I was able to 

rectify some ʹlax periodsʹ, and thanks 

to Messrs Binns and Pitts I was able to 

ʹaceʹ History and Politics. Three years 

later I left Leeds University with a 

Third, using notes retained from the 

aforementioned teachers with assis‐ 

tance from Profs. Hansen and Milli‐

and. Life in the ʹoutsideʹ world 

proved less successful and in 1979 I 

bade farewell to the green and pleas‐ 

ant land. Freddie Laker transported 

me to Los Angeles for a hundred quid. 

The trip was to last until I got sick of 

the place or until I got deported. 

Thirty years later, here I remain. I 

eventually located in Angelus Oaks, a 

village of 170 residents set at 6000 feet 

in the San Bernardino mountains, close 

to the ski resort of Big Bear Lake, a 

most beautiful place. My workplace 

was Fontana from whence I drove a 

fuel truck daily into LA and the sur‐ 

rounding areas. So a pleasant exis‐ 

tence in the Golden State, blue skies, 

incredible mountains, deserts, the Pa‐ 

cific Ocean. All this and Mexico just 

down the street. These things make 

California famous.... these and earth‐ 

quakes. Home was an ʹAʹ frame cabin 

set amidst huge pines and a few red‐ 

woods. After eight years I had finally 

gotten around to fixing the place up, 

transforming the attic into my bed‐ 

room. The place was beginning to 

look decent, the rent was cheap and 

my dog was happy. 

About those earthquakes. They 

tended to be rather frequent in the 

mountains, though usually too small 

to notice, little tremblers that rattle the 

windows and make the dogs howl. 

Some you do notice, waking with the 

bed shaking; they tend to be spooky in 

the dark. Larger quakes move you to 

make for the kitchen door, the door‐ 

jamb being structurally sound as well 

as an escape route. The infamous San 

Andreas fault was just down the high‐ 

13 

way, crossed twice daily going to and 

from work. Earthquakes are some‐ 

thing to think about but not to overly 

worry about. 

And then there was June 28, 

1992. Sunday morning and I woke 

with the bed shaking pretty good. By 

the time I thought about moving, it 

was over. It was 5am and I was soon 

back asleep. As soon as the bed 

lurched again at 7am I was up and in 

the kitchen doorway in a flash, my dog 

J.D. was already there. Another pretty 

serious shake. Reports on the radio 

confirmed a sizable quake, very siz‐ 

able, 7.3 and centred in Landers, a de‐ 

sert town 20 miles away. The after‐ 

shock was from the same location. 

Wide awake now, as was my 

neighbour, R.J. I made coffee and in‐ 

vited him and his girlfriend over. It 

was 8am. R.J. was on the deck just at 

the door when the whole house 

moved. Something lifted the cabin ten 

feet and then dropped it then lifted it 

again and again. At the same time we 

were shaken side to side. Me, him and 

the dog wedged in the doorway as the 

place continued to roll, up down and 

sideways, violent shaking. I looked 

into the kitchen in time to see a recent 

purchase, a six foot ceramic lamp, tot‐ 

ter and fall and disintegrate. Cabinets 

jerked open and plates, pans, cans and 

everything joined my lamp on the 

floor. Everything in my house was self 

‐destructing. 

The noise was deafening. Scrap‐ 

ing, grinding, banging, a freight train 

inside your head. I screamed at R.J. to 

look at the mess, he shouted back to 

look outside. It was incredible. Mas‐

sive trees were dancing up and down. 

The ground looked liquid and his girl‐ 

friend was crawling across the back‐ 

yard, helpless. What you see does not 

seem real, trees do not do that! And 

just as you are beginning to feel anx‐ 

ious, it stops. Sudden. All is still, and 

the silence is as intense as the noise. 

Nothing, –– no birds, not anything. 

The world looked intact, at least at first 

glance. All back to normal, except for 

the girl sprawled in my yard. Looking 

inside the house was a different story. 

The welcoming coffee was all over the 

floor with the rest of my stuff, so we 

opted for something a little stronger. 

The Fire Department came by later to 

check all was ok. We had experienced a 

6.5 earthquake, centred somewhere 

very close, a mile or so. It had lasted 30 

to 40 seconds. No one had been in‐ 

jured. It had been quite a morning. 

John Poole (1962-70) 

writes…. 

After reading Spot 

(Ian Scott)ʹs heroic 

contributions to the 

last issue, Iʹd like 

to switch attention a 

moment to cricket, 

and football with a 

round ball. I did play 

Rugby (as we all had 

to) at SBHS, and even played hooker 

(rather unsuccessfully) for Arnold 

against Mr Scott in one or two house 

matches up the School... I once played 

on the wing on a particularly boggy 

(even for Woodlands Drive) evening 

and was smeared repeatedly into touch 

14 

by a pack of (I think) Ruskinites led 

with serious purpose by Colin Ren‐ 

nard... 

These formative experiences led me 

to prefer cricket and football. Yes, foot‐ 

ball: along with a handful of other High 

Schoolers (eg Rich Bayes, Keith Wil‐ 

cox, Mick Stephenson, Pete Lewins) I 

played for a very successful Eastfield 

Juniors team who occasionally even 

beat the fabulous St Peterʹs XI featuring 

(if recall rightly) such local superstars 

as Phil Cook, Rich Jackson, John Riley, 

Mick Mulvana, ʺJinxʺJenkinson ‐ and a 

marvellous goalie called Tony Furnish 

whose defection to them was what al‐ 

lowed me the gig between the sticks for 

Eastfield. Our back four were so excel‐ 

lent that a cardboard cut‐out wouldnʹt 

have let in many more than I did that 

season. We even got to lift the North 

Riding Minor League Cup against Mal‐ 

ton at the hallowed (and now so sadly‐ 

derelict) Athletic Ground. 

Aha. But getting in the Evening 

News in that way was not popular with 

Mr Gardiner ‐ or perhaps (who 

knows?) Messrs Beanland and Ox‐ 

ley. They let it be known that for the 

next season there would be a Third XV 

(I think the only time this was done) of 

which I was given the unre‐ 

fusable ʺhonourʺ of captaincy ‐ and 

which obviously played on Satur‐ 

days. Game set and match to 

School. Except: I kept playing both 

winter games, culminating in the day I 

broke my nose on the top of Rog Steelʹs 

head (inexplicably, weʹd both chosen to 

tackle somebody on the same day) in 

the morning, then got kicked in the eye 

playing football in the pm and taken off

to hospital with concussion.... 

Cricket: well the Colts were skip‐ 

pered by Cookie again. Jumbo Wat‐ 

son and I opened the batting and sel‐ 

dom collected double‐figures betwen 

us. Eventually in the Sixth I made it to 

the First XI and collected the Batting 

Cup for 1969 with probably the lowest 

score (47) ever to win it ‐ and scored in 

the longest time ‐ about 3 

hours. Boycs, eat yer heart out. But 

our stars were such as Pete Warwick, 

John Riley, Kenny Eddon behind the 

stumps, Paul Bramley and Phil 

Dodds. ʺWe ave im, Bram!ʺ 

Finally, plays: ––– I had a scene‐ 

shifting bit‐part in Sam Rocking‐ 

horseʹs swan‐song, She Stoops To Con‐ 

quer; was an old‐git vicar (with won‐ 

derful John Barnwell stealing the 

show as fanatical Glaswegian Ananias) 

while Rob Southwick and Chris Gar‐ 

ner starred in ʺThe Alchemistʺ; remem‐ 

ber Alison Bartliff (unforgettable!) as 

Grusha in The Caucasian Chalk Circle, in 

which the rest of us played about five 

parts each. ʺCan I Leave The Roomʺ was 

a revue we put on at one of those psy‐ 

chedic Sixth Form ʺdiscosʺ; Beyond the 

Fringe it wasnʹt.... Finally, Tim Hulse 

had me smoking (really smoking) and 

swearing for a senior in‐school audi‐ 

ence one afternoon in ʺLittle Malcom 

and his Struggle Against the Eunuchsʺ.... 

honest. 

Thereʹs more, much more.... so Iʹd 

better leave it there and pass the strike 

to a bigger hitter. 

Thatʹs anyone then! 

15 

Stan Todd (1959-66) 

writes... 

I attended SBHS 

from the Wood‐ 

lands opening in 

1959 until I left with 

A levels to do a 

ʺthick sandwichʺ 

University Appren‐ 

ticeship with Rolls‐ 

Royce and Imperial 

College in 1966. I have read Summer 

Times for some years, contributed 

nothing, attended no dinners or any‐ 

thing else, and generally been a lazy 

ʺmemberʺ. Shame on me! However I 

enjoyed the May 2011 Edition so much 

I am compelled to offer to bore your 

readers with a contribution of sorts. I 

too am ʺ diffidentʺ about my career 

but, if pushed to make a ʺlook at me 

statementʺ would point to a First Class 

honours degree at Imperial, a subse‐ 

quent MBA with distinction at the 

Manchester Business School, a degree 

from Columbia University in New 

York, an OBE and a 40 year career 

with Rolls‐Royce. During that I headed 

the Civil Aero Engine Division, devel‐ 

oped the world‐ beating ʺTrentʺ family 

of aero engines and retired as Director 

of Operations five years ago. Nowa‐ 

days Iʹm very much retired and recrea‐ 

tionally occupied. 

Enough of that embarrassing stuff;‐ 

The High School gave me so much 

in retrospect. My parents were ordi‐ 

nary working people, none of my fam‐ 

ily had ever gone to University, and 

without SBHS Iʹm sure I would have

had a good life but so very different. 

The quality of education, viewed in 

retrospect, was truly outstanding. 

How sad it is that 50 years on it costs a 

small fortune to match it...and only in 

fee‐paying education. 

––So to Summer Times. 

The ʺbestʺ Rugby team was in fact 

1965 to 66 and not 66 to 67. . I would 

say that (I was Captain) but indeed 

Colin Rennard was an outstanding 

contributor. The coaches were heroes 

and I remember with great affection 

David (ʺthe chunkʺ) Eade and John 

(ʺoxʺ) Oxley. My dad had an Austin 

Pickup and when we had to play at 

Oliver’s Mount because Woodlandsʹ 

field was flooded. We packed the 

whole team in the back and haired it 

up the Mount. Great until we tried it 

for the Ilkley Sevens and everyone 

arrived car sick! 

For a short while I ʺwent out withʺ 

Mick Bowmanʹs sister , Maureen, on 

Saturday evenings and then one of the 

forwards, Mick (ʺ2 yardsʺ) Fewster 

and I played in a group of sorts called 

“The Mafia” . The highlight was when 

we played at a school dance and were 

able to use decent kit, courtesy of 

ʺJonty and the Strangersʺ The lead gui‐ 

tar was Johnny (spudʺ) Speight, son of 

“Digger” 

I could go on . Iʹd better not;‐ But let 

me congratulate you and the team for 

a wonderfully nostalgic magazine. 

Maybe I SHOULD sign up for a 

Christmas lunch! Iʹm not on Facebook 

or any of that stuff by the way but am 

contactable at stantodd@btinternet.com 

16 

Ted Lancaster RN Rt 

(1949-54) writes… (albeit with 

no wish to “lower the tone”) 

A recent article in the Gazette 

Online on the old Slipper Baths in 

Middlesbrough reminded me of a tale 

I wrote some years ago for the enlight‐ 

enment of my old Royal Navy ship‐ 

mates. I reproduce it here for your 

amusement/horrification. (With 

apologies to the bath attendants of 

yesterday.) 

‐‐‐A Sad but True Tale of Misguided 

Inner Cleanliness 

If you are at all squeamish, prudish 

or happen to be eating supper at this 

moment then perhaps you might con‐ 

sider an immediate deletion of this 

unhappy tale. 

As a young man I spent several 

years serving in Her Majestyʹs Royal 

Navy and, as is usual, I teamed up 

with a bunch of guys who had similar 

interests to my own, sailing‐boats, 

traditional jazz music and in particu‐ 

lar, lifting weights, body building and 

physical culture. 

I refer to this sport as ʺPhysical 

Cultureʺ, because we tended to invest 

more into the pastime than simply 

ʹpushing ironʹ. We had special t‐shirts, 

tried our best, within the constraints of 

the service cuisine, to optimise the 

healthfulness of our diet and fatefully, 

at least in my case, we read the Physi‐ 

cal Culture magazines considered, at 

that time, to be ʹinʹ. 

It was from one of these mags that 

the expression, ʺMens Sana In Corpore

Sanoʺ ‐ ʺHealthy mind in healthy bodyʺ, 

had the profound effect upon my 

thinking that was to prove not quite so 

beneficial in the longer term. 

There was an article in one of 

them propounding the benefits of 

ʺTotal Cleanlinessʺ; it went something 

along the lines of, ʺYou exercise your 

body and your mind. You take great care 

to maintain your personal cleanliness and 

hygiene. But what of inner cleanliness? It 

is most doubtful that there could ever be as 

much dirt on the surface of your skin as 

there exists at any one time on the inside of 

your body and yet how often do you con‐ 

sider the cleanliness of the inside?ʺ It 

went on to extol the virtues of regular 

inner cleansing by the use of various 

medicinal and herbal tonics and in 

particular, regular and thorough colo‐ 

nic irrigation. The wording had a 

most influential effect on my thinking 

and I began to feel a degree of concern 

that this aspect of personal hygiene 

and self‐care was, in my case, totally 

absent. 

Some time later after leaving the 

service I went to work as a laboratory 

assistant for the Imperial Chemical 

Industries in the North East. I rented a 

small bed‐sit in an area of Middles‐ 

brough where the ʹCoronation Streetʹ 

type houses were almost totally de‐ 

void of sanitation. There was an out‐ 

side privy at the end of the yard and 

no bathroom whatsoever. I was able 

to address this issue by the use of the 

showers at the laboratory where I was 

working, but my most enjoyable indul‐ 

gence lay in the use of the magnificent 

public slipper baths in town. 

17 

Once a week I would flounder to 

my hearts total contentment in a huge 

tub of deep hot water in one of the 

private and totally enclosed bath‐tub 

cubicles in Middlesbrough town cen‐ 

tre. 

On completion of the ablution one 

was required to leave the contents of 

the tub un‐emptied to facilitate the 

efforts of the attendant, with his wad‐ 

ers and scrubbing‐broom, in his task of 

cleaning down and emptying the bath‐ 

tub. To this end, all the controls, in‐ 

cluding the drain‐plug‐release and the 

two inlet‐tap controls, were on the 

outside of the cubicle and therefore 

virtually inaccessible to the occupant. 

It was on such a steamy, dreamy 

half‐submerged occasion that I began 

to muse upon the contents of the ʹInner 

Cleanlinessʹ article that had impressed 

me during my Physical Culture days. 

A brilliant idea began to hatch. I could 

ʹborrowʹ from the laboratory, the nec‐ 

essary pieces of equipment to fashion a 

most efficient instrument of internal 

irrigation. 

A large glass funnel to hold aloft 

containing a visible supply of irrigat‐ 

ing solution, plus a toughened glass 

dropper‐tube for safe and comfortable 

insertion and a sufficient length of 

rubber tubing to link both together 

would be an easily assembled and 

efficient item of equipment. And so on 

my subsequent visit to the baths I was 

joyfully armed with my brilliant new 

inner‐hygiene and total‐cleanliness 

device, all ready to become the clean‐ 

est clean Iʹd ever been. All I would 

have to do would be to take my soak

as usual, then just before leaving the 

tub, treat myself to a quart or two of the 

warm soapy water, get out, dry and 

dress myself and wander off noncha‐ 

lantly to the toilet area to complete the 

cycle. 

All seemed to be going extremely 

well ‐ until I exited the tub and having 

dried myself, began to dress. 

I became increasingly and very 

worryingly aware of a mounting and 

demanding pressure from my innards. 

As the pressure rapidly increased it 

became an uncontrollable insistence for 

immediate release. In my still some‐ 

what somnolent state from having 

spent so long in the deep warmth of the 

tub, I struggled fiercely to clear my 

brain of the clinging fog and to produce 

a brilliant escape plan whereby I could 

dress, escape from the cubicle, cross the 

building to the toilet area, partially 

undress again and perform the neces‐ 

sary expulsion all in the space of point 

seven two of a second. 

I failed.... 

The only plan my horror‐panicked 

brain could fashion was to leap back 

into the tub wearing only a string vest 

and to give release to what by now felt 

like the entire contents of the bath tub 

screaming to be returned from whence 

it came. And return it did. 

The rapid feeling of intense and 

instant physical relief was somewhat 

marred by the sight which I was now 

obliged to contemplate. Not to be 

overly and indiscreetly graphic, let me 

simply state that the assertion by the 

original article that there was more on 

18 

the inside than on the outside had been, 

until that moment, perfectly correct, 

but not any longer. I was standing, 

knee‐deep, in just a string vest, totally 

and completely surrounded by an 

ocean of tiny floating nodules ranging 

in size from grains of rice to marrowfat 

peas, slowly undulating with the gently 

flowing motion of the bath water 

Now you will recall my earlier de‐ 

scription of the bath tub exterior con‐ 

trols. There was no way of disposing of 

my indiscretion ‐ of draining the tub of 

its disreputable contents. What was I to 

do? What could I possibly do? Sneak 

out leaving the wadered and scrubbing 

‐broomed attendant to make the grisly 

discovery, or should I attempt to fash‐ 

ion yet another brilliant plan? 

I waited, listening for signs and 

sounds of the attendantʹs presence out‐ 

side the door. On judging that he had 

temporarily left the area, I unlocked the 

cubicle door, sneaked out, operated the 

drain mechanism and scuttled quickly 

back inside as the horrific contents of 

the tub slowly subsided. 

I spent the next twenty minutes 

engineering small pieces of the offend‐ 

ing detritus down the reluctant drain 

hole, repeatedly sneaking out to oper‐ 

ate the filling mechanism with the 

drain still open in an effort to persuade 

the final morsels to exit as I endeav‐ 

oured to leave the tub in as pristine a 

condition as I possibly could. After a 

total stay of what must have ap‐ 

proached two hours, I tried to wander 

out as nonchalantly as my quaking 

nervous system would allow under 

what I felt to be the accusing stare of

the sneering attendant. ʺHave a good 

bath?” he leered, mockingly, leaning at 

an odd angle against his broom. 

I did not reply, nor did I ever dare 

return. 

Ray Bloom (1953-60) 

writes… 

The latest edition 

of ‘Summer Times’ 

did it. It finally got 

my head down to 

submitting a contri‐ 

bution to a publica‐ 

tion which brings 

back so many schoolboy memories. 

Previous intentions petered out with 

thoughts that my reminiscences would 

be of little interest. You see I made 

little impact academically, feeling very 

unworldly after arriving in 1953 from 

a small West Riding village. 

However, some memories might 

ring a few bells with my contemporar‐ 

ies, such as frequent pranks on an ex‐ 

asperated ‘Biff’ Smith by Charlie Hall 

and Dave Perfect. I also remember 

chemistry teacher Mr. Liddicott stress‐ 

ing us not to use the bunsen burner, 

only to see smoke billowing from Pete 

Dimond’s bench – “Dimond, I specifi‐ 

cally told you not to light the bunsen 

burner”. 

Although fearful of chess detention by 

‘Bon’ Clarke, I picked up a smattering 

of chess, which subsequently proved 

useful. The long winter walks up 

Oliver’s Mount, changing in the huts, 

before freezing to death trying to 

avoid that dangerous rugby game. As 

19 

a soccer player I couldn’t come to 

terms with all that falling about, run‐ 

ning with the ball and all that barging 

and pushing. Again, it provided me 

with an introduction to the game and 

subsequently allowed me to enjoy the 

game as a spectator. 

As a soccer player, developing my 

skills with a tennis ball at break times 

in the lower playground with the likes 

of Mick Walmsley, my upper body 

strength was found lacking when 

climbing the ropes in the gym, under 

the watchful eyes of Jock Roxburgh, 

then his successor, Jameson? When 

unable to hold on any longer, I remem‐ 

ber the burning sensation from de‐ 

scending too quickly was extremely 

painful. 

However, the summer term was my 

favourite. It provided me with an op‐ 

portunity to achieve. As my parents 

ran a small hotel opposite the cricket 

ground on North Marine Road, I spent 

most of the summer in the nets and 

playing for the club teams. It also gave 

me some status at school. 

Immediately prior to arriving in 

Scarborough as a 12‐year‐old from my 

small village, I had played cricket for 

an under‐17 team, which impressed 

the cricket teacher, so I was immedi‐ 

ately earmarked with potential and 

played for each successive school 

team. An early memory is of a 1 st Xl 

match against Hymers College, I think, 

when Robin Shaw’s flighted leg 

breaks claimed all ten wickets, which I 

viewed at close quarters as 

wicket=keeper. The memory has re‐ 

mained with me as one of his flighted

deliveries ricocheted off a bail and left 

a dent on my nose to this day. 

The 1 st Xl entered the Hospital Cup 

knockout competition and gave us an 

opportunity to test ourselves against 

the might of the local village cricketers. 

We had some fine cricketers in the 

team – ace‐tactician Captain Dick 

Hartley, stylish Graham Thornton, 

ferocious Dave Steele, guileful Robin 

Shaw, smooth left‐armer Ken Short, 

rhythmic Jim Megson etc. 

I remember with satisfaction a 

match at the top village team at the 

time, Cloughton, who really fancied 

their chances against a team of ‘lads’, 

as their team included the Readmans 

and Johnny Sheffield, reputedly the 

fastest and most feared bowler around. 

In spite of extreme trepidation and to 

my great surprise, I picked up his first 

bumper and dispatched it into the next 

field. The locals were shocked! 

Other memories – moving up to 

Woodlands was a mixed blessing. 

Although better facilities, particularly 

sports on site, it was a longer journey 

than into town and the newness of the 

fabric meant we had to ‘tiptoe’ around 

the place. 

After leaving school I went into 

Physical Education teaching to con‐ 

tinue with my passion for sports. Dur‐ 

ing breaks from my teacher training I 

rose through the cricket ranks with the 

County Club, culminating in selection 

for the County side on their Southern 

tour of 3 matches in 1964. The last 

match, against Kent at Dover proved 

to be an amazing one‐man show (no, 

20 

not me!). On a drying pitch, that ace 

all‐rounder Ray Illingworth eked out 

135 runs, then took 7 for 49, followed 

by 7 for 52. I fell for 2, but took a cou‐ 

ple of catches as my contribution to an 

easy win. Playing with Fred Trueman, 

Brian Close and the great Yorkshire 

players of that era gave me so many 

treasured memories to savour. 

I owe a great debt of thanks to the 

school and the staff, particularly Bob 

Watson, for giving me the encourage‐ 

ment and opportunity to make a sport‐ 

ing mark, which led to mixing with the 

County’s cricketing greats. 

Knowing I was not quite good 

enough to make a living at cricket I 

focused on my teaching career, which 

eventually took me to work in Malawi, 

Egypt and now Thailand for retire‐ 

ment, where I have fallen into organiz‐ 

ing golf groups, most noticeably as 

Captain of the British Club golf section 

in Bangkok. 

It was a great pleasure to meet up with 

Geoff Winn and his fellow Old Scar‐ 

borians at Ganton last year for some 

reminiscing and the occasional decent 

golf shot. 

Bryn Jones (1972-3) 

writes… 

I only went to the High School 

for 1 year, because it then changed 

to the Graham Secondary Modern 

School, which I think was probably 

a shame. My brother Rhys who is 

7 years older than me, initially 

went to Westwood but then after 

his 0 Levels came to the High

School to do his A levels. I know he 

has very fond memories of particu‐ 

larly playing football and rugby for 

the School (he was also playing 

football in goal with Scarborough 

and Colin Appletonʹs team at the 

time ‐ before going to Loughbor‐ 

ough and playing at England 

school, Uni. and amateur level‐ 

always refusing to turn profes‐ 

sional). For a few years after high 

school while still living in England, 

I know he enjoyed coming back to 

play second row in the Old Scar‐ 

borians rugby game against the 

Scarborough Rugby Club on Boxing 

day. 

I also know he enjoys getting 

the publication even though he has 

been living in the USA for the last 

30 years. I have sometimes thought 

of coming to the Dinner, but donʹt 

think I will know anyone as I was 

there only briefly. However itʹs a 

great little publication and Associa‐ 

tion and much appreciated. 

Derrick Craven (1933-38) 

writes… 

I am afraid I did not see ʺSummer 

Timesʺ when it appeared in May as I 

had a spell in hospital, but shortly after 

I got back home, my wife had a heart 

attack and she passed away on 24th 

May, and I have been too distraught 

since then to read the Magazine. It has 

been a tremendous loss as we were 

married for almost 64 years. I do not 

think that I notified anybody of my 

new email so I can put that right now. 

I did see the obituary for Bob An‐ 

drews, who was at school the same 

21 

time as me. We lived for a time in Ten‐ 

nyson Avenue, but we lost touch when 

we left School. He worked at the Town 

Hall while I had a spell at an estate 

Agent, waiting to join the Air Force 

which I did in August 1940. I did hear 

that he joined the Police somewhere 

down south, but I spent most of the 

war abroad in Africa and then in Nor‐ 

way, and left UK early in 1950, to work 

in East Africa. 

*** 

OBITUARIES 

Alan Handyside 

‐26th April 2011 

John Christopherson 

John Christopherson died at his home 

in Greenwich, Connecticut, USA on 9th March 2011. He was sent with his 

brothers to Canada during the war and 

came back to Scarborough in 1944. He 

left the School in 49 and enrolled at the 

King Edward VII Nautical School in 

London and served in the Merchant 

Marine until he was conscripted into 

the RAF in 1951. There he trained as 

fighter pilot but left after his 2 year 

spell of duty. His career was in Banking 

and he held positions in the Foreign 

Exhange function of several banks in 

the UK, Canada and finally in New 

York. He leaves a wife Margo, two chil‐ 

dren and his younger brother Barry is 

also a member of the OSA. 

Peter Robson (1945‐53)

Gilbert Gray QC 

(Extract from The Daily Telegraph) 

“Gilbert Gray QC, who died on 

April 7 th 2011 aged 82, was amongst 

the Bar’s greatest orators and was de‐ 

scribed as an heir “to the great gladato‐ 

rial titans vividly 

described by An‐ 

thony Trollope”. 

A consum‐ 

mate criminal 

advocate, 

“Gillie” (as he 

was known to 

his friends) was 

admired for his devastating cross‐ 

examinations and rousing closing 

speeches to the jury. It was Robert 

Alexander, himself acclaimed by Lord 

Denning as the finest barrister of his 

generation, who linked Gray’s name 

with that of George Carman when he 

portrayed them as “the modern heirs” 

to Trollope’s legal titans. 

Certainly Gray never shrank from 

the theatrical courtroom gesture, and 

would often quote poetry or Shake‐ 

speare. “Every line a headline, every 

phrase a gem,” noted junior prosecuting 

counsel, as Gray eloquently addressed 

the jury in his most famous case, that 

of the defence of Donald Neilson, 

known as “the Black Panther”. Neilson, 

already accused of shooting dead three 

sub‐postmasters, stood trial in 1976 for 

the kidnap and murder of the 17‐year‐ 

old coach company heiress Lesley 

Whittle. She had been found naked 

and hanged in a drainage shaft at 

Bathpool Park, Kidsgrove, having been 

abducted from the family home in 

22 

Shropshire in January 1975. A £50,000 

ransom had been demanded. 

Neilson pleaded guilty to kidnap 

and blackmail, but denied murder, 

leaving Gray with a Herculean task of 

advocacy. One of his tactics was to 

create what one observer called “a 

tonal doubt”, by introducing an unex‐ 

pected note of humour: “You have heard 

much,” Gray told the jury “about Mr 

Neilson and the Black Panther; but you 

may, when you have heard of this man’s 

pathetic attempts to ʹmake it big’, think 

rather of the Pink Panther and Mr Peter 

Sellers.” Gray even went so far as to 

portray the former Army lance‐ 

corporal as a Walter Mitty character 

with fantasies of military supremacy. 

From his place on the bench, the trial 

judge’s son, the writer Adam Mars‐ 

Jones (just down from Cambridge and 

serving as his father’s marshal), would 

later record Neilson fixing Gray with a 

“stare of rage” at this “enormously 

unwelcome” line of defence. Gray, he 

added, appeared “bothered and almost 

distracted” in the sweltering courtroom, 

never ceasing to adjust his dress “as if the 

reasonable doubt of which he seeks to con‐ 

vince the jury were roving as an itch be‐ 

neath wig and gown”. 

He did not satisfy that itch, and 

Neilson was convicted on all but two 

of seven counts, receiving five life sen‐ 

tences. The trial had undoubtedly 

tested Gray to the limit, but he contin‐ 

ued to flourish in countless other high‐ 

profile murder cases, occasionally re‐ 

flecting on his early days in court 

when convicted defendants could be 

turned over to the hangman. He re‐

membered correcting a young barrister 

who had arrived for his first capital 

case clad in his best pinstripe suit: 

“Always wear black for murder trials my 

boy, always wear black.” 

He was leader of the North‐Eastern 

Circuit from 1984 to 1987, entertaining 

many robing rooms with his stories. 

Meanwhile, in the courtroom itself, his 

colleagues wondered at his verbal dex‐ 

terity: “He makes you feel as if English is 

not your first language,” declared one 

fellow Silk. A celebrated raconteur and 

wit, Gray was in great demand as an 

after‐dinner speaker. In one of his fa‐ 

vourite jury stories, he related how “12 

good men and true” were selected, but 

asked to wait at the back of the court 

while another case was concluded. The 

judge then invited them to “take their 

rightful place”. To a man, Gray recalled, 

“they climbed into the dock”. 

Gilbert Gray was born on April 25 

1928 at Scarborough, the son of a 

butcher. Educated at Scarborough 

Boys’ High School, he first encountered 

the richness of the English language at 

his local Salvation Army Hall and by 

listening to Methodist preachers. He 

would base his courtroom style on the 

rolling cadences he had heard as a boy. 

After National Service in the Army, he 

went to Leeds University, initially read‐ 

ing Theology before switching to the 

Law. He was president of the Student 

Union in his final year and was called 

to the Bar in 1953. 

Gray took Silk in 1971, developing a 

national and international reputation in 

civil as well as criminal law. He repre‐ 

23 

sented the disgraced Newcastle archi‐ 

tect John Poulson at his appeal; ap‐ 

peared in the Spycatcher case in Aus‐ 

tralia, when the British government 

tried to block the autobiography of the 

former MI5 assistant director Peter 

Wright; and was involved in both the 

arms‐to‐Iraq trial involving senior ex‐ 

ecutives of Matrix Churchill, and the 

Brink’s‐Mat bullion robbery trial. 

He appeared for the former England 

football manager Don Revie in his case 

against a Football Association suspen‐ 

sion, and, in 1980, for the family of 

Jimmy Kelly, a Liverpool labourer who 

had died in police custody the previous 

year. He appeared in public inquiries 

into the Selby coalfield, the Leeds air‐ 

port expansion and, in 1987, the sinking 

of the Herald of Free Enterprise ferry at 

Zeebrugge. Gray also sat as a crown 

court Recorder between 1972 and 1998, 

often at the Old Bailey, and was proud 

to have spent 40 years as a Silk without 

retiring. He was head of York Cham‐ 

bers at his death. 

Away from the courtroom, Gray stood 

unsuccessfully for Parliament for the 

Liberals in 1955 and 1959. He was an 

accomplished artist, and appeared as a 

panellist on Radio 4’s Any Questions. 

An enthusiastic amateur sailor, he 

taught his children how to navigate 

back into Scarborough harbour by aim‐ 

ing for the painted white gable of their 

grandmother’s home. He never forgave 

Scarborough council for not renewing 

its contract with Max Jaffa, the musi‐ 

cian whose concerts with the Palm 

Court Orchestra were broadcast from

the resort by the BBC for 25 years. He 

was a keen supporter of the RNLI both 

at Scarborough, where he was station 

president, and nationally, becoming an 

honorary life vice‐president. 

Gilbert Gray married, in 1954, Dilys 

Thomas, who survives him with their 

two sons and two daughters. His ashes 

are to be scattered from the Scarbor‐ 

ough lifeboat over the South Bay.” 

Ray Lazenby (1935 - 40) 

Written and sent by Richard Lazenby 

(1963 ‐ 70) 

Sadly Ray passed away in April 2011. 

He remained in good health until just 

before his death at the age of 87. He 

was a regular contributor to ʺThe Sum‐ 

mer Timesʺ and a 

devout Old Boy. He 

was very happily 

married to Jean for 

61 years and had 4 

children and 9 

grandchildren. Two 

or his children, 

Richard and Tim, 

followed him to SBHS before its prema‐ 

ture closure in 1974. 

The following is basically his own 

obituary. He wanted everything to be 

correct. In his day everything was 

checked and double checked! 

Ray was born 22nd August 1923 in 

Bradford, the third son of William and 

Emma. In 1926 the family moved to 

Scarborough and his father started a 

business as a stained glass artist and 

leaded light maker. He attended 

24 

Falsgrave Infant and Junior School, 

Hinderwell Junior School and Scalby C 

of E School when the family moved to 

Cleveland Avenue. In 1935 he attended 

Scarborough High School for Boys, 

remaining there until 1940. 

From 1940 until 1941 he worked in 

the Treasurerʹs department of Scarbor‐ 

ough Corporation. One of his duties 

was to accompany the clerks when they 

emptied the public lavatories coin 

boxes to ensure they did not pocket the 

proceeds! He was also a fire watcher at 

the Town Hall ‐ to tackle any incendi‐ 

ary bombs Jerry might drop on it! 

In 1941 he joined The Scarborough 

Evening News as a junior reporter and 

in 1943 helped to cover the Vine Street 

murder for which Scotland Yard was 

called in. A womanʹs body was found 

in a garage inspection pit. The mystery 

was never solved! 

In May 1943 Ray joined the RAF at 

Lords Cricket Ground, London for air‐ 

crew training. After initial training he 

was sent to South Africa where he so‐ 

loed on Tiger Moths and Harvards but 

eventually qualified as a bomb‐ 

aimer/navigator. He was commissioned 

in 1945 and sent to Cairo, Egypt as an 

intelligence officer. 

By April 1947 he was decommis‐ 

sioned and back at the Evening News. 

He became the football, theatre and 

pigeon racer reviewer and subse‐ 

quently became a sub‐ editor. In 1960 

he was made News Editor, and this 

was followed in 1965 by being made 

Editor. During the following 25 years 

there were many noteable high lights to

his career which include producing a 

paper single handed for seven weeks 

during a journalist strike. He was also 

President of of the North‐East Region 

of the Guild of British Newspaper Edi‐ 

tors in the late 1970’s. 

Ray retired in July 1986 soon after 

The Scarborough Evening News was 

sold by the Whittaker family to East 

Midland Allied Press. 

Since that day in 1986 Ray has en‐ 

joyed nearly 25 years of retirement. He 

has spent much of it with his family at 

home in his beloved Scarborough or 

travelling to many distant places. He 

is, and always will be, missed by all 

that knew him. He was a gentleman 

and a gentle man. 

Ray Lazenby (1935-40) 

(Extract from The Scarborough Evening 

News) 

A former regional daily journalist 

who edited his hometown paper for 

more than two decades has died aged 

87. Ray Lazenby, Editor of the Scar‐ 

borough Evening News from 1965 

until his retirement in 1986, passed 

away after a short illness at Scarbor‐ 

ough Hospital on Easter Sunday. He 

had joined the Evening News as a re‐ 

porter in 1941, returning as football, 

theatre and pigeon correspondent in 

1947 after a break for war service. 

After rising through the ranks, he suc‐ 

ceeded Sir Meredith Whittaker in the 

editor’s chair where he would remain 

for 21 years, overseeing 12,000 editions 

of the paper. 

25 

The current editor of the Evening 

News, Ed Asquith, was among those 

who attended Ray’s funeral service 

yesterday. He said: “Joining Mr 

Lazenby’s family and friends were many 

members of the wider Scarborough com‐ 

munity whose presence showed how he, 

and his role at the newspaper, had left a 

lasting and respected impression among 

the public as well as his profession.” 

Born in Bradford in 1923, Ray 

moved to Scarborough three years 

later when his father, William, started 

a business as a stained glass artist and 

leaded‐light maker. He was a Scarbor‐ 

ough High School for Boys student 

from 1935 to 1940 and worked briefly 

in the Scarborough Corporation Treas‐ 

urer’s department before he began his 

newspaper career. 

As a reporter he covered the infa‐ 

mous 1943 Vine Street murder, when 

33‐year‐old Mary Comins was stran‐ 

gled, but a promising career in journal‐ 

ism was interrupted later that year, 

when he signed up to the RAF. He 

learned to fly Tiger Moth and Harvard 

aircraft in South Africa, before qualify‐ 

ing as a bomb‐aimer and navigator. 

The pull of his local newspaper proved 

too strong though, and he rejoined the 

Evening News in 1947, becoming a sub 

‐editor and news editor before eventu‐ 

ally succeeding Sir Meredith. 

His wife Jean said: “Ray looked up to 

Meredith. They had a very good working 

relationship. He had offers, but he was 

never really tempted to move to a larger 

newspaper. He always said he couldn’t be 

away from the seaside.He was so enthusi‐ 

astic about his town – he loved Scarbor‐

ough. He really was a lovely, loyal man.” 

As well as his passion for journalism, 

Ray loved the theatre and amateur dra‐ 

matics and was a lifelong fan of Ever‐ 

ton FC. He leaves his wife of 61 years, 

four children and nine grandchildren. 

Ray Lazenby 

David Hepworth (1951-58) remembers 

I was sorry to hear that Ray, my old 

boss at the Scarborough Evening News, 

had gone to that Great Newsroom in 

the Sky. 

Ray was news editor when I joined 

the paper as a junior reporter in Sep‐ 

tember 1958, and took me under his 

wing. I remember him as a very calm 

man with an encyclopaedic knowledge 

of the town, who knew EVERYBODY. 

He rarely raised his voice (unlike 

some excitable execs I later met on na‐ 

tional newspapers!) and took a new 

boy’s bloopers in his stride. Well, he 

HAD seen it all before, and it was quite 

a jump for me from toiling over A‐level 

English and history essays to reporting 

road crashes, court stories. and helping 

to write the gossipy Mems. column. 

The Evening News was a happy of‐ 

fice, and I enjoyed my four years there, 

thanks in no small measure to Ray’s 

understanding, and guiding hand. 

Maybe it was his time learning to fly in 

the wartime RAF that made him so 

unflappable. He certainly helped 

launch me on a long career in the busy, 

inky world of local and national news‐ 

papers, for which I have always been 

grateful. 

26 

Inevitably, he later got the top job as 

THE editor. It was well‐deserved. 

Roy Axe (1948-53) 

Steve Williamson writes… 

I came to know Roy when he came to 

the Boyʹs High School. He had recently 

moved with his parents from Lincoln‐ 

shire. His parents opened a shop on 

Ramshill Road, and they and Roy lived 

in what I regarded as substantial ac‐ 

commodation over the shop. Roy was 

able to run an ambitious Hornby Dublo 

train system through the flat, but more 

importantly, as time went on he found 

space to indulge what became his life‐ 

long passion for drawing and design‐ 

ing cars. His drawings seemed very 

futuristic by the standard of the early 

1950s,but they were apparently to 

scale, and, he claimed, would fit on 

chassis of known cars of the day. 

We would fall in step often walking 

to and from school and we would talk, 

both of us. We attended St. Martinʹs 

Church together and as we walked 

round Scarborough and the sea front, 

one of the topics of conversation was 

his ambition to be a car designer. 

How fortunate he was to have the 

backing and encouragement of his fa‐ 

ther and an uncle. At the age of sixteen 

he must have attained good O levels 

in the necessary subjects, include I feel 

sure, mechanical drawing. With his 

father he went for an interview in Cov‐ 

entry with Rootes Group and was ac‐ 

cepted as an apprentice in the engineer‐ 

ing department. This was not exactly 

where he wanted to be, but during the

course of the engineering apprentice‐ 

ship his enthusiasm for drawing was 

noticed and he transferred to the de‐ 

sign team, initially on a trial basis, but 

remained there for the rest of his ap‐ 

prenticeship. 

During his deferred National Ser‐ 

vice in the Army he met and married 

his wife Pat, a nursing sister and dur‐ 

ing their busy life she presented him 

with a daughter, lane, and a son 

Christopher. 

After National Service Roy returned 

to Rootes Group, and during 1965‐7 he 

led a project to develop and produce 

what was to be the last Sunbeam Ra‐ 

pier. Also at that time he was involved 

in some way with the Hillman Imp, 

though not apparently very pleased 

with it. His autobiography describes 

the technical difficulties he had with 

the engineering departments with 

some of his innovative ideas, but he 

was leading a design team, and at the 

age of 29 when Chrysler and Roots 

amalgamated in UK he became design 

director of Rootes Chrysler UK . 

In the late 1960s Rootes gave way to 

Chrysler, and Chrysler Europe 

evolved. The Alpine designed under 

Royʹs leadership won the 1976 Car of 

the Year Award. 1976 was a year of 

change and challenge, because he was 

appointed Director of Interior Design at 

Chrysler International. This meant 

moving with his family to Detroit. 

Chrysler was not enjoying the most 

commercial success with motorcars and 

Roy adapted to the task of making cars 

more attractive to the American market 

but also designing speedboats and 

trucks to trail them. It is apparent that 

27 

during this period he came to know 

and respect other car designers and 

characters and he in turn gained wide 

respect in his field. He seemed to at‐ 

tract companies which were desperate 

for a lift out of trouble, because in 1981 

he came back to UK to Austin Rover 

and was involved with the develop‐ 

ment of the Rover 800, but was also 

visiting Japan owing to theassociation 

with Honda. Other motor companies of 

that era sought his inspiration and I 

know that at some stage he was in‐ 

volved with Jaguar cars. 

In the late 1960s when Roy was Di‐ 

rector of Design at Chrysler UK he was 

approached by the Royal College of 

Artsʹ Professor Misha Black who was in 

charge of the study of industrial de‐ 

sign. With others, Roy helped to estab‐ 

lish an automotive design course. A 

similar course was set up in Coventry. 

So when he was back in UK he became 

involved again on this educational 

side. In the 1990s he became a Board 

Member of Birminghamʹs Polytechnic 

later the University of Central England 

and remained in post until he retired. 

He was awarded a Fellowship of the 

University of Coventry and a Doctorate 

of the University of Birmingham. An 

initiative he had supported in the 1960s 

developed not only in this country, but, 

as he was proud to observe, also in 

Germany. 

The latter part of his career was di‐ 

verse and reflected his renowned abil‐ 

ity as a designer as he became in‐ 

volved in design with a number of 

different car producers, but also in 

designing the interior of private air‐ 

craft, including aircraft for certain oil

Sheikhs who had very particular re‐ 

quirements. 

Rover Group (including BAE) set up 

a subsidiary design organisation 

which Roy was asked to lead. This 

was known as Design Research As‐ 

sociates located near Leamington 

Spa. This became an independent 

company known as Design Research 

Associates Limited and provided for 

Roy most happy and satisfying final 

years of his career in motorcars and 

style. He retired in 1999. He and his 

wife Pat lived in Florida until his 

death. 

Although Roy left school when I was 

only fifteen we retained contact 

through all the years till his death in 

2010, by letters, and more recently e 

mail and telephone. I was last with him 

at a party for his 70 th birthday at the 

home of his daughter in Chipping 

Camden, in 2007. It was a most happy 

occasion. Typically, on the following 

day he insisted on inspecting my newly 

acquire Lexus car, a make he had rec‐ 

ommended. His autobiographyʺ A Life 

in Styleʺ was published three days after 

he died. 

John Mason (I958-65) 

From Sandra Orlando –May 2011 

Iʹm sad to report that John Mason 

died a couple of weeks ago. Always 

known as ʹMaseʹ at school, he will be 

particularly remembered by the rugby 

crowd, as he played for Scarborough as 

well as for various school teams. Mase 

attended Northstead School before the 

28 

High School, and then went on to Shef‐ 

field University. He left School at 16 

with the intention of becoming a sports 

journalist, until he realized that that 

career would interfere with playing 

ʺmy beloved rugby.ʺ So he went back to 

school and did ʹAʹ levels. He lived all 

his working life in the Durham area, 

becoming Managing Director of a bak‐ 

ery supply company, but retired back 

to Scarborough a number of years ago 

when his wife became terminally ill. 

They lived near the Ivanhoe (Scholes 

Park Avenue?), but John later moved to 

Bridlington. 

John had had a long battle with can‐ 

cer and heart disease, but he remained 

cheerful, ebullient, and defiant (of his 

illnesses) to the end. 

John Leefe (1935-41) 

John Leefe , BSc, OBE died at his 

home in Burniston on July 21st 2011. He 

was a forester by trade 

and worked internation‐ 

ally, particularly in Cy‐ 

prus. Locally he was 

President of the Scar‐ 

borough Forty Club and 

served as a parish 

Councillor for Burniston. He Leaves 

his wife Sybil and three sons.

NOTES ON SPORT 

Peter Dawson (1950-58) 

(Peter Dawson’s notes 

on Sport as he recalls it 

(with the comment that 

this was not one of his 

strong points, as an 

ornithologist first).) 

1. Everyone remembers the film‐ 

Chariots of Fire. The Scottish Lord’s Day 

Observance sprinter, whose name I 

cannot remember, missed out on Gold 

for the 100 yd because the race was 

held on a Sunday in the 1920s Olym‐ 

pics. (He eventually became a mission‐ 

ary in China and died in a Japanese 

prison camp of meningitis). So instead 

he entered the 440 yd and ran it like a 

sprint,” with arms flailing‐ and was 

never breasted”. In the 50s, Ruskin had 

few good athletes, but in the 440 yd we 

had one. Name? ‐‐Entry 1949 or 8. He 

ran it at a furious pace and by 300 yd 

was at least 50 yd up on his nearest 

rival. Then inevitably, as his ATP levels 

fell and his lactate levels rose, he got 

slower and slower but always came in 

first, though it was a close run thing. 

2. Ruskin’s greatest sprinter was 

undoubtedly John ( Lemm) Brinkler. 

With his long legs and beautiful action, 

he was a joy to watch. His final burst of 

speed over the last 30 yd of the 100 yd 

race left great rivals like Ridley and 

Motteshead several feet adrift. 

3. In the mid 50s the Duke of Edin‐ 

burgh Scheme for encouraging track 

events came on stream. The idea was to 

get as many kids as possible just at‐ 

29 

tempting to exert themselves and 

points were awarded in three catego‐ 

ries for any event. The lowest was for 

an “average ability” (my level) then 

came the “superior “level, and finally 

the “Victor Ludorum” stuff ( Lemm). 

Lemm was very dedicated to raise the 

maximum number of points possible 

for Ruskin House, despite the meagre 

potential available to him. In this re‐ 

spect, I think he got us to the top of the 

house tables. So it was that he made me 

cycle up the Mount after school one 

evening just to get me running the 440 

for a couple of points. He was very 

encouraging, but could not hide his 

disbelief that I could not keep up with 

him when he was only in idling mode. I 

was quite content with my 2 points. 

4. Most of us cycled up to the 

Mounts playing fields ‐ the alternative 

was walking. In those days, most bikes 

were 2nd or 3rd hand‐ few could afford 

new ones. By dint of saving my hard 

earned pocket money, I bought an old 

full frame bike from one, Michael War‐ 

ing. Michael was a College lad, 2‐3 

years older, who lived on Peasholm 

Drive. (He later became a Methodist 

Minister). His father was big in the Gas 

Board and had a CAR. This strange 

machine‐ the bike‐ (bought for 15 /= ‐ 

my Mother maintained I was robbed) 

was painted red and had a back pedal 

brake. The only other brake was a to‐ 

tally ineffective short bar front brake. 

The back pedal was brilliant‐ but suf‐ 

fered one near fatal disadvantage‐ the 

chain often came off. After sports day, 

one year, the pedestrians cut down a 

path through the top wood, and the 

cyclists kept to the road and the first

descending hairpin. On the approach to 

the walkers regaining the road and 

crossing it in a bunch, the inevitable 

happened and the chain came off as I 

hurtled towards them at 25 mph. 

Speechless in panic and fear, somehow 

I squeezed through a tiny gap and no 

one was injured. The bike was rapidly 

changed! 

Playing truant in the 50s was almost 

unheard of. But in about 1956, Scarbor‐ 

ough FC were doing well in the FA 

cup. They had drawn a game against 

Selby and the replay was an afternoon 

game at the Athletic ground. Passions 

were running high. Two or three of us 

took the afternoon off and stood on the 

terraces to cheer our team on. The 

teams were deadlocked with out scor‐ 

ing until a few minutes before the end, 

when strangely, Brolls (our R. winger) 

exchanged places with Bowman (the 

inside R.). This was unheard of ‐ every 

one still played a 5, 3, 2 game and you 

knew your place on the field. Bowman 

centred and Brolls headed into the top 

R. hand corner of the net. Scarbor‐ 

ough’s further progress was short lived 

‐ York knocked them out in a tightly 

fought game in the next round. I think 

York went on to the quarter finals. 

30 

PHILIP DALBY 1934 -2008 

By Gill Dalby 

Phil Clarke’s interesting article in 

“Summer Times” was passed on to me 

by Heather & David Merryweather. In 

reply to his question as to what hap‐ 

pened to Philip Dalby among others, I 

can supply the following information. 

Phil spent his teaching career in Hull, 

at four different schools, primary & 

junior high. He married Lesley in 1972 

& they had a daughter & a son. Lesley 

died in 2000 & Phil & I (who had been 

colleagues in the 70s) got together 

again & married in 2002. Sadly, he 

died of cancer in 2008. 

Phil was a lovely man, kind, intelligent 

& funny. He enjoyed riding his bike & 

was interested in all types of sport, 

particularly cricket & football. He 

claimed that he once carried a whole 

school cricket team to a match in his 

Ford Anglia (before the days of seat 

belts & health & safety)! When I in‐ 

formed Scarborough Cricket Club of 

his death, they wrote to me saying that 

he had been a member for 63 years. An 

avid reader, he was very clever at cryp‐ 

tic crosswords and said that his school‐ 

boy Latin was a great help. 

Phil remembered his Scarborough roots 

fondly & we went back often. A fa‐ 

vourite visiting day was on Shrove 

Tuesday to see the pancake races & 

skipping. 

Phil always kept in touch with Keith 

Shaw, who lives in Ottawa. In 2009, I 

went to a wedding in Michigan & trav‐ 

elled on to stay with Keith & his wife 

Kathleen, who were very hospitable. 

AUSTRO-SWISS CAMP 

1968 REVISITED 

(a reprise of Guy Barnish’s note on the 

camp from the last issue, with hopefully 

this time the correct photograph accompa‐ 

nying the article—above left!) 

The camping picture is our tent

group on the Austro‐Swiss Camp dur‐ 

ing July‐August 1959. Seated from left 

to right are: “Jumbo” Jarvis; Mick 

Bowman; John Storey; Guy Barnish; 

Ken Short. Ost (haven’t remembered 

his first name) was also in the tent, but 

he took the photo! 

PRINTS OF 

SCARBOROUGH 

The Editor writes… 

Readers interested in the history and 

changes in Scarborough in the past 200 

years, and collectors of old engravings 

and aquatints (of which the Editor 

pleads guilty to being one!) may give 

some thought to the market for and 

availability of such Prints and Illustra‐ 

tions, many of which can, by diligent 

searching around, be obtained at often 

less than the price of modern repro‐ 

ductions! 

Perhaps, in these days of small 

rooms, minimalist décor and modernist 

31 

Art, prints and traditional pictures are 

out of fashion, but if we go back some 

200 years, books and individual prints 

of cities, ports and harbours became 

very much the vogue among the intelli‐ 

gentsia, who were beginning to travel 

more widely, particularly to the emerg‐ 

ing seaside resorts. 

From the late 1700’s there was an 

increasing demand for, and production 

of engravings of scenic views, whether 

parts of London, views of the Oxford 

and Cambridge Colleges or Ports and 

Harbours around the British Coast . 

Usually Prints from these eras would 

be printed in black and white, although 

Aquatints were produced containing 

elements of colour. Most of the prints 

now available have however been sub‐ 

sequently and recently coloured to ca‐ 

ter for the demands of the market, and 

if sensitively done, are little worse for 

it. Such demand for views was fuelled 

also by the development of seaside 

resorts, bathing and taking the waters, 

and by the rapid emergence of the mid‐

dle classes and their interest in travel. 

Until the 1830’s, with the advent of 

much more durable steel engraving, 

prints were engraved on copper, which 

gave a warmer and softer tone to the 

plates, but they soon showed consider‐ 

able signs of wear, and only relatively 

short print runs were possible. 

Views of Scarborough, principally 

involving the Harbour and Castle, 

were popular, and frequently turn up 

at Antique Fairs, and those of Whitby 

and even Robin Hood’s Bay are also 

not uncommon... The Art Gallery on 

the Crescent displays some interesting 

examples, principally by local Artists... 

A series of 12 humorous illustrations 

of parts of the Town accompanied a 

book,” Poetical Recollections of Scar‐ 

borough ––printed in 1813, and in‐ 

clude coloured aquatints of The Castle, 

32 

Cornelian Bay, and The Terrace (now 

the site of the Grand Hotel) and are 

rather scarcer, but perhaps somewhat 

less artistic in presentation. 

The celebrated painter, JHM Turner, 

famous for his many Oil and Water‐ 

colour paintings, was also an excep‐ 

tional engraver, and among the coastal 

scenes produced by him circa 1826 was 

a water colour of the Harbour and Cas‐ 

tle, the original of which is in the Tate 

Gallery and which forms the base for 

subsequent engravings, which turn up 

from time to time in Print Shops and at 

antique Fairs. A copy of the well‐ 

known engraving from Turner’s pic‐ 

ture is reproduced here, as is a more 

general and typical view of the har‐ 

bour of a similar period. 

Later and larger engravings of such 

features as the “new” Spa Bridge, the

Rotunda and other landmark views 

are more available from time to time, 

and, appropriately mounted, provide 

an attractive historical and decorative 

function at relatively small cost. With 

the advent however in the later 19 th 

century of photographic and other 

more sophisticated printing tech‐ 

niques, whilst reproduction improved, 

much of the character and atmosphere 

of these earlier views of the Town was 

lost. By the time that the Westwood 

School was constructed at the turn of 

the 20 th century engraving had largely 

ceased to be an effective medium for 

the reproduction of scenery, or build‐ 

ings, and regrettably nothing is known 

in this period. 

So far as collecting is concerned, 

with the soaring cost of shop rental 

values, it is however becoming less 

easy to find shops selling old prints 

and pictures and one is increasingly 

driven to reliance on Antique Fairs 

and the Internet as a source of supply. 

Collecting remains however a worth‐ 

while exercise for those interested both 

in History generally and the develop‐ 

ment of the Town. 

NICKNAMES 

The late Ray Lazenby entertained us 

in the last issues with a light hearted 

sketch of some of the nicknames of 

some prominent Masters of his era, 

which has prompted further explora‐ 

tion of those of our custos mores who 

were distinctive enough to enjoy a 

soubriquet, deserved or otherwise. 

Some, as mere shortened versions of 

their forenames (eg Eddie Colenutt) 

33 

need no clarification, but was Dai Lid‐ 

dicott’s first name really thus‐ it is 

thought not‐ John has been suggested, 

and he does not figure on the School 

Register to enable a check – certainly 

the musical refrain likening his head to 

a ping pong ball sits better with Dai 

than John! As for Spike Jones, from 

whence came the spike, his silvery 

quiff? Pike Richardson was mentioned 

and could it be that small, tubby and 

with a face and mouth that had a 

slightly piscine look, this was based on 

his piscatorial appearance. What about 

Brad, who also was known as Sharky ‐ 

Another aggressive fishy image? 

Jack Speight easily became Digger to 

match the mis‐pronunciation of his 

surname, and Mauler Manfield, who 

many of us remember for various rea‐ 

sons despite his short stay at the 

School, had a moniker which reflected 

all too cruelly his altercations with 

certain of his less willing pupils. 

FURTHER CAMEOS OF 

LIFE AT SCARBOROUGH 

IN THE 50’S… 

-Peter Dawson (1950-58) 

I can recall an incident with Derek 

Price. He and I were standing near 

the old United Bus Station 

when a car roared across Valley 

Bridge heading for South Cliff. 

Perched precariously on the back of 

this vehicle, with feet on the rear 

bumper were two boys singing and 

beating gongs‐ obviously part of a 

wedding party. Do you recall the 

stand of elms between the Bus Sta‐ 

tion and the bridge in which there

was a rookery. 

Every year one or two nestlings 

would fall out and every year I 

would take one home to try and rear 

it. Only once was this successful. 

The rooklet grew very quickly and 

was very tame. It used to terrify my 

much younger sister, flapping to‐ 

wards her and cawing loudly as soon 

as she came through the back garden 

gate from school, demanding to be 

fed. I got to the stage of throwing it 

out of the bathroom window to en‐ 

courage it to fly. At this point my 

parents insisted on the bird being 

sent to a more appropriate home. So 

it went to a lad from the country 

where it was soon flying and kept 

coming back to his home for weeks 

afterwards. 

Do you remember the United Bus 

Station in the war years? When pet‐ 

rol was in very short supply, some 

buses pulled a trailer burning coke 

and producing a gaseous mixture of 

hydrogen and carbon monoxide 

which was burned in their engine 

much as LPG can be today. My father 

used to tell me, I couldnʹt remember, 

that on one weekend trip on the road 

to Helmsley, the underpowered bus 

could not make it up a hill and all the 

passengers had to get out and walk 

up rejoining their bus at the summit! 

Finally a little unrelated cameo — 

———— General Elections were 

taken very seriously at Westwood, 

with all 3 main parties campaigning 

and leading to a secret ballot. The 

Cons. usually came out on top, but 

very closely followed by the Liberals 

and the Socialists way down. At that 

34 

time the Liberals only had about 6 

MPs in Westminster. I donʹt think 

the Liberal support reflected the Lib‐ 

eral tradition in Scarborough (it had 

been a Liberal Borough) as much as 

an ʺup yoursʺ to the establishment. 

At one packed meeting in the music 

room, Charlie Riceʹs son was speak‐ 

ing for the Liberals on Home Policies 

and working up to one or other of 

the main Liberal policy planks at the 

time‐ proportional representation, or 

worker management....ʺ and the magic 

word for this policy isʺ —— ʺ Abraca‐ 

dabraʺ— came the noisy hecklerʹs 

riposte, from the back row‐ one of the 

3rd year 6th sporting a blue bow tie. 

Just behind the Music Room, oppo‐ 

site the Chemistry labs lived the 

quiet, fair‐haired lab. technician, Mr. 

Judson (a Methodist lay preacher) — 

— always undervalued. Once when 

either Zenna Potts or Mr. Speight 

was unable to get to school, Mr. 

Judson deputised as teacher very 

adequately. He helped me construct 

a Russian exposure meter from a kit. 

I was into photography at this time. 

Joey caught me at work on it in Mr. 

Judsonʹs tiny cell and was not at all 

pleased! 

THE SCHOOL AND WHAT 

IT GAVE ME 

Guy Barnish 

(1955-61) 

I have been poring 

through past copies 

of Summer Times, 

collected since I 

joined in 2007, to see

if I could add anything new to the vast 

number and variety of reminiscences. 

I’ve had a fantastically exciting life 

and Scarborough High School for Boys 

was a formative part of it. In fact, if it 

had not been for ‘Joey’ telling me, one 

morning in Assembly, to go to his of‐ 

fice, I may well have had a mundane 

existence. 

I first came to Scarborough in 1952. 

We lived in a small house opposite the 

NALGO camp at Osgodby Hill Top 

from where my sisters and I com‐ 

muted daily to St. Martin’s C of E 

School on the South Cliff, ruled by the 

indomitable Mrs. Crawford. It was 

there that I took the 11+, providing me 

with an entry to SBHS. However, in 

early 1953 we sailed for Cape Town, 

and following a 4‐day train journey we 

arrived in Ndola where my father met 

us, and then drove us to our new 

home in Luanshya, a copper mining 

town where he was a Mine Surveyor. 

I returned to Scarborough in mid‐ 

1955 and enrolled in Westwood in 

September of that year. My first class 

was 3 Upper where ‘Spike’ Jones was 

the Form teacher. My most distinct 

memory of him is grabbing a handful 

of hair and shaking your head till it 

felt as though your eyes were falling 

out. One behaved oneself after a shak‐ 

ing like that! 

Serendipitously, while walking for 

the first time down the slope to the 

School, feeling somewhat embarrassed 

in my new uniform, I met three lads 

with whom I played when at St. Mar‐ 

tin’s:––– John Storey, Dave Fox and 

35 

Dave Bunton, none of whom seem to 

appear in Summer Times. I often won‐ 

dered what happened to them. Later I 

met Ken Short, a year above me I 

think, who I knew from my days at 

Osgodby as both he and I attended St. 

Michael’s Sunday School in Wheat‐ 

croft. When I left for Northern Rhode‐ 

sia the Sunday School presented me 

with a bible and a Common Prayer 

Book, and a signed list of everyone 

who attended, which included Ken’s 

name. I still have the bible, and inside 

the front cover are the classes and 

years I attended the High School for 

Boys. (The bible is now used for find‐ 

ing some of the answers to the Tele‐ 

graph GK crossword). 

My life at Westwood, and later 

Woodlands, can be summed up as 

being fun. As a result of joining in the 

3 rd year I was excluded from the Clas‐ 

sics and German classes (too much to 

catch up on), but of course, I did have 

to study French – for which I am now 

extremely grateful. I guess it was 

‘Mauler’ Manfield who introduced 

me to the language, though I can’t be 

sure. I recall that he had little control 

over the class, and in summer, if we 

had French in the first period after 

dinner break, then we would catch 

grasshoppers in the vegetation near 

the Fives Courts and release them in 

his class. The release triggered a class 

reaction of “Sir, Sir, there’s grasshoppers 

in the class” and a mad scramble to 

catch them. Poor Mauler simply could 

not control the class as most of us 

scrambled over and under desks, mak‐ 

ing a heck of a noise as we attempted

to recapture our wildlife. 

My next year was a move to 4 upper 

(1956‐57) when ‘Pike’ Richardson was 

the Form Master. My recollection of 

him is a small dumpy person who wore 

a dark blue suit that, along with his 

gown, was always covered in chalk 

dust. He appears, in my memory, as 

always being armed with a very large 

wooden pair of compasses which he 

used with some dexterity on the black‐ 

board. However, it is his accuracy with 

the nearest tin of schoolboy mathemati‐ 

cal instruments that remains fixed in my 

memory. When he was addressing the 

blackboard and someone disrupted his 

mathematical outpourings, he would 

swing round, pick up the nearest tin 

and hurl it at whoever he thought was 

the cause of the disruption. Since this 

was a frequent occurrence, everyone 

was prepared and swiftly and simulta‐ 

neously lifted their desk lid and ducked 

under it as the missile hit one of the 

desks, spewing its contents of dividers, 

compasses, protractors, erasers, etc. 

over a wide area. This, of course, 

prompted more distraction as everyone 

dived to collect the instruments and 

return them to the unfortunate lad 

whose tin it was. 

‘Bonn’ Clarke, as has been frequently 

mentioned in Summer Times, was the 

butt of many classroom interruptions. I 

recall that old hackneyed schoolboy 

prank of placing a drawing pin, point 

side up, on his chair. Bonn always en‐ 

tered his room, swung the chair up, 

displacing the pin, and sat down as if 

nothing had happened. He must have 

had pretty good eyesight, as I don’t 

36 

remember him ever sitting on a pin. 

Didn’t he cycle to School every day, and 

didn’t his bike have a pedal that didn’t 

go round, to accommodate his stiff leg? 

And can someone tell me whether it is 

“Bonn” or “Bon” Clarke? I always 

assumed it was the latter, so named 

because he wasn’t (bon). 

Sometime during my early school‐ 

days I joined the newly formed Duke of 

Edinburgh’s Award Scheme (it started 

in 1956). All went well with the First 

Aid (St. John’s Ambulance Brigade, 

Falsgrave); athletics (a non‐school ath‐ 

letics club), and the camping/ 

orienteering (mainly in the area from 

the Bridestones to the Scarborough/ 

Whitby Road) which resulted in me 

collecting a large number of detonated 

mortar bombs from a military firing 

range somewhere on the North York‐ 

shire Moors. The problem came with 

my chosen subject – biology. My super‐ 

visor was Dr. Geoffrey Watson of the 

Natural History Museum near The 

Crescent. Well Dr. Watson set me to 

write a daily biological diary on the 

happenings in and on the pond below 

the school. To say that it was boring 

was an understatement. He gave no 

guidance or instructions, and I failed. 

Failed that section of the Scheme and so 

failed to get an Award. He said that the 

standard he set was ‘A’ level, but with‐ 

out knowing what was required, he 

might have set it at degree level (I was 

not even at the ‘O’ level standard). In 

mitigation, he did conduct some very 

interesting biology evenings, tell fasci‐ 

nating ghost stories, and inculcated in 

me the need to name every living thing

with two Latin names – yes Homo 

sapiens. This latter point became an 

essential part of my professional life as 

a medical parasitologist. 

Later years were spent in 5 Upper 

(1957‐58) with ‘Duckie’ Helmuth as the 

form Master; Science 6B followed and 

then Science 6A with ‘Zenna’ Potts as 

form Master, followed in my last year 

with ‘Uncle Len’ Willmut, though nei‐ 

ther of them ever taught me. 

I recall with some affection James 

Gilmour, perhaps the only English 

teacher to invoke some response from 

me, and of course Derek Price who has 

received many tributes in ‘Summer 

Times’. As part of our ecology lessons 

he had us all trooping down to the 

South Bay beach where we learnt the 

principles of sampling along a transect 

line. What we actually did was plot the 

frequency of sea anemones between 

high and low tide levels, and I under‐ 

stood that he wrote up all our ‘hard’ 

work for his MSc. His successor, 

Gordon Whalley became as near a 

friend as I ever attained among the 

staff. During my final year at the 

school he allowed me to breed mice in 

the biology shed which I sold to the 

younger pupils at 6d a time! If I am not 

mistaken he also revitalised the Biology 

Club which Derek Price had started, 

and I became an active participant in its 

activities. 

My other activities at Woodlands 

included playing rugby for the 2 nd VX; 

and being, with Mick Judson, a very 

active trampoliner. We were both 

taken to various agricultural shows in 

North Yorkshire over a couple of sum‐ 

37 

mers to provide entertainment to the 

masses. I was also an active member of 

the local YHA, cycling to our meetings 

as far away as Boggle Hole (what a 

lovely sounding place), and I was a 

member of the St. Saviour’s Scout 

Group. 

Much has been written about the 

various school camps. I attended three: 

the Nant Francon Valley, North Wales 

in 1957; the Austro‐Swiss camp in 1959, 

and the Glen Nevis camp in 1962. I 

remember Joey visiting us in Switzer‐ 

land and catching some unfortunate 

lad smoking, and immediately des‐ 

patching him back to England, and I 

am sure that ‘Jock’ Roxburgh burnt his 

old climbing boots in the camp fire in 

Glen Nevis. Apparently it is an old 

tradition. Does anyone recall this oc‐ 

currence? 

I must make mention of Messrs Perry 

and Mr Dutton. The principles of met‐ 

alwork and woodwork that they drilled 

into me have served me well in later 

years. 

And naturally, as many of us did, I 

took holiday jobs. My holiday jobs 

changed from working in the kitchens 

and washing‐up cellars of both the 

Grand and the Pavilion hotels to selling 

ice cream for Walls and then for 

Jaconelli’s on the foreshore, after which 

I graduated to becoming a life guard, 

first on the North Bay and the follow‐ 

ing year (1961) on the South Bay. Great 

times! 

I mentioned that ‘Joey’ had called me 

out one morning in Assembly “Ah wan’ 

ter see Barnish in my office after Assem‐

ly”. It was with some trepidation 

that I presented myself, but all he 

asked was whether I wanted to go 

back to Africa! He then handed me 

some forms, instructed me to com‐ 

plete them and send them off. The 

results of this episode changed my 

life. I duly completed the forms, and 

was subsequently awarded a 

Kingsley Fairbridge Memorial Schol‐ 

arship to the University College of 

Rhodesia and Nyasaland (UCRN). I 

set sail from Southampton in Febru‐ 

ary 1962 and qualified with a BSc 

(London) in late 1964. I was elected to 

the Students Administrative Council 

in my second year and was the social 

secretary for the university, organis‐ 

ing Rag and various dances and balls. 

As President of the University Explo‐ 

ration Society, I lead, in early 1965, an 

expedition to the source of the Zam‐ 

bezi, and into Angola and the Congo. 

During the planning of the trip I met 

David Attenborough as he was film‐ 

ing “Zambezi”. He and his team pro‐ 

vided us with lots of useful advice. 

We actually scored one up on him at 

the Angola border – despite having 

all the visas he was turned back into 

Zambia whilst we were allowed 

through! 

My first job on qualifying was with 

the Rhodesian Ministry of Health as a 

bilharzias research officer. I stayed 

for 4 years, part of which was taken 

up by being conscripted into the 

Royal Rhodesian Air Force (RRAF). I 

then worked in St. Lucia, West Indies 

for The Rockefeller Foundation on 

their schistosomiasis control project 

38 

for 12 years. In 1982 I went to the 

Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine 

(LSTM) where I studied for a Masters 

in Community Health and in 1983 

moved to Papua New Guinea where I 

was the parasitologist for the Institute 

of Medical Research, and where I did 

my PhD. I returned to LSTM as a 

research assistant in 1986, but in 1989 

I was employed by the Medical Re‐ 

search Council (London) to go to Si‐ 

erra Leone to set up a malaria labora‐ 

tory and to investigate “the epidemi‐ 

ology and entomology of malaria in a 

high rainfall forested area”. All went 

well until 1991 when the civil war 

started and I was ordered out by the 

Foreign Office. Whilst still employed 

by the LSTM I worked in Ghana and 

then in 1999 I went to live in Namibia, 

working on the diagnosis of malaria 

in Namibia, Zimbabwe, Swaziland 

and Mozambique – from the Atlantic 

to the Indian Ocean. 

I finally returned to the UK in 2002, 

after having spent almost half my life 

living and working in the tropics. As 

a Senior Lecturer I remained at LSTM 

until I retired in 2006. However, one 

month later I was re‐employed as a 

Senior Fellow to teach. This extension 

continued until 2010 when I suppose I 

finally retired. 

But what is retirement? My wife 

and I bought a retirement home in the 

Limousin Region of France, and it 

required considerable renovation. 

This is where ‘Bonn’ Clarke and 

Messrs Perry and Dutton reappear – 

without the basics that they taught

me all those years ago, it would have 

been a far harder task than it has 

turned out to be. So, thank you SBHS 

for not only starting me out on a fan‐ 

tastic life’s journey, but staying with 

me until the last nail is driven in. 

WOODWORK 

Dave Hepworth(1951-8) 

recalls his escape 

from the vices of 

the School woodwork 

room and 

reflects on the 

horrifying possibility 

that his last 

half-hearted efforts 

may one 

day return to 

haunt him– 

Somewhere in a forgotten cellar deep 

in the bowels of the old Westwood 

building there probably lies a mould‐ 

ering, part‐finished sea grass stool. An 

unloved memento of my last days of 

woodwork, circa July 1956, with the 

flinty‐eyed Mr Perry. 

After the summer hols that year I 

ascended to the heady heights of Mod‐ 

ern 6b, casting all thoughts of chisels, 

hammers, dovetail joints and Mr Perry 

into the bin. The days were over of 

being told to gather round for instruc‐ 

tion on the latest project, to be quickly 

followed with the command: 

“Hepworth, pay attention. I can see that 

glazed look coming into your eyes” .He 

was right – he COULD. 

I had previously struggled to finish 

AND French polish a small cigarette 

39 

box (very non‐PC now) which still 

stands proudly (full of paper clips of 

course) on a bookcase at home. But the 

stool was supposed to be the height of 

my labours, the pinnacle of my entire 

school woodwork ‘career’. The frame 

was almost finished, but the sea grass, 

whatever that is, was probably still 

growing! 

Progress got slower and slower as 

the hols got nearer and nearer. At last I 

happily downed tools for the delights 

of Swiss camp, rowing, tennis, the 

North Bay pool and girls. 

So, if the redoubtable Mr P didn’t 

use the damn thing to light his fire, it 

may have been stored in the brave 

hope that I would rush back to finish it 

in my first free periods in the Sixth. –– 

Some hope... 

And if anyone DOES know of its 

whereabouts– DON’T ring me!! 

EDUCATION 

The Editor 

It may be desirable, if only to pro‐ 

tect the Magazine from the wrath of a 

percentage of its readers and any of 

the outside world sad enough to dip 

into its esoteric subject matter, to issue 

a disclaimer in respect of any Article 

involving modern Education to make 

it plain that the views of the writer, 

particularly if politically incorrect, are 

purely his own! Given that a signifi‐ 

cant number of Old Boys have had 

educational careers, the risks of this 

must rise exponentially, but may at

least stimulate debate about education 

at the School! It is interesting that 

opinions in my correspondence widely 

differ on this, alternating between af‐ 

fectionate tributes to the perceived 

higher standards in the past to the 

view that much of the then education 

was then “nasty, brutish and short “and 

that the Magazine is perhaps guilty a 

rosy‐ tinted spectacled view of the 

past, the esoteric and precocious word 

“Hestoropothia” (see the Superior Per‐ 

sons Book of Words,) being mentioned 

in this context!) 

With that premise, it can perhaps be 

accepted that the modern tendency in 

Education is more towards the generic 

and non‐specific nature of presenta‐ 

tion of the Curriculum, covering a 

wider but shallower spectrum, albeit 

to the detriment of detailed and accu‐ 

rate knowledge of many subjects 

which were previously considered 

core educational information, but in 

the alleged interests of creating 

rounder and more balanced individu‐ 

als in this very different world!! By 

way of example, statistics published in 

July 2007 disclose not only that His‐ 

tory is now only compulsory until 14, 

but that only some 30% of pupils sub‐ 

sequently studied it for GCSE. Latin 

and Greek have also suffered a simi‐ 

lar, if not worse fate, whilst, perhaps 

more alarmingly in this scientific age, 

what may be described as the core 

scientific subjects, ‐ Maths, Physics 

and Chemistry have not escaped un‐ 

scathed. 

Literal History, starting for many of 

40 

us at 11 with “Spike“ Jones and the 

Ancient Greeks –– with the homework 

every second week inexplicably being 

devoted to copying a drawing from 

the book, ‐ through to much more in‐ 

teresting 19 th century English and 

European History, — the Corn Laws 

the Irish Question, have long gone out 

of vogue, and with hindsight it did 

perhaps emphasise learning “parrot 

fashion”. No Wikipedia then, no lifting 

of essays from the online Britannica or 

elsewhere! 

Perhaps, after all these years we 

should also reflect the extent to which 

the Shakespeare plays, the Sonnets, 

“Great Expectations” and other Dick‐ 

ens equivalents, Molière’s L’Aveugle, 

or, more specialist yet, Virgil’s Ae‐ 

niad, have contributed to the sum total 

of human existence for those of us 

who struggled with, and were less 

than enthusiastic about them at the 

time. It would be nice however to 

think that they had some material use 

other than assisting with the Daily 

Telegraph Crossword after retirement 

(although they certainly do that,— this 

admission in itself revealing my reac‐ 

tionary reading tendencies!) Even Log 

tables, slide rules and much of the 

scientific apparatus with which we 

struggled have largely been overtaken 

by the passage of time and by more 

complex technology. 

Looking back however, history itself 

(with a small “h”) does demonstrate, 

even in the 18 th . and 19 th Centuries, 

that the educated classes were then 

bemoaning the fact that change was

continually for the worse (albeit for 

the few privileged enough to enjoy it!) 

–– so it may be as well to accept that 

modern Education is not necessarily 

worse, but just, owing to the exigen‐ 

cies of present times, different, and 

that it is an inevitable feature of ad‐ 

vancing age to look back , hopefully 

not like John Braine’s Jimmy Porter 

“In Anger”, but with nostalgia ! 

THE LONDON LUNCH 

Whilst the Laws of Chance appear 

to dictate that, whenever timed, the 

annual London Lunch will coincide 

with disruption/delay/demonstrations 

in the capital; this certainly did not 

dampen the occasion itself, held again 

amid the splendid setting and hospi‐ 

tality of the RAF Club in Piccadilly, a 

venue unfortunately rather close to the 

Hyde Park termination of the protest 

march. 

Despite this, an attendance of 32 

ensured that it was the usual convivial 

and entertaining event. The hospitality 

(and it should be said the liquid re‐ 

freshment!) flowed freely, as did the 

memories of times past and catching 

up on reminiscences. As at the Christ‐ 

mas Dinner, the attendance this time 

of more of the “younger element” au‐ 

gured well for the future of the Asso‐ 

ciation. 

A welcome by our President, Geoff 

Winn, was accompanied by a request 

for feedback (metaphorical) on the 

venue and cost , which we adjudged 

to be very much fit for purpose in rela‐ 

41 

tion to future lunches ,and he also 

advertised forthcoming Golf and 

Bowls events, which will have taken 

pace before the the publication of this 

issue, and of the next Scarborough 

Dinner on the 2 nd December. 

Michael Rines and David Fowler then 

gave a short presentation on their re‐ 

cent publication of “Sown with Corn” 

by Billy Binder, which had received 

critical acclaim and which it is hoped 

would be taken up nationally. 

Among those in attendance were; 

Don Barnes, John Bee, Stuart Bennett, 

Mick Bowman, David Chapman, George 

Dowd, John Dresser, Michael Easton, 

Derek Elcock, Paul Fawcett, Peter Firth, 

John Flinton, Chris Found, David Fowler, 

Tom Gofton, Malcolm Hudson, Maurice 

Johnson, John Mann, Mike Mansfield, 

Jack Milroy, Peter Newham, Tony Phil‐ 

ipson, John Rice Michael Rines, Peter 

Robson, Ian Stoddard, Richard Stones, 

Malcolm Storry, Bill Temple, Robert Tin‐ 

dall, John Wheelhouse, Geoff Winn, Rich‐ 

ard Wood. 

A FEW REFLECTIONS ON 

MY LIFE 

By Ernest Stear (1932-38) 

Masters Atkinson, Binns, Brown, 

Chapman, Coates, Dunford, Jackson, 

Jibson, Littlewood, Marks, Newham, 

Normington, Noakes, Payne, Pinder, 

Sothcott, Stear, Sturdy, Sutton & Wil‐ 

kinson ––– No, they are not school‐ 

masters, just boys who were my con‐ 

temporaries in 1935.

In the spring term of that year, Mr 

A C Keeton, organist of St Mary’s par‐ 

ish church came to the School & asked 

the Head’s permission to recruit some 

boys who could sing, not for the 

Church choir but to take part in the 

Operatic Society’s production of Car‐ 

men at the Open Air Theatre in the 

coming summer. I don’t know how 

many boys volunteered but all had to 

be auditioned by A C K, and only the 

20 above were chosen. We had an 

exciting time but we had to give up a 

lot of playtime learning the words and 

the music. How proudly we marched 

on to the stage, singing our hearts out 

in front of 7,000 people. Unfortunately 

the minute we marched off the stage 

we were met by some official and 

taken out of the theatre and sent 

home, apparently the law did not per‐ 

mit juniors to appear on stage after 

8.0pm. Mind you, being boys, we did‐ 

n’t always go home. A few of us 

shinned up the cliff behind the bunga‐ 

lows and across the top to the bank 

behind the last row of seats & squatted 

on the grass to watch the show. By the 

end of the 2 nd week in September, I 

could sing or whistle all the main 

tunes (and there were many). This 

changed my life for ever and I was 

really hooked on opera and singing. 

Until now, apart from the church 

choir, my only experience of music in 

school was on a Friday afternoon 

when the weather was too bad for 

sport on Oliver’s Mount, & Johnny 

Francis took us for singing in the lec‐ 

ture theatre; I remember the book well, 

it was called ‘British Songs for British 

42 

Boys’ and somewhere in my house, if I 

go through it with a fine tooth comb, I 

think I still have my copy; ‐ not that 

we did much singing, we much pre‐ 

ferred to hear old Johnny talk about 

his experiences in Mesopotamia in W 

W 1. 

After Carmen, my voice began to 

break & I knew my treble singing days 

would soon be over. I asked Mr 

Keeton if I could be in the 1936 show 

and he said ‘Yes, but not as a singer’. So 

when rehearsals started for the next 

season I enrolled as a supernumerary 

& in Merrie England I was appointed 

one of two Pages to Queen Elizabeth, 

(the other Page was Geof. Mace) but I 

don’t think any of the ragamuffins 

from Carmen were in Merrie England. It 

is rather sad that the ragamuffins I 

knew best have all departed this life; 

Leslie Sturdy, Norman Binns, Ron 

Jibson, John Sothcott, John Payne, 

Norman Newham & I vaguely re‐ 

member Noakes & Norrington – they 

may still be alive. 

In 1937 I took the School Certificate 

exam. French was compulsory and 

Les Brown had been trying to teach 

me it year after year but in the term 

before the exam, he told me that not 

only was I wasting my time, I was also 

wasting his and the rest of the class’s 

time so I would have to sit in the hall 

and study by myself. He was amazed 

when the results came through – so 

was I – for I had passed comfortably. 

I moved into the 6 th form but after 2 

terms I went to Joe ‘Boss’ & told him I 

wanted to leave school & get a job, to

help with the family finances (times 

were hard) But the Head was very 

understanding and said there was a 

job going at the School that I could 

have if I wanted, & I could still do 

some learning for HSC if I wished; the 

job was assistant to Mr CA Shires 

(Cass) the woodwork master. Well the 

one piece of woodwork that I ever 

finished was a simple candlestick 

which Cass valued at 2 out of 10. I 

thanked Mr Marsden but declined his 

offer & went to work at Bradleys of 

Chester Ltd, Gents Outfitters where I 

stayed until the Navy sent for me on 

Nov.11 th 1941. 

I couldn’t have imagined in my 

wildest dreams that one day I would 

be based in Naples on a minesweeper 

and for six or seven months I would 

be in port at least two nights a week 

and could go ashore for about six 

hours. One of the first things that the 

allies did on the capture of Naples was 

to get the San Carlo Opera house up 

and running and I always went to the 

opera on the nights when I had shore 

leave. I still have the programmes of 

all the operas I saw – over twenty‐ as 

well as symphony concerts given by 

the Opera House orchestra & con‐ 

ducted occasionally by army or navy 

officers. After the war, the C M F got 

the whole San Carlo company, solo‐ 

ists, chorus, orchestra & conductors to 

come to England, to Covent Garden 

for a two month stay; Billy Butlin 

then got them all to come to his Vien‐ 

nese Theatre at his Filey holiday camp. 

This was too good to miss and I was 

lucky to get tickets for 2 performances, 

43 

Cav & Pag, & La Boheme. I would 

have liked to have gone every night 

but funds would not permit. 

Looking through my School reports 

–I still have them all – I wonder if any 

other old boys still have theirs? 

‘Charlie’ Rice wrote on one of 

mine,”He has a naïve approach which at 

times, is very successful”. A term or 

more later, he came up with this one, 

“He is cheerfully lazy. His mode of expres‐ 

sion, both oral & written, is quite unpol‐ 

ished”. (I often wonder if that was why 

the top brass in the navy turned me 

down at King Alfred where I had been 

sent for a few days on the recommen‐ 

dation of my previous skipper). 

Many years later, about 1956 or ‘57 I 

was appointed organist of St Laur‐ 

ence’s Church, Scalby in succession to 

Arthur Costain, and I found Mr 

Brown was a sidesman there. I also 

found that he had a good tenor voice, 

& after much begging & pleading I got 

him to join the choir. He & his wife 

became good friends to me and it was 

a sad occasion some years later when I 

had to play at his funeral. 

Another memory that has stayed with 

me was a School assembly one morn‐ 

ing when the Boss announced that 

Ken Fearnside had passed the ma‐ 

triculation with distinctions in all eight 

subjects. A feat previously unheard of 

at the High School. K F was in the 6 th 

form and I was in the 2 nd . I don’t 

know anything about his future career 

but I did hear a rumour that he was a 

scientific boffin working with others 

on the atom bomb.

My head is full of mostly good 

memories of my time at the High 

School, but I have one more thing to 

say and that is: ‐ I started school when 

I was 4 years old at the Central Infants 

School in Trafalgar Street West, and 

met Ken Farmborough who was also 

starting school there but was 8 months 

older. We both started & finished 

school together. Kept in touch 

throughout the war, were best man at 

our weddings (he was a year ahead of 

me) & we still meet every months for a 

jar in the Nag’s Head at Scalby. 

SPEECH DAY 1965 – 

QUEEN STREET 

Mike Mulvana 

The significance of the photo is two‐ 

fold. It is not a sporting team but a 

gathering of academic achievers, the 

prize‐winners for the academic year 

1964 to 1965. Secondly it involves every 

academic year of the School at that 

time. 

In the second row, starting from sixth 

from the right, you will see the top of 

the class for 3C, Mike Mulvana, Ian 

Cook and Phil Cook, all of whom will 

be at the Old Scarborians Dinner on 2 nd 

December. 

Additionally, there are some characters 

in the line up that everybody knows. 

Wouldn’t it be fulfilling to put a name 

to everybody? I have submitted a ma‐ 

trix with the names I know but there 

are many gaps. As Summer Times is 

not Wikipedia, any of my errors cannot 

44 

be corrected on line but you may care 

to confirm who you know and what 

you know about them. (Sorry Harvey!) 

The third row is most intriguing. 

Fourth from the left, Parry, say no 

more! Then Eefie Clark, Olympic Judo 

aspirant and one‐armed bouncer who 

protected the weak in our favourite 

nightclub, The Penthouse. Next is Har‐ 

vey Proctor, defeated by the Filey Na‐ 

tionalists in the 1963 mock election, but 

eventually elected to the Houses of 

Parliament before entering the fashion 

world. The next guy I just know as 

Heron. Then Pillar! 

The bunch on the far right is listening 

intently. Look at their ears. Please send 

the names you know, especially if it is 

you, to Summer Times and we will build 

up the full roll call. 

Back Row (L/R) –– Ward (1), Charlie 

Warwick(6), Dave Pickup(8) 

Third Row (L/R) –– Southwick (2), 

Parry (4), Dave Clark (Eefie) (5),Harvey 

Proctor(6), Heron (7) 

Second Row (L/R) ‐–– Joseph Jaconelli 

(1), Michael Lewins (6), Hopkinson 

(8), Mike Mulvana (9), Ian Cook (10), 

Phil Cook(11), Dan Simmons (12), 

Paul Betts (13) 

Front Row (L/R) –– Hunter (8), Peter 

Lewins(9), Nick Simmons (10), Gour‐ 

lay (11) 

On the matter of the Old Scarborians 

Dinner, the attendance of entry years 

1961 and 1962 are growing in numbers. 

We have enjoyed each others company 

over drinks and dinner and used the

event to have a re‐union with some 

very close friends in an arena where 

many other similar groups are doing 

the same. If you have attended before 

and been disappointed, then now is the 

time to try it again. Look up some old 

school friends and use the occasion to 

meet up and enjoy their company and 

spill over into others. 

(Ed. Mike did forward a matrix for the 

photograph, which is not easily directly 

reproducible in the Magazine, particularly 

by your computer challenged Editor, but is 

hopefully as listed above, and any other 

names submitted with descriptions of their 

location on the photo, will be scrupulously 

recorded!) 

45 

ATKINSON GRIMSHAW 

Atkinson Grimshaw and Castle‐by‐ 

the Sea are names that may mean little 

to many old Scarborians and they do 

pre‐date the opening of the School at 

Westwood by some 40 years, at least so 

far as his Scarborough connection is 

concerned, but for those of us inter‐ 

ested in the history of Scarborough and 

some very evocative paintings, usually 

at night in reflected light, of the town in 

the latter part of the 19th Century, he 

presents an interesting subject. 

John Atkinson Grimshaw was born 

in Leeds in 1836 in humble surround‐ 

ings. Although he does not seem to 

have received any formal training as an 

artist, and in fact began his working life 

as a clerk with the Great Northern Rail‐

way Company, he gave this up in 1861 

to paint full‐time. Whilst his early 

works were heavily influenced by the 

Pre‐Raphaelites, by the late 1860’s he 

turned to the depiction of moonlight, 

which was to become his trademark, 

and upon which most of his finest pic‐ 

tures, including a number of aspects of 

Scarborough, are based. 

In 1870, after moving around Leeds, 

the family settled at Old Hall, Knos‐ 

trop, a 17 th century stone Manor house 

2 miles east of Leeds town centre, and it 

remained as his principal family home 

for the next 23 years. Recognition 

brought him artistic and financial suc‐ 

cess, the main elements of which com‐ 

prised large canvases with damp au‐ 

tumnal views, docks and shipping 

scenes, by half or evening light, incor‐ 

porating wet roads, lights from shop 

windows and reflections on water in a 

style that was very much his own. 

This recognition encouraged him in 

the 1870’s to rent a second home at 

Scarborough which he called –Castle ‐ 

by‐ the‐Sea, (from a Longfellow poem) 

a substantial building now a hotel, stra‐ 

tegically sited in Mulgrave Place on the 

neck of land near the Castle and St 

Mary’s Church, commanding un‐ 

equalled views of both the North and 

South Bays. 

A plaque on the property now recalls 

this connection with the Town. He 

spent a considerable time each summer 

staying there, using it as a place of en‐ 

tertainment for his friends, including 

George Du Maurier and Ellen Terry. Its 

builder and the occupant of “the Tow‐ 

ers” along the road was Thomas Jarvis, 

46 

a wealthy Scarborough Brewer who 

was to be Grimshaw’s chief local pa‐ 

tron. They met when Grimshaw 

painted “The Old Gates, Yew Court, 

Scalby” for him, one of several pictures 

of the property at Scalby. ( Yew Court 

was built in 1742 on the site of a much 

older building with reputed religious 

connections. It was extended and 

adorned with gables in the 1890’s and 

later bought by William Catlin of the 

entertainments empire before being 

converted into flats in 1962.) 

In 1871 he painted a view in oils of 

the South Bay (see picture) –– a night 

scene major in scale, with fisher folk 

landing the catch watched over by the 

massive new Grand Hotel. The town 

was to become his favourite subject, for 

example “Lights in the Harbour”, and 

shortly after taking over Castle–by –the 

‐ Sea the Grimshaw family witnessed 

the burning of the Spa Pavilion, upon 

which he subsequently based his paint‐ 

ing “Sic Transit Gloria Mundi” . The 

move to the coast inspired much of his 

most attractive work; he, throughout 

his career always being attracted by 

ships, the sea, docks, and all things 

maritime. Equally dramatic are a series 

of paintings featuring a burning tar 

barrel which used to be lit in the har‐ 

bour entrance to guide in the fishing 

boats returning during a storm. One of 

his most successful works, the venue 

for which is still recognizable, is “Forge 

Valley, near Scarborough” of which there 

are several versions, in which the scene 

is saturated in moonlight with much 

finely observed detail in the road tracks 

and shadows.

47 

However, in the middle of this prosperity came financial disaster, the details of 

which are unclear, but forced the disposal of the Scarborough property, and also

esulted in a greater output of paintings 

in response. He then also produced a 

series of great views of London and the 

Thames, although in his final years he 

reverted to a simpler style of estuary 

and snow scenes. He died in October 

1893 in Leeds and was buried in Wood‐ 

house Cemetery. 

Whilst they do not represent the best 

of his works, ( which are now of con‐ 

siderable value if recent sale prices are 

to be believed) Scarborough Art Gal‐ 

lery holds 5 of his paintings –– Lights 

in the Harbour (1879), Sic Transit Glo‐ 

ria Mundi – The burning of the Spa 

Saloon (1876) Scarborough Lights 

(c1877), Yew Tree Court Scalby, and 

“Burning Off”‐a fishing boat at Scar‐ 

borough (1877), and for anyone inter‐ 

ested in a moody ,albeit perhaps ro‐ 

mantic view of the town some 150 

years ago, with views we all can still 

recall, these are well worth a visit. 

48 

TRIVIA 

Bons Mots- 

Some men are graduated from College 

cum laude, some are graduated summa 

cum laude and some are graduated mir‐ 

abile dictum –– WH Taft. 

We sit through Shakespeare in order to 

recognize the quotations ––‐ Orson 

Welles. 

Drawing on my fine command of lan‐ 

guage I said nothing. –– Robert 

Benchley 

A Cynic ‐ A blackguard whose faulty 

vision sees things as they are and not as 

they ought to be. –– Ambrose Bierce. 

He has occasional flashes of silence 

which make his conversation perfectly 

delightful –– Sidney Smith 

He was born stupid, and greatly in‐ 

creased his birthright.

.When he said we were trying to make a 

fool of him, I could only murmur that 

the Creator had beaten us to it. 

A self made man ‐ Yes – , and he wor‐ 

ships his creator –– William Cowper. 

He was not made for climbing the Tree 

of Knowledge. 

Thoughts for the day- 

I have finally come to the conclusion 

that a good reliable set of bowels is 

worth more to a man than any amount 

of brains. 

The optimist proclaims that we live in 

the best of all possible worlds and the 

pessimist fears that this is true. –– J B 

Cabell 

Senescence begins and Middle Age 

ends The day your descendants Out‐ 

number your friends –– Ogden Nash 

There are three signs of aging ‐ The first 

is that you tend to forget things rather 

easily –– and for the life of me, I don’t 

know what the other two are –– Em‐ 

manuel Celler 

Old Age is when it takes you longer to 

have a good time than to have it –– EC 

McKenzie 

49 

The best part of being an Oldie is that 

you get to be eccentric and young peo‐ 

ple have to be polite and patronise your 

idiosyncrasies. –– Nicola Eliason 

Further Puns for those with a 

higher IQ:- 

In democracy your vote counts. In 

feudalism your count votes. 

She was engaged to a boyfriend with a 

wooden leg but broke it off. 

A chicken crossing the road is poultry 

in motion. 

With her marriage, she got a new name 

and a dress. 

The man who fell into an upholstery 

machine is fully recovered. 

You feel stuck with your debt if you 

canʹt budge it. 

Every calendarʹs days are numbered. 

A lot of money is tainted ‐ Taint yours 

and taint mine. 

A boiled egg in the morning is hard to 

beat. 

He had a photographic memory that 

was never developed. 

A midget fortune‐teller who escapes 

from prison is a small medium at large. 

PLEA FOR LETTERS/ARTICLES 

After a spate of material for the last May issue, the number of contributions 

has shown signs of diminishing somewhat recently, hopefully not because the 

flow of interesting recollections, reminiscences, and stories on the part of 

Members has now dried up, and it is hoped that this note may serve as a tact‐ 

ful reminder that your Magazine NEEDS THESE as the lifeblood of its sur‐ 

vival for the future, particularly given the success of the appeal and also the 

welcome influx of “younger” Members.

Once youʹve seen one shopping centre, 

youʹve seen a mall. 

Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead‐ 

to‐know basis. 

50 

Santaʹs helpers are subordinate 

clauses. 

Acupuncture is a jab well done. 

Why not Advertise in Summer Times? 

Summer Times is published twice a year and is mailed to around 

500 members, world wide. 

Additionally, the magazine appears on our web site in colour. 

And the prices to advertise? 

Full page outside back cover £70 

Full page inside covers £65 

Full page inside £55 

Half page inside £35 

Quarter page inside £20 

Details from: 

Chris Found, 

‘Pinewood’, 

SILPHO, SCARBOROUGH. YO13 0JP 

E‐mail DeeFound@btinternet.com 

Phone 01723 882343

51 

FARTHINGS PUBLISHING 

David Fowler 

8/1 Avenue Victoria, 

SCARBOROUGH YO11 2QB 

dgfowler@farthings.org.uk 01723 365448 

http://www.farthings‐publishing.com 

Please contact us or visit our web site to obtain Frank (Billy) 

Binder’s Sown With Corn at £15 inc. UK delivery. 

We are also republishing Binder’s A Journey in England and this 

should be available soon. 

Many books – some by Old Boys — are available from our web 

site www.farthings‐publishing.com 

PUBLISHING: Why not let us quote to publish YOUR book. To 

format and prepare your book and provide the first profession‐ 

ally produced copy can cost as little as £149 including a first free 

proof copy. 

Copies thereafter can cost as little as £4 each. You can buy from 

one copy upwards although there is no obligation to purchase 

any. Discount applies to bulk orders. 

Whilst we prefer your manuscript to be in digital (computer) 

format, if your book is ‘in your head’, let us interview you, tran‐ 

scribe your story, and prepare and publish your book for you. 

You retain copyright at all times. 

http://www.Farthings-publishing.com

52 

www.MsAglobalsolutions.com 

PROBLEM SOLVING ISN’T SOMETHING WE DO AT MSA… 

...IT’S WHAT WE DO AT MSA”

1 

St Nicholas Cliff, Scarborough, North Yorkshire, YO11 2ES 

Tel:01723 368161 Fax: 01723 371547 

Web: www.palmcourtscarborough.co.uk 

Email: info@palmcourt-scarborough.co.uk 

Commanding a wonderful town centre position, the Palm Court 

Hotel offers an uncompromising commitment to quality, service 

and comfort. 

All 41 bedrooms are en-suite and are well appointed, offering 

wi-fi access throughout. 

There is guaranteed free, secure undercover parking available - 

unique for Scarborough town centre hotels. 

Our elegant dining room serves the finest cuisine using the best 

fresh seasonal ingredients, complemented by a selection of 

wines from around the world. 

The Palm Court hotel is the perfect place from which to explore, 

relax and enjoy Scarborough, the beautiful coastline and the 

North York Moors, whether for business or leisure. 

Special Offer Packages available throughout the year

1 

Published for The Old Scarborians Association. Editorial 01604 767895 

Design & Layout - www.Farthings –Publishing.com 01723 365448 

Printed by Prontaprint, 5 Station Shops, Westborough, Scarborough 

Telephone 01723 367715

Association - Old Scarborians

Create successful ePaper yourself

Delete template?

Save as template?