Summer Times is the Journal of the Old Scarborians Association

Summer Times
Summer Times is 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 45 May 2004
Old Scarborians Association
Web address: http://oldscarborians.org
Price £1.50

David Pottage
International Golf Course
Architect
A Complete Service
from
Project Appraisal
through
Detailed Design
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70 Whitesmead Road
Old Town
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Herts. SG1 3JZ
Tel: 01438 221026
Fax:01438 229271
e-mail davidpottage@ntlworld.com
Member European Institute of Golf Course Architects

1
PRESIDENT’S APPEAL
Gentlemen
Your Association needs members with long arms, and
short pockets!
Do not turn the page!!!!!
The Old Scarborians Association needs funds to continue
the twice yearly issue of Summer Times and to
continue to meet the Web site costs.
The production and delivery of two issues of Summer
Times a year, and the hosting costs of the web site,
costs approximately £1,600 a year, and other than a
few membership fees each year the Association is dependent
on donations to survive.
I am sure you will all agree with me that the magazines,
and web site, are superb links without which
the contact between us all would slowly wither and
die.
Over the years a number of members have kindly donated
funds and during the last few months donations
were made that covered the costs of this issue. For
these the committee is very grateful.
Please read the pieces that follow by the Secretary,
Treasurer and Editor for greater detail.
If you feel, as an individual, or as a firm, that you can
help us finance the future of the OSA then please give
generously - every tenner helps!
Many thanks to those who have already contributed
this year.
MICK BOWMAN
PRESIDENT

COMMITTEE 2003-2004
PRESIDENT
Mick Bowman,
9 Ilkley Grove, Guisborough, Cleveland
TS14 8LL
Tel: +44 (0)1287 634650
E‐mail: mjwb@supanet.com
IMMEDIATE PAST PRESIDENT
Ron Gledhill +44 (0)1723 362644
HONORARY LIFE VICE
PRESIDENTS
Frank R Bamforth +44 (0)1723 364432
Jack Layton +44 (0)1723 362455
Geoff Nalton +44 (0)1723 354268
Doug Owen +44 (0)1723 360960
SECRETARY
Peter Robson, Forge Villa, High Street,
Ebberston, North Yorkshire. YO13 9PA
Tel: +44 (0)1723 859335
E‐mail: Peter.Robson@btinternet.com
MEMBERSHIP SECRETARY/
Deputy Secretary
Colin Hurd, ʹLing Vistaʹ, Quarry Bank,
Burniston, SCARBOROUGH,North
Yorkshire, YO13 0JF Tel: +44(0)1723 870597)
E‐mail: colinhurd@yahoo.co.uk
FINANCIAL, SPORT, &
MAGAZINE ADVERTISING
Chris Found, Pinewood Cottage, Silpho,
Scarborough. North Yorkshire.
YO13 0JP Tel: +44 (0)1723 882343
E‐mail: DFound@ukf.net
SUMMER TIMES EDITORIAL
Please send all items for the next Summer
Times to:
David Fowler,
56 Prince of Wales Apartments,
Esplanade,
Scarborough, North Yorkshire. YO11 2BB
Tel: +44 (0)1723 365448
E‐mail: osa@farthings.org.uk
2
Deputy Editor
John Mann
(Tel: H: +44 (0)1948 662943; M: 0799 0787089)
E‐mail: john.e.mann@ukgateway.net
OSA WEB SITE
http://oldscarborians.org
Please send all items for the web site, to:
Bill Potts, 1848 Hidden Hills Drive, Roseville,
CA 95661-5804, USA
Tel: +1 916 773-3865
E‐mail: osa@wfpconsulting.com
PUBLICITY
Mick Bowman,
9 Ilkley Grove, Guisborough, Cleveland
TS14 8LL
Tel: +44 (0)1287 634650
E‐mail: mjwb@supanet.com
COMMITTEE MEMBERS
Colin Adamson +44 (0)1723 364373
Paul Gridley +44 (0)1723 370806
Maurice Johnson +44 (0)1262 470272
Michael Peart +44 (0)1723 864164
Eric Rushforth +44 (0)1723 364018
Geoff Winn +44 (0)1723 362414
Ex Officio
Chris Coole, Auditor +44(0)1723 577587
CONTENTS
1. President’s Appeal
2. Contact details
3. Editorial
4. Presidential
Secretarial
6. Treasurial
Membership Secretary
7. Sporting
OSA web site report
8. Committee Profile ‐ Geoff Winn
9. Committee Profile ‐ David Fowler
14. New Members
15. From Here & There
18. Obituaries
20. A Frank Binder Update
22. Memories from Ken Pepper
23. Old Bill Remembers
24. Dave Hepworth’s Memories
26. Walter Rogers Remembers

26. Lyndon Wainwright ’s Appeal
27. Alan Swanson Remembers
27. 50 years on—The Hospital Cup
28. The Bright Bowl – John Found
30. Michael Rines’ Cricketing Memories
37. Ted Lester remembers
38. The School at War ‐ The Short Dynasty
41. ‐ Hov’s War Memoir
47. Crossword
49. A Visit to Romania
52. Ha’Penny Customs – Frank Bamforth
53. Further Recollections – Peter Newham
54. Graham School Appeal
54. The Chuckling Mountaineer—Gerald
. Hinchliffe
57. Old School Friends Meet
59. Sports photos
60. Final snippets
61. Future events
62. Postscript
Please send items for the next Summer
Times to David Fowler, (address on page 2)
as soon as possible and to reach him by 1st
August 2004. Items sent by e‐mail or on
floppy disk or CD are of great help; other‐
wise please type, or write, on one side of
your paper.
EDITORIAL
I hope you enjoy Volume
45 of Summer Times.
Recent appeals for maga‐
zine contributions have
borne fruit, and, with the
valued assistance pro‐
vided by our regular con‐
tributors, this edition
contains the ‘normal’ maximum 64 pages ‐ the
size being governed by postal costs.
However, we do need many more contribu‐
tions for future issues, from as many mem‐
bers, and over as wide a range of topics as
possible. Please send these direct to me (my
details are on page 2) but please do not expect
an acknowledgement unless you particularly
3
ask for one. The vast majority of contributions
appear in the magazine in one form or another
– but not necessarily in the following edition.
Each issue of Summer Times takes some weeks
to prepare to the final print—ready standard,
so acknowledgments do not always get the
priority they perhaps deserve.
Contributions should be submitted, preferably
by e‐mail or on floppy disk, but alternatively
typed, or hand written – but, if the latter, legi‐
bly please!
E‐mailed or floppy disk submissions can eas‐
ily be ‘pasted’ straight into the magazine – all
that is then required is to amend the font, size,
and format and spacing, and to prepare any
photographs. Typed submissions need scan‐
ning, then converting to a text format which
can be edited and amended to the style of the
magazine. Lastly, hand‐written submissions
need completely retyping. All design and type
setting is done in‐house to save the additional
hefty charges that would arise were this to be
left to our printer.
These guidelines are not intended to discour‐
age hand‐written submissions and some of
our best content arrives that way. However, if
you have alternatives at your disposal, or you
can ’borrow’ your children’s or grandchil‐
dren’s computer, please consider trying out
the electronic means of transfer. If you have‐
n’t, don’t be put off from submitting your
handwritten contribution.
My appeal for contributions is but half of the
equation.
You will see elsewhere in the magazine that
your committee appeals for funds to enable us
to continue to produce two editions of Summer
Times each year. We also need funds, but on a
smaller scale, to continue to publish the Old
Scarborians’ web site which attracts acclaim
from far and wide, and which now, inciden‐
tally, attracts more new members than are
gained by ’normal’ postal application.
Remember, virtually all our income comes
from one‐off life subscriptions of only £10.

Not unexpectedly, despite there remaining a
large pool of non‐member Old Boys, new
memberships have dwindled, leading to
income dwindling, with the result that re‐
serves are rapidly being depleted.
Contained within this issue is an Appeal
form. Please don’t ‘bin’ it! Read it, read the
President’s appeal on page 1, read the Secre‐
tary’s and the Treasurer’s reports – then
complete and return the form and be as gen‐
erous as you can.
Thank you to those members who have sub‐
mitted old newsprint photographs. These are
welcome for our archives, but unfortunately
will not reproduce sufficiently well to appear
in Summer Times or the OSA Web site.
Finally, very many thanks to all contributors;
to proof readers; to committee members who
turn up for committee meetings and then are
faced with an ‘Agenda’ of enveloping, label‐
ling and mailing each copy to around 660
members; and lastly to all our members
without whom there wouldn’t be The Old
Scarborians’ Association, or Summer Times.
David Fowler (1949-55)
Editor
PRESIDENTIAL
May I say how honoured
I was to be re‐elected as
President this year.
Again the year started
with the Christmas Din‐
ner, which I hope all pre‐
sent were able to enjoy
and accept that all is done
for the good of the Association regardless of
the way it sometimes appears.
There was a break with tradition this year as
the Boxing Day rugby was played on the
27th December in front of quite a large
crowd. Once again Peter Pan Emms turned
out but there was a train of thought that he
played a far more important role when he
4
was substituted and started serving port!
Well done Peter.
The trophy was presented by our youngest
old boy and the Rugby Clubʹs captain Nigel
Wilson. Although he was there kitted up he
was, for some reason, unable to get a game
for either side!
Again we thank Barry Beanland for his ef‐
forts with this fixture.
The only other event prior to this issue was
Bob Watsonʹs 81st birthday do. Bob is still as
sprightly as ever.
To finish I would like once again to thank the
committee for their continual support, to
Chris for keeping us solvent, Colin for taking
on the role of Membership Secretary, David
for Summer Times and Bill for the Web site.
Last but by no means least, of course, Peter
for his continuous hard work on the OSAʹs
behalf.
Mick Bowman (1954-61)
President
SECRETARIAL
numbers.
Following his election as
Membership Secretary at
the AGM in Nov 2003, I
have passed the member‐
ship files to Colin Hurd. In
future he will be reporting
amongst other things, the
trend in membership
I retain the sad responsibility of reporting
the deaths of members. During the past six
months, I have been informed of the passing
of the following:‐ David Mclintock (1939‐46),
Robin Pinder (1947‐54) and Joe Cooper
(1936‐44). I also saw announcements con‐
cerning Robert Palmer, Geoff White and
George Cooper, who were Old Scabs but not
members of the Association.
With this edition you will find an Appeal

A Home from Home with Qualified Nursing
Care
A family run home with the emphasis on a gentle and loving ap‐
proach. Our home provides comfort and privacy when desired and
long or short respite stay; private or funded are all welcome. There
is a smoking lounge for relatives and residents, and two south fac‐
ing sunny day rooms. Even though we are in a rural location, a
private transport service can be arranged for people, if they find
visiting their relatives or friend a problem. You are welcome to
visit our Nursing Home anytime, for more information please call
our
5
Matron: Judy Roddison
8-14 Primrose Valley Road, Filey, North Yorkshire
YO14 9QR
TEL: 01723 513545
Proprietor: Capt. E.J.Baines M.N.I M.R.I.N.

letter from the Committee seeking funds to
enable us to continue to support the web site
and two issues of Summer Times each year
for the immediate future. Please consider this
appeal seriously and respond positively if at
all possible. As the numbers of new members
joining us diminishes, so does our income,
as our main source is from one‐off life mem‐
bership fees of £10.
I am wont to say that the older you get the
faster the time passes. I took over the Secre‐
taryship at the AGM in November 1999 and
the time has gone very quickly since then; a
blur of dinners and meetings, though the
Centenary year in 2002 still stands out as
something special.
I am also wont to believe that that you get
the best work out of an individual during his
first five years in a job and I am going to
follow my own dictum and resign my re‐
sponsibilities as Secretary at the next AGM.
This will hopefully allow a younger, brighter
and livelier talent to drive the Association
forward for the next five years.
I have enjoyed my work as your Secretary
and have particularly enjoyed corresponding
with many of you. I further look forward to
seeing you at lunches and dinners for many
years to come.
Peter Robson (1945-53)
Secretary
TREASURIAL
As always expected, our
financial situation has
gone into reverse and we
can expect continuing
significant excesses of
expenditure over income
to arise if we continue to
run the Association as
we are doing. This will reduce our assets to
nil within two or three years. The cost of the
website is higher this year, as previously the
cost has been donated and also this year we
6
changed our domain and our hosting com‐
pany. New subscriptions have slowed sub‐
stantially and, although our events were all
run at a profit, this alone does not keep us
afloat financially.
On the November issue of Summer Times we
inserted a cover price of £1.50 to draw our
members’ attention to the approximate cost.
At the AGM we considered various options
in some detail including,
a) Charging for the magazine. This had some
appeal as members could then opt in or out.
However, it would complicate our database
and would add to the Secretarial and Mem‐
bership Secretary’s duties.
b) Increasing the cost of our dinners and
other activities to factor in a reasonable profit
margin. This would be equitable in that those
who are able to take part in our activities
would underwrite most of the costs of the
Association. However, on the other hand for
instance, overseas postage costs are much
greater than inland rates, and it was queried
whether it was fair for members supporting
events to subsidise other members who did
not choose, or were unable, to attend.
c) Appealing to members for donations. This
was felt to be a simple solution and, depend‐
ing on the response, should cover our imme‐
diate problems.
d) Asking members for a further subscrip‐
tion, possibly payable on a 3 or 5 yearly
basis. This had attractions, but we could get
refusals from members who have paid a Life
Subscription. Also the Treasurer’s duties
would increase substantially.
At the AGM the Committee decided to adopt
option c) – To appeal to members for dona‐
tions, and an Appeal form is enclosed with
this edition.
Chris Found (1951-59)
Treasurer

MEMBERSHIP SECRETARY
I took over as Member‐
ship Secretary at the last
AGM when we had a
total membership of 642.
At the time of writing the
total is 659.
The Scarborough Eve‐
ning News agreed to
provide some editorial in an attempt to en‐
courage new old boys to join us as members.
This appeared, together with a photograph
of the school in 1954, on 13th April. Depend‐
ing on the success of this, I intend to go
through the admissions registers and seek
out old boys who are not members.
We had 284 members with email addresses
when I took over and now have 306. Any
member who has not let us have his e‐mail
address should contact me with it if appro‐
priate. My contact details appear no page 2.
Sadly we have had 2 deaths reported since I
took over this role.
Colin Hurd (1952-58)
Membership Secretary
SPORTING EVENTS
The golf days for 2004
are as follows:
Dr Meadley ‐ Thursday
3rd June
TA Smith ‐ Thursday
22nd July
Both these competitions
will have the same for‐
mat as before and the usual Dinner will be
held on the evening of 22nd July at North
Cliff Golf Club.
In addition this year we are hoping to have
an international postal golf competition for
rounds played in June and we have already
received the first entry from Bill (George)
Kendall in Queensland, Australia. This is
open to any member in the world, including
7
U.K. members who are not able to get to the
Scarborough competitions. Entry forms are
available if you contact me, Chris Found.
My contact details are on page 2.
Chris Found (1951-59)
Golf Secretary
OLD SCARBORIANS WEB
SITE REPORT
In my November 2003
OSA Web Site Bulletin, I
indicated that I would
have cleared the backlog
of material waiting to be
added to the web site
within a few weeks.
Alas, the pressure of
other responsibilities has
prevented me, even now, from completing
more than a small portion of that task, and
the weeks have turned into months. For
misinforming you about that, please accept
my most abject and grovelling apologies.
The good news, though, is that I managed to
add some photographs to the Drama section
(Twelfth Night, Waiting for Godot, and
Consequences) and the Group section (1936
Lake District Camp, 1942 Army Cadet Camp
and 1944 Farm Camp). Two versions of the
1954 School Photograph competed for inclu‐
sion on the site. Barrie Jubb provided one,
already scanned, and Kneale Marshall pro‐
vided the other—an immaculate original. As
I was able to produce a somewhat sharper
image from the latter, that’s the one that is
now on the site, joining the existing 1942 and
1959 photographs. Like the 1959 one, it is
viewable, in excruciating detail, in four over‐
lapping segments.
As you’ve come to expect with the Events
photographs, David Fowler’s photographic
record of the attendees at the 2003 Dinner
appeared on the site very soon after that
event. A special feature, this time, is the little
celebration that took place, at the Dinner, of

the 50th anniversary of the First XI’s Hospital
Cup victory, with three of the team members
(David “Geeze” Merriweather, Peter Robson
and Norman Overfield) showing off the cup
(which Norm was able to borrow for the occa‐
sion) and, in David and Norm’s cases, their
individual cups.
The 2004 Luncheon photographs should be
there by the time you read this. (That’s one
task I’ve usually been able to complete with
reasonable dispatch.)
I’ve also added a “Year Unknown” category
to the Sports Photographs section, with an
athletic competitors’ posed photograph as the
first entry. If someone can tell me the actual
year, I’ll move the photograph accordingly.
(Even Mick Bowman, who is in the photo‐
graph, isn’t sure of the exact year.)
The Discussion Forum has been a success in
terms of content (interesting topics, for exam‐
ple), if not in actual quantity of messages.
There seems to be some confusion, though,
about the use of the Forum. Please note that,
if you want to reply to messages or post new
ones, you must register as a user. There is a
“Register” menu item in the top right corner
of the initial page of the Forum. Just click on
that and fill in the form (making sure you
enter your email address correctly). After
you’ve submitted the form, you’ll receive an
automatic email message. Click on the link in
that message and your registration will be
complete. I recommend using your real name
(including the space between your given
name and your surname) as your User Name,
so others can immediately identify the mes‐
sages you post as being from you. If you for‐
get your password (which you, of course,
choose), just let me know and I’ll provide you
with a temporary replacement one. (Even as
forum administrator, I’m unable to view any‐
one’s password, so I cannot tell you what
your existing one is.)
If you chose something obscure as your User
Name and would like to change it to your
8
real name, please let me know. There’s no
facility for users to change their User Name,
but the administrator can do it.
Finally, one of the tasks taking time away
from web site maintenance is a book I’m try‐
ing to complete while it is still relevant. It’s
called Bushopedia, and you can read about it
(and see sample entries) at
http://bushopedia.com.
Bill Potts (1946-55)
Webmaster
COMMITTEE PROFILES (1)
Geoff Winn (1949-56)
David Fowler’s pester‐
ing has at last paid off
and I have managed to
sit down for long
enough to put a few
thoughts down on pa‐
per. I had considered
that I had led a fairly
mundane life, but when
I started to make a few notes I realised that
there were some things which may be of in‐
terest!
My first schooling was at Hillside (now The
Cask pub ) from where I moved on to Lisvane
Prep School. The 11 plus was passed at 10
and I duly took my place at SBHS in lA. I
must admit to having enjoyed school, but
having set off at the top of the class, work
seemed to become harder and other interests
were a bit of a distraction! However, I did
manage to pass sufficient O and A levels to
get to university. Perhaps that was the forte
of the school we all attended.
Whilst at school, I suppose my main sporting
interest was cricket but I was always aware
that there were other things in life. I did not
want to follow the path set out by my father,
who lived and breathed Scarborough Cricket
Club for over fifty years to the exclusion of
most other things. I played for all the school

age group teams, mainly as a left arm spinner,
culminating in the 1 st XI in the first year sixth
only to be demoted to the 2nds in my final
year! I also recall the evening games we had
against local village teams as members of the
Mart Regan XI. There were some very good
young cricketers spotted in the school play‐
ground who played in the team thus allowing
their talent to blossom. Nowadays political
correctness and a desire to shelter them from
their elders would presumably not allow this
to happen.
Having completed school, I moved on to
Leeds University to take a B. Com
(Accountancy) degree course. I was not alone
at Leeds as there were several other ex SBHS
pupils there ‐ Cedric Gillings, George Kendall,
Dave Pulsford, Dave Goulding, John Tennant,
Bransby Croft, Peter Youle, etc. Did George
Kendall ever make a profit on his betting ac‐
tivities? I played cricket for the university ‐ I
must admit the standard was not very high ‐
and football for the Economics Society.
In l959, after obtaining my degree, I went to
London in a very hot August to embark on
three years’ articles and sample the world of
work, starting on the princely salary of £400
per annum. I recall that we were given lunch‐
eon vouchers of 15 shillings a week part way
through the first year which were tax free and
you could get a lunch for 2s 9d in those days! I
managed to qualify as a Chartered Accountant
in 1962 and, unlike most other SBHS students
who had got away, returned to Scarborough.
I took over my father’s small practice in late
1962 and decided that I had to go for expan‐
sion. Another practice was bought in Scarbor‐
ough and a further office in Bridlington. In
1969, I merged with a larger firm which was
based mainly in Hull, but which also had
Scarborough and Bridlington offices. We then
had seven partners and six Plc audits. The
latter proved somewhat difficult to defend
against the large firm predators and so it was
decided in 1973 that a merger with one of the
9
big firms was necessary. I was not keen to
move away from Scarborough and so took
back the Scarborough and Bridlington offices
and an office in Market Weighton and com‐
menced again as a sole practitioner. Chris
Found joined me shortly afterwards (see No‐
vember 2003. issue). I retired on 31 st December
last having completed 41 years in practice.
On returning to Scarborough, I continued my
cricket career with Scalby, then Cloughton
from 1966 when I married and lived in the
village, returning to Scalby when we moved
back there. I also continued to play hockey ‐ a
sport I had taken up in London presumably
influenced by the matches which we used to
play on the beach in my latter years at SBHS
against the SGHS ‐ initially at York and then
for Scarborough. I thoroughly enjoyed both
sports, but sadly gave up early because of the
travelling and the demands of parenthood!
Badminton for a time and skiing to this day
took over. Outside office and sporting inter‐
ests, I was a member of Scarborough Round
Table for 15 years and I have been a member
of Rotary for 27 years. I have also been in‐
volved with the Institute of Chartered Ac‐
countants as president of The Humberside
and District Society in l991/2 and served on
the National Council from 1995 to 2003. Lo‐
cally, I have been a director of the Scarbor‐
ough Building Society from 1984 to date and
was chairman for eight years from 1994 to
2002. I was a director and shareholder of Bel‐
vedere Hospital until it was sold against my
wishes to BUPA and recently closed by them. I
have also been involved with a charity, Scar‐
borough Flower Fund Homes for about 30
years and chairman for the past 18 years. We
have managed to build 84 units of accommo‐
dation for the elderly in that time.
I did not think I had much to report, but seem
to have gone on for far too long and so it will
finish there. In any event I thought I was only
an ex‐officio member of the committee!

COMMITTEE PROFILES (2)
David Fowler
(1949-55)
I was born in Scar‐
borough and at‐
tended Gladstone
Road Primary and
Junior schools.
Why Gladstone
Road, I don’t know.
It had a good reputation but we lived in
Newby at the time. However, I recall that my
Aunt’s address in St John’s Avenue was given
– presumably to put me within the catchment
area—if bureaucracy had invented such
things in those far off days.
The St John’s Avenue address caused all sorts
of problems! In the Winter of 1947, myself
aged 9, my sister then 7, and 3 other children
who attended ‘Glaggo Road’, set off from
Throxenby Lane at around twenty past eight –
our usual time to catch the bus on Scalby
Road. Snow was already about 2 feet deep,
and it was still snowing and lying, and as it
was apparent there were no buses, we set off
to walk to school.
It must have been after 10 am when we
trooped in to our different classes, and later in
the morning ‘Pop’ Hall, the Headmaster, gave
me a mild ticking off for being late arriving.
He had apparently thought I had walked
from St John’s Avenue – all of 400 yards
away! To give him credit, he must have spo‐
ken with the other late arrivals, and realised
we had all walked to school together. Later
on, he returned to my classroom and, in front
of everyone, described the five of us as a be‐
ing a good example of ‘commitment to the
school’ on making the effort to get there in the
snow.
Another incident occurred when, for some
reason, the school Bank needed the signature
of one of my parents. It must have seemed
10
urgent at the time as I was sent ‘home’ to
obtain it. When I returned to school over an
hour later, there were suggestions that I had
been malingering – but an hour to Throxenby
and back in those days was not bad going,
despite the teacher thinking I had only had to
go to St John’s Avenue.
I passed my 11 plus and started at the Boys’
High School in September 1949. Somehow I
managed not to be ‘bushed’ and after a year
in 1A, I found myself in the ‘L’ stream with
Les Brown for French and Bon for German.
Bon really terrified me, but much, much later
I had very good reason to be grateful to him.
Academically, I usually languished some‐
where in the lower half of the class, but I
blame this on an Uncle who was a very keen
‘radio ham’ ‐ (he was the husband of my
Aunt in St John’s Avenue and had returned
from being a Prisoner of War since my earlier
“Glaggo Road” days). I think the attraction of
‘helping’ him contact people in far off lands
through the air waves, was of much more
geographical usefulness than Mr Giblett’s
geography homework.
In those days I was the second smallest boy in
the class. In all school photographs I look like
a pixy with sticking out ears. It was only
when I started my National Service that I shot
up to 6 ft 2 inches within a very short time.
I was never a sportsman at school, my peak
sporting achievement being to play Shinty
under the watchful eye of Norman Stoddard
on Olivers Mount. However, I enjoyed being a
School Librarian, and singing with the Junior
and later the Senior choirs. I well remember a
train trip to Whitby where we were taking
part in the Eskdale Festival of Music and
Song. Bransby Croft’s mother, I think it was,
bought us all ice cream at Scarborough Rail‐
way Station on the outward journey. If it was
to relax our vocal chords it certainly worked,
as we won the shield for our class.
After scraping through O levels I left school in
July 1955 at 16 to join Barclays Bank after Joey

had tried to persuade me, as he had many
others, to go into teaching. At the time I
couldn’t think of anything less attractive,
possibly remembering how we had all played
up some of our masters. Prior to joining the
bank I had applied for, and been offered a
junior position at the “Evening News”. I sus‐
pect the excitement generated in 3L when we
put together a form magazine with the en‐
couragement of Gerald Hinchliffe, had proba‐
bly got into my blood and there mixed with
what was there already; my grandfather had
been an author. However, I turned down the
offer, feeling rather dejected that, at my inter‐
view I was only asked one question before
being offered the job—“How do you spell
“Rhubarb?”
I started work in the Bank in the days when
ball point pens were not permitted, and ink
had to be mixed from a special ‘light‐fast’
powder; and blotting paper, pen nibs and ink
had to be changed every Monday morning. I
well remember the then Manager, who lived
above the branch, panicking when he was
told the first girl ever to join our office would
be arriving in a week. “What shall we do
about toilets when Miss Scott arrives? We
only have one, and that one has glass in the
door panels.” The problem was solved by
sticking brown paper over the already frosted,
glazed door panels (possibly to stop Miss
Scott seeing in!), and allowing her to use the
Manager’s facilities in his flat.
In those days there were no Security vans
trundling round delivering and collecting
cash. If we had a surplus, as we usually did,
we did “swops” with other banks if it was
coin, or mailed it to the Bank of England if it
was paper. Dad’s Army really springs to
mind. We had to parcel up the notes, to a
maximum of £5,000, which was considerable
in the 1950’s, tie the parcel with string, add
sealing wax over the knots, address the parcel
to The Bank of England, then stick bright red
and white “HVP” labels all over the parcel. It
11
didn’t take O levels or even the 11 plus to
work out that this stood for “High Value
Packet”. Then, a taxi or sometimes the Man‐
ager’s decrepit car, took us to the Aberdeen
Walk Post Office where we queued to get a
receipt for our parcels of money.
In 1957 I was called up for 2 years National
Service. I had opted for the RAF, in which my
father had served during the war, but they
were only taking people who would sign up
for 3 years, and that would have meant losing
the guarantee from the bank of keeping a job
open for me. So the Army it was. I started
training as a Technical Assistant at Park Hall
Camp in Oswestry – there was no choice of
trade and we were all told what our training
would be, possibly from aptitude tests we
took. After 6 weeks of learning how to work
out the necessary angles and settings for the
distance and thus height that the guns needed
to fire (Norman Stoddard would have been
proud of me), together with square bashing,
bull, painting black lines round the edges of
the billet room floor, and, on one occasion,
painting piles of coal white for a Brigadier’s
inspection; then training with 25 pounder
guns but not being allowed to fire them as it
was the lambing season (we had to shout
“Bang, got you!” down a field telephone), and
receiving and answering many letters from
the delightful Miss Scott whom I had found
the courage to ask out whilst still in Scarbor‐
ough, we were told all our postings would be
on the Regimental Board the next morning.
When I got to the Board and pushed through
the crush, I read, “Fowler DG, Gunner, To 1st
Regiment, Royal Horse Artillery, Munster,
Germany”. Fear gripped me. I’d hardly ever
seen a horse, let alone ridden one! However,
when I arrived at the Regiment I realised that
the guns in those days were sophisticated
motorised American M44’s which were not
pulled by horses. In fact the only horse I ever
saw in all my time with the Regiment was the
Commanding Officer’s polo pony.

The morning after we arrived we were all on
parade in ill‐fitting uniforms and new and
very stiff boots. “Step forward TARA’s,”
shouted the Sergeant on our first parade.
Around 20 of us shuffled forward. He only
wanted 5 Technical Assistants and he started
at the other end of the line ‐ so it was then a
matter of, “What did you do in civvy street,
lad?” When it got to my turn I said I’d
worked in a bank. “Just the thing,” he said,
“we want someone to write up the books in
the Officers’ Mess.”
That proved a good move for me. Excused
all parades, I could wear shoes, had my own
room, was dangled the possibility of a stripe
to Lance Bombardier after 6 months, and
received more pay than the £12 a month the
bank had been giving me.
But it got better. As a result of my rudimen‐
tary bookkeeping skills I discovered the
Sergeant in charge of Officers’ Mess hospital‐
ity was on the fiddle. Crates of beer, spirits,
cigarettes, and so on were being delivered to
his married quarters ‐ but the bills were be‐
ing paid by the Officers’ Mess.
I pondered how to deal with it. I was 90%
certain it was a fiddle, but my bookkeeping
skills in those days were at the lower end of
the scale of competence, so I remained a little
worried. I decided to have a word, off the
record, with the PMC – the President of the
Mess Committee, a white‐haired, whiskery
old Major whose name I now forget. One
thing led to another, a Board of Enquiry was
held and the Mess Sergeant was demoted
and shipped back to Blighty. He had been up
to his games – and had until then got away
with it – for at least 5 years.
The 1st RHA was a senior regiment and did
a lot of entertaining. With cigarettes costing
under 10s/0d for 200, and spirits at less than
10s/0d a litre, plus everyone receiving over‐
seas pay, it was not hard to see why.
The Sergeant’s departure left a vacancy and I
12
was told it would take at least 6 months to
get a suitably experienced replacement Ser‐
geant. In the meantime I would be expected
to do the job ‐ and still keep the Mess books
in order!
They kitted me out with Uniform “Blues”
with gold braid dripping from shoulders and
chest, and I started a very steep learning
curve; effectively the job of an Hotel Man‐
ager running a Mess for 50 officers and
guests, including senior forces officers and,
occasionally, royalty.
After a month they gave me my first stripe,
which I thought was pretty good going, and
the second followed after three months. They
apologised that there was no chance of pro‐
motion to Sergeant. There was some prece‐
dent that National Service men could get no
further than the rank of Bombardier. How‐
ever, I did get more money for the stripes
and they did pay me ’extra duty pay’ for all
hours worked after 5.00 pm. There were also
freebies, such as having better food than the
normal Army rations, skiing in the Harz
Mountains and visiting Amsterdam and
Hamburg.
The duties involved organising the Mess,
making sure the Officers and their guests
were comfortable, buying food in the Ger‐
man shops to supplement Army rations,
arranging functions, dinner nights and
Menus, being responsible for the display and
security of silver (very large elaborate pieces
and normally held in a vault), accommodat‐
ing the Judge Advocate when an occasional
court martial was pending, and Royalty
when the late Princess Margaret visited,
learning about wines and alcoholic drinks
(Roses Bitter, and the occasional sherry were
the extent of my knowledge until then), and
turning a blind eye when Officers
‘entertained’ their girl friends in their rooms.
Remember, it was the ‘50’s.
The replacement Sergeant did not arrive for
well over a year by which time I had started

to tick off my last weeks on the Calendar. The
new Sergeant, a dour little Scot, and I got on
well and he was happy for us to share his
role, with me doing the late night functions,
and sleeping in the next morning, and him
starting early in the mornings to cover break‐
fast.
“What,” you may say, “has any of this to do
with SBHS?” Well, to look after 50 Officers,
we had Army chefs, batmen, drivers and so
on, but we also employed a German civilian
staff of around 20.
There was still a bit of post‐war feeling and
whilst the civilians were pleasant enough,
they had stroppy periods when they refused
to speak English, which meant me having to
speak in German. From a halting start, Bon’s
teaching really paid dividends and from then
on I looked on him as something of a father
figure and frequently mouthed a quiet
“thank‐you” to him.
I left the Regiment late in February 1959 and I
still have the tankard with which the officers
presented me. I don’t remember much of the
leaving party they threw for me as I was
presented with a Magnum of champagne and
was “ordered” not to share it, or go to bed,
until I had finished the bottle. That was one
of the very few occasions when I could not
remember much after the first tankard full!
On rejoining the bank in Bridlington, life
seemed very tame and it took some time to
settle down. Bank exams followed and even‐
tually, through Night school and correspon‐
dence courses – there was no study time off
in those days ‐ I qualified as an ACIB (then
supposed to be of degree standard), and was
later elected to Fellowship.
By that time Miss Scott had moved on to
pastures new and I had met Eileen through
rehearsals for one of the Open Air Theatre
shows, Rose Marie. She was a dancer and I
was in the mens’ chorus. Performances were
on a Monday and Thursday ‐ but if they were
13
rained off before the interval you had to be
available on a Tuesday and Friday for a re‐
peat performance. It followed that on wet
nights, costumes sometimes got very wet as,
wherever possible we played through to the
interval so we didn’t have to appear again the
following night.
Eileen and I married in 1963. We have one
daughter, Susan who has been involved in
the technical side of West End theatre for
many years but who has now moved to Bury.
Promotion in the bank followed, but, in those
days meant many house moves within a com‐
paratively small geographic area. The bank
felt that you had to be involved in the local
community to get business and that meant
living in that community. By the time I took
early retirement in 1994 from Ryedale I had
three subordinate managers and I was per‐
sonally responsible for lending of well over
£20M ‐ at 1994 values. These days, it seems
the computer decides who can borrow, and
how much, and very young Managers, who
would probably have been called “clerks” in
my day, seem to come 10 a penny.
Interests included Lions International in
which I held various offices over 38 years of
membership, and committee work for many
charities including MacMillan Cancer Relief,
and the British Heart Foundation. In 1988, a
highlight was to attend a Garden Party at
Buckingham Palace and to wander through
the palace, long before it was open to the
paying public.
I was a School Governor for a number of
years and a Business Adviser to Prince
Charles’ Youth Business Trust. I met him in
York in 1996 at a Trust event and found him
to be very friendly and approachable. He sent
all Advisers a Christmas card each year ‐
normally a reproduction of one of his own
water colours.
I am a Vigneron d’honneur de la Association
de la Jurade de St. Emilion – (Les Brown

would be proud), a body based in Bordeaux
which was originally chartered on the 8th July
1199 (yes, proof readers, 1199!) and whose
members are tasked with ensuring that wines
bearing the St Emilion label are of the highest
quality. Members are presented with a red wax
sealed parchment scroll written in mediaeval
French and, for formal Jurade events, a scarlet
and ermine épitoge, worn over the left shoul‐
der, is the badge of office
Whilst theatre, in one form or another, has
been an interest for most of my life, my only
claims to theatrical fame are, first, being the
Mountie in ‘Rose Marie’ at the Open Air Thea‐
tre whose Mountie hat slowly descended over
his ears, then his eyes, during a performance in
a rain storm, as the paper padding keeping the
hat up dissolved. Second, in the late 1970’s, I
was King (Eileen was Queen) in a local ballet
production of Swan Lake. I had lost a bet with
friend and Ballet School owner Susan Richards
which led to the appearance. For part of the
performance we had to sit on thrones at the
back of the stage, and it was only on the last
night that someone asked me if I realised that,
as I nodded my head to the music, reflections
from the “jewels” in my crown sent darts of
coloured light all over the theatre. And last, in
1990 I can claim a mention in Sir Alan
Ayckbourn’s play, ‘Man of the Moment’. This
refers to my interest at the time in competition
rifle and pistol shooting. Luckily I didn’t have
to play the part of myself. I appear on page 33
of the Faber and Faber edition of the play.
Present interests include the Stephen Joseph
Theatre, (which formerly, of course, was in the
old Westwood school building but is now in
what was the Odeon Cinema), Photography,
Travel, Wine, Family history, Opera – particu‐
larly Puccini, and, of course the Old Scarbori‐
ans Association.
I am also a director of two small local compa‐
nies and a trustee and Finance and Staffing
Chairman of a local charity.
Hobbies over the years have been numerous –
14
possibly as I am a Gemini. I built a radio the
size of a matchbox, when domestic portables
were the size of briefcases; a very early elec‐
tronic calculator (which still works ‐ but would
be a blessing to anyone with shares in a battery
company), a black and white valve Television
set, long before transistors became the norm
and long before colour sets were available; and
a Grandfather clock which still ticks away the
hours. And that seems a timely point to bring
these ramblings to a close, or the Editor will be
sharpening his blue pencil!!
NEW MEMBERS
Welcome to the following new, or re‐joined
members. After the listing, comments appear
where these were provided.
Raymond Armstrong (1964‐70)
David Bates FCIB (1964‐71)
Roger Beaumont (1949‐54)
Barrie Kenneth Davis BSc. ARCSc. MSc. DIC
(1945‐47)
John Devine (1959‐66)
Patrick Devine (1953‐60)
Richard Allan Frenneaux MIIE (1953‐58)
Howard Geister (1964‐65)
Bernard Goulding (1959‐65)
Bernard Jones (1949‐54)
Harvey McGregor QC (1937‐44)
Richard Neighbour (1953‐60)
John Nockels BA (1955‐63)
Trevor Pepper (1959‐63)
Peter Popple (1950‐55)
Albert Stanley Robson (1935‐40)
Stanley Sedman (1950‐54)
Harold Simpson Rawling BSc(Eng) CEng MIEE
(1933‐38)
Colin Stephenson (1944‐50)
Barrie Davis BSc. ARCSc. MSc.
DIC (1945-47)
E‐mail: bkd@oransoft.com
1945‐47 Scarborough Boys High School
1947‐52 Hackney Downs Grammar School
(Grocers), London
1952 State Scholarship
1953‐1956 Physics, Royal College of Science,

Imperial College, BSc.
1972‐73 Petroleum Geology, Royal School of
Mines, MSc. DIC.
1960 ‐76 Geophysicist to Exploration Man‐
ager [BKD] in various oil companies
2000 Retired after 24 years as a Consult‐
ant Geophysicist/Petroleum Geologist.
John Nockels BA (1955-63)
Email: jndl08062@blueyonder.co.uk
On leaving the School in 1963 I paid the
princely sum of 12/6d, which I believe was a
life membership fee!!
Since then I have followed events in Scarbor‐
ough from a distance. I was surprised, when
looking at the list of committee members, to
see how many names I recognised and stimu‐
lated by this and the mentions of Jack Ellis
decided to check whether I was still a mem‐
ber.
Trevor Pepper (1959-63)
E‐mail: trevor@dl78yx.freeserve.co.uk
I attended the OSA dinner
at the Palm Court Hotel,
Scarborough in November
2003 as a guest of my
brother Ken and enjoyed
the evening very much. It
is time I joined!
Harold Simpson Rawling BSc
(Eng) CEng MIEE (1933-38)
Email: harold.rawling@virgin.net.
I would be interested to hear from any other
member who was a pre‐war pupil at the
school.
Albert Stanley Robson
(1935-40)
E‐mail address: Tonybevvers@aol.com
I am not web connected. The e‐mail address
is that of my son, Tony Robson who will
forward e‐mails
15
FROM HERE AND THERE
Frank Bamforth writes from
Scarborough (1935-42)
You have built Summer Times into a stately
and supreme edifice. I do hope you do not
change the name it has used for 30 years.
When I chose it I always thought of my days
at the High School as summer days. The
grasshoppers were singing on the banks of
the top playground and at four o clock the
merry shouts of homebound boys filled the
air!
Iʹve thought up one or two ideas as contribu‐
tions so Iʹll try to supply in time for your
February deadline. Very best wishes to all!
Bill Potts has done a marvellous job on the
website. The first time I saw it I was im‐
pressed by the wealth of material displayed
and the superb quality of the photographs. I
was especially pleased to see the beautiful
picture of the school when it was brand new
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. I canʹt help you
with the date of installation but have a vague
recollection of there still being a fireplace in
EL Clarkeʹs 1 Upper classroom in 1935.
The hefty old radiators in the hall were ideal
for defrosting the milk on cold winter days,
when we did a bit of shivering while we
drank it. I wish there had been central heat‐
ing on Olivers Mount playing fields where
Bradley had us standing about outside the
hut having made us take our vests off. Mean‐
while he kept his long thick brown overcoat
securely and snugly around him. And a scarf
as well!
I enclose a small contribution to the next
Summer Times. I am busy trying to catch up
with the wealth of material in the last eight
issues as during my wife’s long last illness
and death two years ago I didn’t have the
heart to peruse them.
With best wishes to you and to all. When I
get around to it, and before it is too late I will
pass on to the Association various records

and photographs collected during my thirty‐
odd years as secretary. I understand you have
an arrangement with the Reference Library to
store such items on a long term basis.
Editor: Frank’s article appears on page 52.
Now we know that it was you who penned
the name Summer Times, Frank, there will be
no name change for the foreseeable future.
John Rice writes from
Surbiton (1947-56)
I had just been reading the
item about The Mandrakes
in the proof of Summer
Times when I happened to
notice in The Times an
obituary of Robert Palmer,
who apparently died on
Friday in Paris after a heart
attack. Pop music not being among my inter‐
ests, I admit I had never heard of him until I
read about The Mandrakes, and I would not
have guessed from the obituary that he was an
Old Scarborian.
Editor: Robert Palmer’s Obituary appears
on page 19
Mike Elvy writes from Malton
(1946-51)
Volume 44. Another bumper
edition. We think the un‐
named girl in the St
Columba’s Youth Club photo
could be Anne! (Elvy)
(Page 14 Volume 44)
Alan Bridgewater writes from
Pocklington (1933-40)
You will have seen that I put a query on the
web‐site asking for info regarding ʺSnaffʺ Ruds‐
dale and ʺTaffyʺ Walsh. Apart from Bill Pottsʹ
suggestion re ʺTaffyʺ there has been no reply.
16
Perhaps this is due to me being the only octoge‐
narian who has Internet access. I wonder, there‐
fore, if you could include my query in the next
edition of Summer Times and then, perhaps, one
of the older generation will pass on the answer.
Norman Overfield writes from
from Bardsey, Leeds
(1948-56)
This evening, on the web site
I am viewing colleagues at
the recent Christmas Dinner
2003. Two unknowns are:‐
Unknown 2, David Brown ;
Unknown 3 John Bowes.
I seem to remember John
Bowes was an ʺunknownʺ
last year.
Hopefully you can enter their names ‐ before I
encourage them to visit the site.
Did the photograph of Pete Robson, David
Merriweather, and self, proudly supporting the
Hospital Cup, reproduce OK?
Editor: The Hospital Cup photos now appear
on the OSA web site, and also on pages 27 &
28 of this issue.
John Hall writes from Notre
Dame de Cenilly, France
Just got my copy: good read.
Nice to see the photo of
Binder: I organised his re‐
tirement present from the
pupils and wrote something
for The Scarborian including
a line to please him as he
was into alliteration, ʺNo
longer from those lyrical lips
the lingering lilt of long Vergilian linesʺ. Itʹs the
only copy of the school mag I canʹt find, but I
think Iʹve remembered it correctly.
Bernard Jones writes from
Shrewsbury (1949-54)
I was talking to Stan Sedman the other day and

mentioned the OSA . He said he would be
interested. He lives in Shrewsbury.
Editor: Stan Sedman is now a member.
Colin Hurd writes from
Burniston, Scarborough
(1952-59)
Stan Sedman used to live
in Cloughton and go on
the school bus with me. I
haven’t heard from him
for 50 years so I will drop
him a line.
Editor: As you’ll see from
the New Members col‐
umn on page 14 Stan is now a member.
Tom Dobson writes from
Calne (1949-54)
I have been looking at the
photos for the 2003 Lon‐
don function. Unknown 4
is a photo of myself so one
mystery is solved. I re‐
ceived Summer Times ‐
once again a great read
and very informative.
Shattered to read of the
death of Alan Elliott, we sat next to each other
at a recent London Event and renewed our
acquaintance after many years. Alan and I
attended Westborough Methodist Church
together and played for the School at Rugby, it
was a great shock to read of his death, I know
that he will be sadly missed by everyone who
knew him.
Best wishes to those in the engine room, keep
up the good work
John (David) Farquhar writes
from Ampleforth (1934-41)
I was interested in Ken Gouldingʹs note (page
15 Volume 44) as I taught at Enfield College of
Technology which became part of Middlesex
Polytechnic and is now Middlesex University.
17
I retired around 1985 as Head of Department
of Social Science. Odd that two Old Scabs had
a role in developing this very successful new
University.
Peter Newham writes from
Northampton (1954-61)
I did rashly promise you a
further contribution to Sum‐
mer Times, but the literary
muse deserted me before
Christmas!
I am not sure whether it has
returned, but, whilst the
attachment is not exactly JK
Rowling, it may pass with a push if you are
short of material, though I defer to your edito‐
rial judgement.
Having read “Eats, Shoots and Leaves” at
Christmas, which in itself probably makes me
a rather sad person, I have apprehensively
checked the grammar and punctuation ‐ but
any mistakes I can blame on Deirdre who pre‐
pared and sent it!
Editor: Peter’s article appears on page 52
David Muir writes from
Bristol (1960—65)
David Muir who is
Senior Scientific
Officer in the Envi‐
ronmental Services
Department of Bris‐
tol City Council has
been awarded a
Ph.D in Environ‐
mental Sciences by
the University of the
West of England in
Bristol.
He carried out the
research into Particles and Air Pollution as a
Post Graduate on a part time basis over the
past 6 years while working full time in his
normal employment.

Pam Elliott writes from
Scarborough
I am writing to thank you for Summer Times.
Peter Robson kindly delivered five copies
which I have given to the children as well as
keeping one for myself.
Mention must be made of the warmth felt on
reading kind words about Alan. Please accept
the enclosed as a small contribution towards the
ongoing success of your interesting and infor‐
mative magazine.
My sincere thanks to all Alan’s school friends
for the happiness and memories you gave to
him.
Walter Rogers writes from
Walton-on-the–Hill (1945-52)
Thank you for the latest issue of Summer
Times. When my copy arrives I have to stop
whatever I was doing at the time. I first have a
quick scan for anything relating to the dates
1945 — 1952, and then read from cover to cover.
I am enclosing some of my recollections. Should
you feel they could be of interest to readers,
then please feel free to remove any areas you
think not suitable and edit the rest. Seeing the
pictures of the school interior triggered many
happy memories. Could copies of these pictures
be made available to members?
When I tried to buy a copy of The History of
Scarborough, I found it impossible.
Neither Amazon, Smiths nor Ottakars had the
book. Staffordshire County Library did not
have a copy, but eventually did manage to bor‐
row a copy from The British Library.
Walter’s memories appear on page 25. He
should already have received copies of the
school photographs he requested.
18
OBITUARIES
Joe Cooper (1936-44)
Tributes have been paid to Joe Cooper, a former
mayor and respected headmaster in Ripon who
has died aged 79 after a long battle against can‐
cer. He was born in Scarborough on October 5,
1924, the youngest of 12 children.
He was educated at Scarborough Boys High
School and on completion of his studies joined
the war effort training as a pilot.
He flew many missions, and on demob from the
RAF, he took up his place at Downing College,
Cambridge, where he read chemistry. Upon
graduation, Mr Cooper began his career in the
rubber industry, working for firms based in
Wiltshire, Leicester and Grimsby, and became a
chartered member of the Royal Society of
Chemistry.
He successfully transferred into the teaching
profession in the early 1960s, beginning his
teaching career first in his home town at Scar‐
borough College, before moving to Germany to
teach forces’ children, rising to he head of the
science department at the Prince Rupert School
in Wilhelmshaven.
The family returned to England after five years,
where Mr Cooper took up a teaching post in
Lowestoft, before moving to Ripon in 1973 to
take up the headmastership of Ripon Secondary
Modern School.
He held the post until he retired in 1984 at the
age of 60, and was respected during his time at
the school by both staff and pupils.
During his leadership, the school changed its
name to the Ripon City School and he worked
tirelessly to improve standards there.
On retirement he threw himself into politics,
becoming a Liberal Democrat Ripon City Coun‐
cillor and serving as Mayor in 1995‐96.
Mr Cooper is survived by wife Barbara, their
four children and eight grandchildren.

David McLintock (1939-46)
By Michael Herman
David had 7 years at the
school but then left in
1946 when the family had
to move to Grimsby. We
met again when we both
went up to Queenʹs Ox‐
ford in 1949 after National
Service. David took his
First ‐ probably a very
good one ‐ in French and German, and went
on to teach German in Oxford. From 1967
onwards he was a Reader in Royal Holloway
College, London, and in 1983 had an honorary
doctorate conferred on him. As an academic
he published on philological and literary sub‐
jects, but after retirement in the 1980s he be‐
came an outstanding translator of twentieth
century German literature. A clutch of annual
literary prizes came his way, and he was justi‐
fiably pleased to be awarded one of them
twice.
Our lives and interests did not overlap and I
never knew David well: at school he was not
a games player, though I recall that he was
once persuaded to play for the Kingsley XV in
a House Cup match to make up the side. I
saw him occasionally in recent years and
found him good company: donnish, amusing
, interesting and interested. The Timesʹs
obituary referred to his ʹamiable presence ...
capable of delightful self‐irony ... with an
enthusiastic boyishness that never left him.ʹ
Clearly he was a notable German scholar.
Probably he had been well taught at the
school, presumably by some combination of
Bon Clarke, the German refugee Haines, and
Frank Binder. Not long ago he told me that he
still drew on what Binder had taught him half
a century earlier about translating German. In
this role The Times described David as
ʹsensitive, passionate and congenialʹ : an epi‐
taph that would probably have pleased both
him and his earlier mentor.
19
Robert Palmer
Michael Wilson Robert
Editor: Adapted from a Scarborough Eve‐
ning News article. Many column inches have
appeared following the death on 2nd Octo‐
ber 2003 of Robert Palmer, but, by way of
obituary we feel this item to be the most
appropriate. Michael Wilson is an OSA
member who attended school between 1960
– 68.
Robert Palmer’s best friend from his school
days in Scarborough has spoken of his memo‐
ries of the singer who died recently at the age
of 54.
Mr Palmer, who lived in Scarborough for
several years during his childhood and began
performing in bands while in the town, suf‐
fered a heart attack in Paris.
His best friend from school, Michael Wilson,
who is business editor at Sky News and lives
at Dummer, Hampshire, said: “He was my
best friend in my first years at the Boys’ High
School when his engineering skills were em‐
ployed to make a small cannon which we
exploded on the school playing fields.
“We’d also make Airfix kits of Second World
War fighter planes, which we used to fill with
banger gunpowder and explode on Cayton
beach.
“But apart from the destruction, he was a
great artist, and we’d often spend hours
drawing from a magazine called War Picture
Library
“He got so good at sketching that during the

20
O‐level art exam we surreptitiously swapped
papers ‐ I did his seascape while he drew my
hedges. We both got huge marks in the exam,
but please don’t tell the Joint Matriculation
Board!”
Mr Wilson said his own “destiny moment”
came just after assembly at the Boys’ High
School when Palmer asked him if he could play
blues on the piano.
He said, “I did, and he said I should join a
group he was forming called the Mandrakes. I
stupidly asked for parental guidance, and the
answer was no — better concentrate on my
A‐levels.
“I did and he didn’t. I know he did the right
thing, because that band became the best in
Scarborough, then a wonderfully established
group in the north and, of course ultimately he
became a consummate pop artist worldwide.”
The pair lost touch but their paths still crossed.
Mr Wilson said, “We lost touch, bumped into
each other a couple of times in London and one
surreal time in the motorway services at Wat‐
ford Gap, but I know that as he moved on he
guided a lot of musicians into some glorious
songs, apart from being a mere pop icon in his
own right.
“He became the epitome of cool, and is sorely
missed among those who knew him early on.
“I play in a rock and roll band now, and our
next gig will feature some of his numbers.
“What a star he was. And thanks to his music,
Robert Allen Palmer will shine on. My little
chum, I miss you.”
A TRIBUTE TO ROBIN PINDER
(1947-54)
By Julian Johnson
It is with very great sadness that I write these
few lines to pay tribute to a life long friend,
whom I could have called my brother. Robin’s
funeral took place on Monday 24 th November
2003 at the village church of Tickton just outside
Beverley, where he and Glenys have lived for
the past 26 years.
We first met at school, al‐
though he was a year ahead
of me, and took part in
summer and winter sports
both at school and after he
had left. Robin was very
practical, a man of the
country with a deep love of
animals. Naturally therefore he went into farm‐
ing by firstly studying at Seal Hayne Agricul‐
tural college in Devon and then to a dairy farm
in Norfolk for 8 years. This was followed by the
purchase of a farm just outside Knaresborough
in 1960. During this time their son, Nicholas and
two daughters, Judith and Lisa were born. He
was very much a family man, devoted to his
wife and family and extremely proud of their
achievements
When farming proved not cost effective they
moved on to Stafford, Robin working for the
Milk Marketing Board. It was here that he
joined Round Table, remaining a member when
they returned to their roots in Yorkshire in 1972.
They then ran a village shop for a number of
years prior to other career changes.
Robin was always a good mimic, taking off
peoples traits and mannerisms, enjoying jokes
and the telling of them. He had a very enquiring
mind, a thirst for knowledge and could be re‐
lied upon to give measured and sound advice
when sought or needed. I am sure that everyone
who came in contact with Robin found him a
person who enjoyed the simple things of life,
with his feet firmly on the soil.
Ill health had troubled Robin for a number of
years, starting with heart attacks, leading to a
heart by‐pass in 1998. Later he developed leu‐
kaemia which caused his death.
I have certainly lost a dear friend and ‘brother’
who will be sorely missed by us all.
A FRANK BINDER UPDATE
by Michael Rines (1941-52)
Frank Binder had two books published in the

early 1930s, Journey in Eng‐
land and Dialectics; the Tac‐
tics of Thinking. However,
he wrote three more books,
which were never pub‐
lished in his lifetime, and I
am trying to get them pub‐
lished now.
Sown with Corn, his semi‐
autobiographical novel of life in Germany
during the rise of the Nazis, has been carefully
considered by several of the leading publish‐
ing houses. All of them did read the book and
acknowledged its quality before coming up
with different reasons why they couldn’t take
it on. Typical was Cassell, where two people
read it, saying it was ‘a remarkable work’ and
might be a ‘minor classic’ before rejecting it on
‘purely commercial grounds’.
I have not given up, and a best‐selling novelist
friend is putting the book before his agent. I
am also going to approach Corgi, which re‐
cently published The Past is Myself, the story of
an English woman who married a German and
lived in Germany through the 1930s and the
War – well worth reading.
I have the first two chapters of Binder’s book
on my computer, and can send by email to
anyone interested.
The second unpublished book is a sci‐fi novel,
and I have the difficulty that I am not the best
judge of it because I have an antipathy to the
genre. I have therefore had it read by a sci‐fi
buff, who enjoyed it, but felt it was very dated.
I am going to get that opinion checked by an‐
other reader.
The third book, The Principles of Controversy, is
about dialectics, and Binder spent ten years
writing it, before deciding that the world was
not ready for it. I have had it looked at by an
Oxford philosophy don. Sadly, he felt it was
unlikely that any publisher would be inter‐
ested, because the book ‘is not closely enough
connected to any traditional or contemporary
philosophical debates’. I shall nevertheless
21
keep trying. I continue to get requests for pho‐
tocopies of Journey in England, including one
from an Australian who had come across the
references to Binder in Partridge’s Usage and
Abusage. He had then done an internet search
and found the OSA website and my email
address. I can still provide copies, but I’m
afraid that rising costs mean I have to charge
£17.
Viv Beeby, senior producer, radio and music,
at the BBC asked for a copy after reading my
essay, and I hope something might come of
that. I should welcome help from any Old
Scarborians in my efforts to get Binder pub‐
lished.
Top left: Binder
relaxing in Italy;
Top right: Binder
in the 1920s;
Centre: Binder’s
identity card in
occupied Ger‐
many after WWI.
Left: Binder on his
retirement day.

MEMORIES
Ken Pepper writes from
Whistler, B.C. Canada
(1944-52)
I have enjoyed reading the
articles in Summer Times by
other former pupils & as I
winter in mild Vancouver
(as opposed to frigid Ot‐
tawa). I thought that some
words from afar would
perhaps add to the mosaic.
I started my school career
at the Convent, directed there in wartime, and
upset the nuns by refusing to kiss the cross!
Next came St. Martin’s, where I wore out my
knees kneeling in church. I must have learned
something, however, because I passed the
entrance exam into the Prep. Department at the
High School in 1944.
One of my close friends in classes was (Dr.)
John Webster, who is still a close friend and the
one who prodded me into rejoining the Asso‐
ciation a few years ago. Thanks to him, and to
all those who kept it going. Malcolm Storry
was an even earlier friend, we took it in turn to
throw stuff out of our prams. We also remain
in close contact.
As with others, my early years were guided by
“Brad” Bradley, “Pop” Francis, “Tich” Richard‐
son, “H.A.P.” Taylor, Miss Morley, “Ma”
Meighan (spelling?), Miss Griggs, Harry Wall‐
head, et al. Later it was “Biff” Smith, “Les”
Brown, “Gib” Giblett, “Ed” Colenut, “Di” Lid‐
dicott, Bill Potts (Senior), “Jock” Roxburgh,
Derek Price, ? Nutman, et al.
I was reasonably good in English, History, (but
I hated having to draw, say, “The Rocket”, and
thus get low marks, as opposed to writing;
protesting was to no avail in those days), Ge‐
ography, Chemistry, Biology, & Woodwork,
and reasonably bad in various rather key sub‐
jects such as Math, Physics and French. Most of
my Art lessons were spent collecting stray
22
lunch money from every class! That was the
only time I had to face the twin terror of “Bon”
Clark & “Billy” Binder. My favourite gym
classes were those where we played
“cannonballs & pirates” and similar!
Sports were not my forte; thus I appear in no
pictures or records of same, but the Air Train‐
ing Corps was, thus I got a lot out of it and
hopefully put some back. Aircraft were of great
interest to me & having the opportunity to fly
in them, train as a glider pilot and win a flight
to Singapore was bliss to me! Making it to Ft.
Sgt. also gave me much needed self‐ confi‐
dence in leading people and in communicat‐
ing, even though rather loudly at times! Thank
you to Messrs. Taylor, French, Feather et al.
It has been suggested that we have an A.T.C.
attachment to the web site: great idea, but I am
barely computer literate; however, if we have
an expert in our midst ???? ( M‐ m‐m‐, Cpl. Bill
Potts, the Junior, comes to mind !) I, for one,
have pictures & observations to put forward if
it can happen.
Camping and cycling were big hobbies but I
never went to school camp as such (several in
the A.T.C. though); finances got in the way.
I wound up with 8 subjects on my G.C.E. and
eagerly entered the 6 th form ‐‐ for exactly one
term: September to December 1952! Career
guidance was a bit limited in those days, it
seems to me, so when my Mother came in for a
chat with “the School”, somehow it was agreed
that ongoing education was not for me and I
found myself out of school and looking for a
job! That process inherently involved my
Mother contacting her bank & insurer to obtain
interviews for a very stunned K.W.K.P! After a
brief battle for my services, The Yorkshire In‐
surance Company won out over The Midland
Bank; the takeover bid being £165.00 per year! I
kid you not, that was how my career was cho‐
sen, a far cry from a science oriented career,
with Boots the Chemists or similar, as I had
hoped. Do others have similar stories?
In 1954‐55 came National Service in the RAF,

as a communications tech., with active service
in Cyprus, not my choice on either count! By
now I was back up to £3 per week! Better still,
I returned to The Y.I.C. at £300.00 per year!
After Suez, Hungary etc. ( and in my case,
little prospect of owning a decent sports car‐‐
darn those finances), many, many of us voted
with our feet and left for other shores. Mal‐
colm Storry & I sailed together to Canada, to
be met in Montreal by Bill Potts the Junior!
Malcolm returned to the U.K. (as we had
originally intended) but somehow I stayed on,
and 46 years later, I settle for frequent visits to
Britain. My wife and I also travel to other safe
places frequently, so if you ask me at a dinner
or lunch to “drop in”, beware! Even Gary and
June Watson in Dunedin, N.Z. South Island,
greeted us, very warmly, last year!
What else? Ah yes, work and marriage, I did
both. Although insurance was by no means
my intended career, somehow it stuck and
treated me quite well. I knuckled down to the
exams & became a “Fellow” of the Insurance
Institute quite young—finally spending from
1972 to 1990 with a firm which specialized in
big risks and Professional Liability. I retired
completely in 1995, after five years consulting.
I finally bought a sports car!
Marriage came somewhat later than for most,
at 32, to Sheila Dey of Toronto and here we
are relaxing at the Whistler ski resort, 36 years
later, with John and Lyn Webster (February
2002). We have two young people, Andrew,
30, and Margaret, 25. Our home is officially
Nepean (Ottawa), but we now have a toe hold
in Vancouver: better climate!
Some of the buses which serve the Whistler
area carry the Plaxtons logo, a nostalgic link
with my wonderful home town.
OLD BILL REMEMBERS
by Brian Eves (1951-58)
My career at SBHS ended on Friday 18 th
July, 1958 and on Monday 21 st July I en‐
23
rolled as a cadet
with the Metropoli‐
tan Police Junior
Cadet Force. Over
the next 21 months I
was to progress to
the dizzy heights of
Senior Cadet and
pass through the
training school at Hendon where I was
informed that in 13 weeks I would be
expected to learn enough to equip me for
a 30 year career.
On Monday 2 nd May, 1960, my 19 th birthday, I
was sworn in as a constable by the Assistant
Commissioner C.I.D. Assistant Commission‐
ers of the Metropolitan Police are Justices of
the Peace for the purpose of administering
oaths. I remember taking the Constables’ Oath
and an oath of allegiance to the Queen. The
reason for the second oath is that all royal
residences are guarded by the Metropolitan
Police.
I was posted to Paddington Green Police Sta‐
tion, which had featured in the film ‘The Blue
Lamp’, and on my arrival there I was in‐
formed that I would be required to form part
of the Divisional Contingent at the wedding
of H.R.H. The Princess Margaret and Mr.
Anthony Armstrong‐Jones. This meant that I
only had a couple of days to get my No. 1
dress uniform into shape. This kit, which is no
longer used, consisted of a heavy frock coat
with stand up collar and lined with a white
melton blanket, and heavy felt trousers, which
required serious belt and braces to hold them
up. The ensemble was finished off with a
wide leather belt and white gloves.
The great day dawned and I had to parade at
4.30 a.m. Our contingent consisted of 1 In‐
spector, 1 sergeant, and 25 P.C.s. After a short
briefing, during which the new boy was allo‐
cated to two older and more experienced
officers to guide him, we were conveyed to
the Mall and posted to part of the proces‐

sional route at the foot of the Duke of York
steps.
Two hours later I was pretty uncomfortable.
The uniform was like a portable Turkish bath
and I hadn’t had food or drink since the
night before. My two minders reassured me
that we would be sent for breakfast soon and
that would be OK because the Commissioner
of Police had issued his dispensation. I had
no idea what this meant but didn’t want to
appear ignorant in front of these two veter‐
ans who were about the same age as my
father and both sported two rows of medal
ribbons on their chests.
Shortly afterwards they were proved right
when a Chief Superintendent rode up to us
in all his finery and ordered us to breakfast
for 90 minutes. This seemed like a good start
because the normal mealtime in the Force
was 45 minutes. We were marched across St.
James Park to a huge marquee. I had visions
of eggs, bacon, tomatoes and coffee. We en‐
tered the marquee and were faced with a
long trestle table behind which were stew‐
ards serving mild ale and bitter from huge
barrels. There was a notice stating that each
officer was allowed only four pints. There
was also a copy of the Commissioners Dis‐
pensation for officers to drink on duty. I
voiced my opinion of the catering and said
that I would go in search of coffee but my
minders prevailed upon me to claim my four
pints first. They wanted to be helpful and to
relieve me of this burden. I found coffee and
toast courtesy of The Royal Military Police. It
was later explained to me that a cleverly
concealed pocket in the skirt of the frock coat
was intended for sandwiches if you didn’t
like beer for breakfast.
Needless to say by 1997 when I completed
my service things had changed. Proper cater‐
ing arrangements are initiated for such func‐
tions. They are commonly referred to as
‘Force Feeding’.
24
MEMORIES OF SBHS
By Dave Hepworth
(1951-58)
I was one of Stodd’s Bu‐
mogs ‐ a name he coined
for us maths no‐hopers in 4
Upper’s C set. We liked to
think it was affectionate
because, although we
struggled desperately to
sort out our co‐sines from
our hypotenuses, we had
great regard for this entertaining master
tasked with chipping away at our numerical
ignorance.
“Hepworth,” he was wont to say, “turn to
page five.”
“But Sir ,“ I would protest, “that’s the index.”
“Never mind boy, get on with your work.”
He would probably then go on to inquire of
George Wray: “Had any fags this morning
George?” knowing full well that his favourite
bad boy almost certainly had smoked a cou‐
ple before school...
But the nice thing about Stodd was ‐ unlike
Eddie Colenutt before him ‐ he didn’t EX‐
PECT you to learn! He put the facts before
you and left you to absorb them without a lot
of hassle. And, amazingly, despite all the
hilarity ‐ or maybe because of it ‐ we did take
in more than we expected. I also learned (in
addition to the famous spinning mouse) that:
Time flies ‐ but you can’t because they fly too
fast...
Anyway, I consoled myself with the fact that
I was usually among the top in English
(thank you Charlie Rice and Bob Watson)
and that you can’t have everything in this
life.
As it turned out I never needed to unravel
the mysteries of algebra or geometry because
my future lay in words, first as a reporter on
the Scarborough Evening News, the York‐

shire Evening News and the Sheffield Tele‐
graph, and later as a sub editor on the Daily
Mirror in Manchester and the Daily Express
and Daily Star in Fleet Street. And I always
managed to add up my expenses!
But back to school. Having avoided the
dreaded new boys’ bushing, I staggered into
the gym with all the other young hopefuls,
kitted out in crisp new gear, to be told tartly
by Jock Roxburgh: “Get those vests off. You
look like pansies.” (He later harassed me to
“get yer knees dirty” on the rugby field. And
who can forget those games of shinty he
brought down from the wilds of Scotland?)
Then there was kindly old Spike Jones, who
had a habit of giving his new class girls’ first
names, some of which stayed with people
throughout school. One only has to think of
poor old ‘Nancy’ Newiss and ‘Stella’ Steele.
And Les Brown gave us all French names as
an introduction to the language. I can’t re‐
member mine, but ginger‐haired Robin
Shaw’s M’sieur Le Fils de Carrot will always
stay with me.
Other masters whose names and habits linger
are Brad, who liked to say when someone’s
attention wandered “Boy, you remind me of
the man who would sometimes sit and think,
and sometimes just sit,” and who was an
early guide through the maze of English
grammar; Biff Smith whose hairy hands we
dared each other to pluck when he rested
them on the front desks; Billy Binder, of
course, with his quirky ways, insistence on
good manners and his chess detention; Zen‐
ner Potts with his laid‐back style (“That’s
your homework ‐ whether you do it or not is
up to you”) and his fund of stories of how he
helped to win the war at sea; affable Derek
Price with his rope’s end punishment in the
biology lab; and Hov, whose accuracy with a
piece of chalk thrown at an unruly boy was
fearsome. If I’d known then about his career
as a commando in WW2 I might have been
even more worried ‐ and quieter!
25
There are so many other characters who flit
across my memory…the sinister Bon, who
never taught me but was my tutor in Arnold
House. I remember he demanded total silence
before he would talk to us ‐ a remote and cold
figure, not to be trifled with. Although there
was the year when gleeful fifth‐formers got
their revenge by turning his classroom upside
down on their last day.
And the kindly, father‐like Joey Marsden,
who conducted his headship with no airs and
graces, just down‐to‐earth common sense. I’ll
never forget his greeting of “How do,” when
I bumped into him in town one day as a
lowly second‐former. His career guidance at
the end of the fifth form led me to stay on to
take my A‐levels, something I’ve never re‐
gretted.
By and large I enjoyed my time at the SBHS,
and like to think it has stood me in good
stead. I wasn’t terribly academic, but man‐
aged reasonable O and A levels. Highlights of
my school life were Junior Camp at Wensley‐
dale, Swiss Camp at Arosa in 1956, the ATC
with which I got my gliding badges, spear‐
chucker parts in the Christmas Shakespeare
plays, the senior choir and ball‐boying for the
Davis Cup at Filey Rd because I did tennis
instead of cricket.
Like most sixth‐formers I joined the Old Boys
(for five bob) when I left school and there
were some memorable boozy dinners at the
St Nicholas hotel. ( I really don’t know how I
drove home from one of them. I DO know my
little Austin 8 was festooned with singing
mates as I hurtled round St. Nicholas Cliff
trying to shake them off...). But when I
moved away in 1962 I let my membership
lapse. Chris Found roped me back into the
fold (this time for a tenner) in 2000. Since then
I’ve enjoyed London lunches at Anton Mossi‐
man’s and the East India Club and the Cen‐
tenary weekend in Scarborough. It’s been
great fun matching half‐forgotten names to
faces (and figures!) weathered by forty years,

and dipping into the memory banks. I raise a
glass or three to all the organisers, who are
doing a tremendous job. Long may it continue.
WALTER ROGERS
REMEMBERS (1945-52)
I passed 11+ at Northstead Junior School, and
attended SBHS 1945 ‐1952. In 1950 I met my
wife to be, Mary Gooch, who was doing her A
levels at Scarborough Convent.
I won a National Coal Board Scholarship, and
went to Leeds University 1952 ‐ 1956, obtain‐
ing a BSc (First class honours) in Mining Engi‐
neering. I worked for the National Coal Board
1956‐1960, leaving to take up a post of Lec‐
turer in Mining Engineering at Cannock Chase
Mining and Technical College, until early
retirement in 1994. Mary also took early retire‐
ment at the same time from her teaching post,
but in 1998 was diagnosed with Slceroderma,
an incurable disease, from which she died on
Christmas Day 2000. We had four children,
who so far have produced six grandchildren.
I was always very keen on sport, playing for
the school Under 12 football and cricket teams,
and occasionally for the under 14 cricket team.
In later years I was unable to play in out of
school hours sport, because of taking on a
Saturday job to enable me to stay on at school.
One vivid memory I have is playing in a
cricket house match, Ruskin v Arnold, and
having to face the fast bowling of Pete Robson.
Unfortunately nobody had told me of the
benefit of wearing a box, the outcome being a
total loss of interest in the playing side of
cricket.
Of the subjects I studied for School certificate,
German, taught by Bon Clarke, was the only
one I disliked. Names I recall as being Bon’s
‘good’ boys were Gordon Naylor, Peter Berry
and Ron Hutchinson, who all sat on the front
row. If my recollections are correct, translation
was done sentence by sentence, starting with
the best ‘good’ boy’. Invariably, the translation
would break down when it got to Rogers on
26
the second row. Many minutes would elapse
while I tried to sort it out. If I had not got it
correct by the end of the lesson, I and the lads
after me would have to return when school
finished for the day. None of us ‘bad’ boys
were ever invited to Oak Road.
I think a first for the school occurred in 1950,
when a girl from Scarborough Convent joined
the A level Chemistry class. I recall her being a
redhead, and my being her partner in the
practical chemistry sessions.
One of my hobbies was making model aero‐
planes for flying. A number of us used to meet
in the hall after school, when we would attach
our planes by means of a long, fine line to a
modified music stand placed in the middle of
the hall. The competition was to see who
could achieve the longest flying time, as our
planes flew round the music stand.
Sport afternoons on Oliver’s Mount involved a
lot of cycle pushing on the way up, but what
fun on the return journey. Some of us would
have a race, but with no pedalling allowed.
One aim was to try and freewheel across the
Valley Bridge and make the school entrance,
but that last small incline always defeated us,
even if we had had a favourable wind.
ANOTHER APPEAL
By Lyndon Wainwright
(1928-38)
Dear Old Scabs:
I write to ask whether
anyone can help me trace a
number of cricket bats that
I had autographed each
year at the Cricket Festi‐
vals in the 1930s. Being an
enthusiast I had the bats
autographed by any player
or ex‐player who I could persuade so to do.
The collection ranged from 1928, when I was
eight, through to 1936, and the range of names
included such famous ones as Don Bradman,
Hedley Verity, Lord Hawke et al.

In due course due to personal circumstances,
storing the bats became a problem and I do‐
nated them to the Scarborough Cricket Club.
Eventually it disposed of them. Two years ago
when I was last in Scarborough I found one of
the bats on display in the bar of the St. Nicho‐
las Hotel. However I do not know where the
remainder are and I would like to trace them
so that I could take photographs for my
memorabilia.
If any reader can help me in my search would
he please be kind enough to let me know? I
can be contacted at: Lyndon Wainwright, 1
Cowden Road, Brighton, BN2 8DD.
Tel: 01273 307374.
Sincerely
Lyndon Wainwright
(who my contemporaries may remember best
as “Mighty” ‐ all 5’4” of me!)
ALAN SWANSON
REMEMBERS (1939-49)
Unconnected items arising from the latest
Summer Times (which was very good, as
usual).
Samuel Rockinghorse: I can’t offer an article,
but I can offer two anecdotes from seasons of
school plays. First: when the stage was in
place across the corner of the Hall, and re‐
hearsals were taking place in the evenings, one
of the ordinary light switches was taped over
to prevent the light coming on when not
wanted. Mr Smith disliked this and removed
the tape. When Mr Rice asked us 6th using
that part of the Hall (Room 8?) for a free pe‐
riod who had done it and we told him, the
reply was “What does Mr Smith think this
place is: a school?” Second: one December
when the stage was up, there had been several
hard frosts and the open troughs that took the
efflux from the sinks in the chemistry lab
above that end of the Hall were blocked, with
the result that something was dripping from
the ceiling just above where Governors would
be sitting that evening. Mr Rice’s distress was
27
not lessened when one of us 6th Bob Nettle‐
ship, said “Wouldn’t be so bad if it was only
water”. (Almost certainly it was water, or very
dilute something else.)
Hov’s memoirs: reading these made me won‐
der what sort of a culture shock it was for
masters who had lived that kind of life and
seen the things described to be faced day after
day with rows of boys who had led such rela‐
tively sheltered lives.
Speech Day photo: the standard of reproduc‐
tion makes me less than certain, but the man
presenting the prize looks a bit like Dr (later
Professor) Sydney C Harland. If so, the year
was 1949. Sydney Harland was a product of
the Muni, and led a remarkable life in the
West Indies and South America before return‐
ing to the UK where he became a Reader and
then a Professor at Manchester. He was one of
the few Old Boys (if we count the Muni and
SBHS as one for this purpose) to be elected to
the Fellowship of the Royal Society, for his
work on cotton genetics.
Keep up the good work.
NOSTALGIA - 50 years ago
Fiftieth Anniversary of the
First XI's Hospital Cup Win

The item on the Hospital Cup (page 28 in our
last issue) raised a lot of interest and we repro‐
duce the photo of the Cups, and of three of the
eleven who won the cup in 1953. The photos
Previous page: The Hospital Cup
Below: Three of the eleven who won the Hos‐
pital Cup in 1953 David ʺGeezeʺ Merri‐
weather, Peter Robson and Norman Over‐
field
were taken at the 2003 Scarborough Christmas
dinner
THE ‘BRIGHT BOWL’ FINAL
15th July 1954
by John D Found (1949-57)
vember 2004.
As this year marks the 50th
Anniversary of a High
school team winning the
Bright Bowl for the first
time, it is proposed to have
a table to mark the occasion
at the annual Christmas
Dinner at the Palm Court
Hotel on Friday 26th No‐
I hope that at least some of the team will at‐
tend. Our “Guest” will be the Bright Bowl
trophy which we have managed to borrow for
the evening.
To jog memories, the team, plus reserve (team
photograph shown top of page) was:
28
Norman Overfield, Dave Goulding, Howard
Reynolds, Glyn Bower, Barry (Wally) Walker,
John Mitchell, John Found, Barry Beanland,
Dick Hartley, Mike Scott, Graham Thornton,
and Tony Midgley.
If you can come please make your booking in
the normal way – but please advise myself or
Norman Overfield.
THE ‘BRIGHT BOWL’ FINAL
15th July 1954
by John D Found (1949-57)
For young High School
cricketers 1954 was a very
special year. Cricket was
of paramount importance
and the game in England
was at its peak.
The ashes had been re‐
gained the year before and
a new test side, Pakistan,
was making its debut on the world stage. More
close to home, two old boys, Ted Lester and
Bill Foord were regulars in a strong Yorkshire
side.
Sadly, no‐one had advised the great Weather‐
man, and a very wet summer was in progress.
It was so wet, in fact, and the Test series was
so disrupted by rain, that the England skipper,
Len Hutton suggested that an extra test match
be played at Scarborough. This suggestion was
not taken up.
It was against this background that cricket of a
different nature was being played at North
Marine Road. The ‘Bright Bowl’ competition
was a very successful knock‐out series organ‐
ised by Scarborough Cricket Club for teams of
under 17’s.
The holders of the trophy for the two previous
seasons had been a powerful Scarborough
College XI, an independent school coached by
the late and great Percy Holmes. They were
favourites to make it a hat trick of wins.
A youthful Boys’ High School side, captained
by Norman Overfield, had comfortably won

The ‘Bright Bowl’ team: Back row: Dave Goulding; Barry Beanland; Graham Thornton; Mike Scott; Wally
Walker; Howard Reynolds; Tony Midgley. Front row: Glyn Bower; John Found; Norman Overfield
(Captain); Dick Hartley; John Mitchell.
through to the final ; High School versus Col‐
lege then, always a mouth watering prospect.
College batted first against the tidy bowling of
Overfield and ‘Pont’ Reynolds. They were to
bowl right through the allotted 25 overs. The
College openers scored freely and the 50 was
reached after only 10 overs with no wickets
down.
However, once the openers were disposed of
by Overfield the game tilted the High School’s
way. In the words of the ‘Evening News’ re‐
port, “After the cream of the batting order, the
milk that followed proved to be very watery!”
In fact, the College lads self‐destructed alarm‐
ingly and their middle order wickets were
thrown away in a bout of suicidal running.
What Percy thought of it can only be guessed
29
at! Two key batsmen (one of them Tony Moor
no less) were run out and the College stuttered
to a total of 120‐7 when 150 had looked dis‐
tinctly possible.
Norman Overfield, literally and metaphori‐
cally head and shoulders above the rest, was
the arch‐destroyer, for in addition to taking 5
wickets he had a hand in one of the run‐outs.
The High School’s reply was faltering. Most of
our batsmen made a start but nobody built an
innings as the overs ticked away remorse‐
lessly. Only Graham Thornton, 22, and ‘Puss’
Goulding, 17, showed form. Overfield with 27
precious runs stopped the rot but after 18
overs the score was a paltry 69 for 4 in deterio‐
rating conditions.
But ‘cometh the hour, cometh the man’. As

ain fell, Howard Reynolds strode to the
wicket.
Better known for his prowess on the rugby
field, he threw his combative nature into the
fray and in doing so put the College bowling
to the sword. In just over two overs he scored
19 precious runs, including three boundaries,
one of them a six over point!
With three overs to go, 15 runs were still re‐
quired for victory but with seven wickets
down. However, with some helter‐skelter
running and not a little luck, Barry Beanland
and yours truly scored the winning runs with
nine balls to spare.
It was nail‐biting stuff but the High School had
won and this set up a run of successes in the
‘Bright Bowl’ competition that lasted four
years. For the High School at least it had been
a memorable match.
Innings of Scarborough College:
PO Clowes lbw b. Overfield 41
JD Richardson b. Overfield 23
CG Gregory run out 14
AJ Moor run out 3
M Hebden b. Overfield 1
A Jacques not out 14
T Weastell c. Beanland b. Overfield 6
JE Nunn c. Goulding b. Overfield 14
RD Greenwood not out 0
Extras 4
Total (7 wickets) 120
Bowling: Overfield 5 for 60
Innings of SBHS
A Midgley lbw b. Pickering 2
GC Thornton b. Pickering 22
DG Goulding b. Greenwood 17
ND Overfeild b. Pickering 27
MJ Scott lbw b. Greenwood 3
30
H Reynolds b. Greenwood 19
BE Walker b. Pickering 1
BM Beanland not out 12
JD Found not out 3
Extras 15
Total (7 wickets) 121
Bowling: Pickering 4 for 45
Greenwood 3 for 41
CRICKETING MEMORIES
by Mike Rines
(1941-52)
The supreme moment in
the history of cricket at
our school came just after
9.0pm in near darkness at
North Marine Road on a
late summer evening
in1953. With only one ball
to go, Peter Robson scored a two to beat Gan‐
ton. Don Barnes, as captain of one of the best
sides ever to have represented the school, col‐
lected the Hospital Cup. The only other time
the school had won it had been in 1944, when
the team had included masters and old boys.
Ted Lester scored 74 not out and took 7 for 33,
and the last wicket fell when Mr Rossington
made an astonishing running catch in the deep
before falling on his back in front of the sight
board.
Robson, Barnes and Lester ‐‐ some of the great
names of our school’s cricket, and I’d like to
share my memories of them and other fine
players and team mates from my 11 years at
the school and from my later experience of
playing alongside them for Scarborough
teams. This is therefore not an attempt to write
a comprehensive history of SBHS cricket, but
rather a personal memoir.
That there were so many good players is re‐
markable, because we were at a considerable
disadvantage compared with some other
schools – a fact that I did not discover until I

played for an Oxford University team against
some of the major public schools. At Radley,
for instance, I remember there were four large
cricket fields, with pitches good enough for
test matches. At Wellington, there were about
20 nets. All we had was the rather rough track
perched atop Oliver’s Mount and the even
rougher net wicket cut in the coarse grass of
the outfield.
Consider, too, the standard of coaching. True,
we had dedicated masters such as Rossington,
Stoddard, Hovington, Roxburgh and Haigh,
who gave unstintingly of their time, umpiring
and giving up their Saturdays to take us to
away matches. However, I do not remember
being coached by any of them. Indeed, when
there were no practice facilities worthy of the
name it would have been impossible, so we
had to look elsewhere.
Eric Dixon’s experience makes the point. Like
me, he went to the nets at the Scarborough
Club ground every night of the season. On
one occasion, former Yorkshire and England
player Wilf Barber was visiting the Club and
someone suggested that Eric should have a go
at keeping in the nets to the bowling of Bill
Foord. And, of course, the lack of space meant
he had to stand up to the wicket to take Bill’s
considerable pace.
On the strength of this performance alone
Barber, who was then employed by the North
Riding County Council Education Committee,
invited Eric to play for his youth team against
the West Riding. Up to this time, Eric had
been playing for the school Under 14 team,
plus a few games with the 2 nd XI. Only now
that he had been recognised outside the
school was he chosen for the school 1 st XI to
give him some experience before the big
match.
Three other SBHS players were chosen for
Barber’s side: Hume, Newton and Horswood,
Hume as captain. Dixon remembers that
Brian Close was playing for the West Riding.
He also remembers that Horswood opened
the bowling and, in his first over, bowled
31
three or four beamers (dangerous head‐high
full ‐ tosses), which gave rise to some hostile
mutterings among the spectators. As he and
Eric crossed at the end of the over the embar‐
rassed bowler explained that he had never
had a new ball in his hand before and that it
just kept slipping out.
Even the once‐ or twice‐a‐season sessions on
Oliver’s Mount with Wilf Barber and his suc‐
cessor Maurice Leyland, which started after
1945, provided little benefit on their fleeting
visits
These deficiencies could account for some of
the astonishingly low scores recorded, par‐
ticularly during the war years. In 1943, for
instance, the School tied with Leeds Training
College with a score of 28, the batting aver‐
ages were topped by Boddy (8.4) and Geoff
Dennis topped the bowling averages with just
4.3. In the Colts, Horswood’s bowling average
of 2.5 got him only second place to Tindall at
2.48. Again, in a match in 1945, Vokes took 6
for 6 against Bridlington.
By contrast, about 500 feet down from the
Oliver’s Mount field, Scarborough College
had a lovely flat ground about 25 yards from
the back door of the school building, and at
different times they had Wilf Barber and then
Percy Holmes, another former Yorkshire and
England player, as full‐time coaches. The
benefits were made clear when the College’s
Brian Moor metamorphosed from gawky no‐
hoper into a batsman with one of the loveliest
swings you could ever wish to see send a
cricket ball rippling over the grass for four.
What compensated for our school’s shortcom‐
ings was the Scarborough Cricket Club, which
had good nets and a succession of profession‐
als to look after the coaching. And what also
must have helped was the fact that we were
able to watch and emulate the first class and
very good club cricketers who played there.
So although we did have a succession of very
good players, it is probably fair to say that
they emerged almost in spite of the school.

There were some great players before my
arrival at the school, most notably Ted Lester
(of whom more later), Jack Pearson, who bat‐
ted brilliantly for the town team in the pre‐
war years, and John Temple, a slow left‐arm
spinner who played for Yorkshire several
times in the 30s.
Players I looked up to as giants when I first
became interested in cricket were Mick Her‐
man, Bill Hume (a member of the 1 st XI for a
record five years), F. M.‘Tank’ Vokes, Bill
Temple, Ken Newton and ‘Lit’ Horswood.
The last of these appeared to me then to be
literally a giant. He seemed to be about seven
feet tall, and brought the ball down from a
towering height at what seemed to me, as a
thirteen‐year‐old, an awesome pace. In the
1948 season, he took 68 wickets in 14 games at
an average of 3.86, including 7 for 6 against
Malet Lambert.
Vokes, a left‐arm bowler of a more compact
build and with an aggressive charge up to the
wicket, was also frighteningly fast, an excel‐
lent batsman, and captained the 1 st XI in 1945,
his fourth year in the team..
Newton was a superb all‐rounder with a clas‐
sic fast bowler’s action and a thoroughbred
batting style. When still in the fourth form, he
played for the 1st XI and took 51 wickets in 14
games at an average of 3.8, (including 6 for 5
and 6 for 4 against Newburgh Priory). He was
so good that, while still at school, he was said
to have been invited to play for Yorkshire
Colts, but was unable to do so, because Mars‐
den wouldn’t let him take the time off. I often
wonder whether he later fulfilled his early
promise.
Bill Temple I remember as a cultured bats‐
man, and Herman and Hume were a very
sound opening pair, who both eventually
captained the side. Years later I had the great
pleasure of joining Mick’s Queen’s College,
Oxford, team as a guest player on their York‐
shire tour. Hume I remember best for his
extraordinary wicket‐keeping style. He stood
sideways, facing first slip, and I have since
32
wondered how he managed to take anything
down the leg side. Mick Herman remembers
that he did stop a lot of balls with his legs.
These are players I remember from my early
school days, but there were others who were
also outstanding, but who didn’t seem to have
registered in my very junior brain. For in‐
stance, Denis Saunders, a good batsman but
more noted for his footballing prowess, came
on the scene in 1941, my first year at SBHS,
and was captain in ’42, ’43 and ’44, having
played for the first team for five seasons..
Also in 1941, The Scarborian reported ‘Bill
Foord bowled his way through a glorious
season, taking 50 wickets at a little over six
runs each.’ He, of course, was a sixth former,
and as a mere lower prep pip‐squeak, I didn’t
see him play then. But years later I had the
privilege of playing alongside him for Scar‐
borough.
I can see him bowling now. A tall, wiry fig‐
ure, glasses glinting in the sun, the straight
upright run, the ball clutched somewhere near
his midriff up to the moment before delivery
when he stretched to the limit of his consider‐
able height before the full straight follow‐
through of his classic action. He was without
question the finest bowler ever to play for the
town team, and few bowlers could swing the
ball extravagantly either way at will as he did
if there was the slightest help in the seaside
atmosphere. Not surprisingly, he had quite a
few games for Yorkshire, and was at one time
spoken of as ‘the next Bill Bowes’.
I shall never forget my shock when, in a de‐
scription of his bowling in a county match, the
Yorkshire Post referred to him as ‘medium‐
paced’. I have to say it never felt like that
when I batted against him in the nets.
Two more notable names, Albert Marston and
Reg Atkinson, appeared in the 1 st XI report in
The Scarborian in 1941. Albert was the wicket‐
keeper and got a surprising number of vic‐
tims. Like Foord, he later played many sea‐
sons for Scarborough. However, I have to say
that, though he was a very congenial team‐

mate and had all the neatness, style and man‐
nerisms of a Godfrey Evans, he dropped a
disconcerting number of straightforwa catches.
Reg Atkinson, a delightful companion, was
described by The Scarborian in 1942 as ‘a styl‐
ish bat with good footwork’. He became cap‐
tain in 1944, and I later enjoyed playing under
his captaincy for the Scarborough ‘A’ team. He
was a fine driver of the ball, but never quite
lived up to the potential he showed in the nets.
I last saw him in the 1960s when I was fielding
on the boundary in a match at Menston in the
Airedale and Wharfedale League and enjoyed
a chat with him.
Geoff Dennis got his first mention in The Scar‐
borian in 1943, and was still in the team in 1945
when he and Vokes must have made a fear‐
some pair of opening bowlers.
He came from a cricketing family, and his
sister married Len Hutton.
He was a fast bowler and often operated from
the opposite end to Bill Foord for Scarborough,
later becoming a very successful captain of the
club. The red‐haired Dennis was less accurate
than the disciplined Foord, but bowling left
arm over at the end of a run up that ended in a
fiery rush, he whipped the ball across the
right‐hand batsman and achieved high bounce
on anything like a helpful wicket.
I have a memory of him bowling down the
slope on a spiteful wicket in a Yorkshire
League match at Rotherham. I was fielding at
fine leg, and had to make several futile at‐
tempts to stop four byes when his bouncers
went way over the wicketkeeper’s out‐
stretched hands.
Ted Lester, the greatest of them all, had left the
school before I joined in 1941, but I watched
him score a torrent of runs for the Scarborough
club at North Marine Road at a time when
Alan Richardson (not an Old Scarborian) be‐
strode the scene. Alan played a number of
times for Yorkshire and was the mightiest
straight driver I ever saw. Indeed, fielders
33
used to get out of the way of some of his shots
– that is the ones that were not going over their
heads for six. But Ted could match his rate of
scoring, though he was more likely to keep the
ball on the ground, and was stronger on the
leg side. Both interspersed their big hitting
with the most delicate of late cuts, a shot rarely
seen today.
They were at their most exciting when they
were batting together, often racing each other
to the hundred at a rate that must have terri‐
fied their opponents.
Ted went on to play for Yorkshire 2nd XI,
where he again scored prolifically, and took a
lot of wickets with his off‐breaks. He had
played one game, against the RAF, for the 1 st
XI in the 1945 Festival, but his County Cham‐
pionship debut was against Nottinghamshire
at Trent Bridge in 1946. And, because he was
one of my boyhood heroes, I can still remem‐
ber that he got 47, caught Heane bowled
Woodhead.
The Yorkshire Post’s J M Kilburn commented
that his drives were ‘rackety’ and, looking
back on his style, I recognise the description.
Ted did give the ball a sort of wristy slap.
Yorkshire were very strong in those days, and
he did not yet get a regular place. This left him
free not only to continue to play for Scarbor‐
ough, but also to play for the Old Scarborians
against local villages in the Evening League
and the Hospital Cup. This was not something
that was always appreciated by other teams –
particularly when Bill Foord was in the side as
well. I remember that in a match against Cay‐
ton Ted was run out backing up, without the
bowler having given him the customary gen‐
tlemanly warning.
Cayton justified this dastardly act on the
grounds that it wasn’t fair for Ted to be play‐
ing, and the Evening News gave a lot of space
to the furore that followed. Indeed, it might
have been this incident that triggered the Eve‐
ning League rule change, recorded recently in

Summer Times by Mick Herman, which lim‐
ited the number of county players allowed in
a team to two.
In 1948, and on a much bigger stage, Peter
Robson recalls, Ted suffered from another
dirty trick. He was nicely set on 37 at Bramall
Lane against Bradman’s all‐conquering tour‐
ists, and was run out by wicket‐keeper Ron
Saggers when he went down the pitch to do
some ‘gardening’. At a time when the Eng‐
land selectors were desperate to find someone
to fight back against the Aussies, Peter reck‐
ons this might have cost Ted dear.
In 1947 Ted had became a regular member of
the Yorkshire side, and in that glorious sum‐
mer when Denis Compton and Bill Edrich
tore up all the batting record books, Ted was
not eclipsed. In only seven matches and
eleven innings (twice not out) he scored 657
runs (including centuries in both innings at
Northampton) to come third in the national
averages at 73.00. He must then have been
very much in the test selectors’ minds.
Unfortunately, he was not able to sustain such
an astonishing level of scoring, although he
did score two centuries (125 not out and 132)
in a Roses match in 1948. Then, in his best
season, 1952, he scored 1786 runs, including
six centuries, for an average of 49.61. What is
more, he was regarded by those in the know
as the finest player of medium pace bowling
in the country. That might sound like damn‐
ing with faint praise, but overlooks the pres‐
ence in those days of great medium pacers
such as Alec Bedser, Cliff Gladwin, and Reg
Perks.
I suspect that one of the reasons Ted did not
accumulate more runs was that he never for‐
got that cricket should be played for pleasure,
and he just loved giving it a whack – not al‐
ways wisely. For instance, in a match against
Worcestershire at North Marine Road I saw
him twice caught off a shot of a kind only he
ever played. It was a sort of shovel shot to a
shortish ball outside the off stump, which
34
most times landed safely over the midwicket
boundary. In both innings of this game it
came down into the hands of Don Kenyon,
just short of the boundary.
This shot of Ted’s was one some of us got to
know well. Eric Dixon, Peter Jackson, Brian
Stockdale and I used to practice on Sunday
mornings through the winter on coco matting
on one of the tennis courts above the Open
Air Theatre, and Ted sometimes joined us.
When he played his shovel shot it cleared
several of the high fenced courts, and one of
us had to make a long trek round to retrieve
the ball.
When Ted retired from County Cricket, The
Cricketer magazine printed what might have
seemed, to anyone who did not know him, an
outrageously extravagant tribute for the en‐
joyment and sportsmanship he had brought
to the game. Two personal recollections show
why.
With my friend Eric Dixon (about whom
more later), I used to work in the dressing
rooms at North Marine Road during first class
matches, cleaning boots and pads, and run‐
ning errands for the players – anything to get
close to our heroes! That gave us the opportu‐
nity to listen to their conversations. In one
Yorkshire v MCC Festival match, after Ted
had got a duck in the first innings, I heard
Alec Bedser, a generous and gentle cockney
giant, describe how he had bowled him an
easy one down the leg side in the second in‐
nings to give him a single to avoid a pair. ‘Do
you know what that facking Ted Lester did?’
he demanded in outraged but humorous
tones. ‘He only hit me into North Marine
Road!’
Ted could never resist hitting a loose ball. In
one game for Scarborough, late in his career,
he opened the batting and was out to the third
ball of the second over ‐‐ with his score at 26,
including two sixes into the same road.
After quitting the first class scene, he cap‐
tained Yorkshire’s 2 nd XI for a number of

years, acting as a father figure to a succession
of grateful young players, and when he was
too old for that he acted as the county’s scorer.
Not many clubs can have had such a loyal
servant. He was also a great all‐rounder. He
was at one time the Borough’s regular goal‐
keeper and was the town’s table tennis cham‐
pion.
He was, and happily still is, a great sportsman.
Of my immediate contemporaries, the most
outstanding players were Eric Dixon, Peter
Jackson and Brian Stockdale. Eric was a very
good and very courageous wicket keeper. I
have already mentioned his standing up to Bill
Foord in the Scarborough club nets, and I
remember how he would stay close to the
wicket on the leg side even when the batsman
was taking a big leg‐side swing. On one occa‐
sion he was hit full on the head by the bat, but
carried on playing in a blood‐soaked bandage.
Following the game he played for Wilf Bar‐
ber’s North Riding team. He, Horswood and
Newton were invited to the Yorkshire nets at
Headingley, as a prelude to probable selection
for the Yorks Under 17 tour of Hampshire, but
Marsden wouldn’t let them have the time off.
Nevertheless, Eric still believed he could make
a career in cricket, and decided to leave
school after the fifth form. Unfortunately, the
Scarborough club never gave him the first
team experience he needed to enable him to
progress.
Ironically, Brian Stockdale, was offered a con‐
tract by Yorkshire, but turned it down to pur‐
sue the career he had started with the Forestry
Commission. In the history of High School
cricket, he was probably second only to Foord
as a seam bowler, though not as fast and not
able to move the ball out as well as in. Never‐
theless, I have a distinct memory of his turn‐
ing me inside out when I batted against him
for an RAF touring side that was playing Scar‐
borough.
Peter Jackson was probably the most effective
school batsman of my generation. He had a
35
Bradman‐like ability to pull any ball that was
a fraction short. And because there were al‐
ways plenty of short‐pitched balls in school
cricket he amassed a lot of runs. He scored
two centuries in 1951 (including 129 not out
against Scarborough College) – something
nobody else achieved for the school while I
was there, though Brian Moor scored at least
one ton against us for the College.
Peter was a very good captain, combining in
his second year (1951) what Mr Haigh de‐
scribed as charm, sureness and firmness. He
was also a distinctly brisk fast bowler, but
unlike Stockdale did not get much lateral
movement. He left our school in the sixth form
when his family moved to Hull, and he trans‐
ferred to Hull Grammar. So we had the pleas‐
ure of playing against him, and I remember
being quite pleased to survive his attack when
I opened the batting, and was last man out
with 38.
Two other players who were immediate con‐
temporaries were John Burden (whom I en‐
vied for his luck in living in North Marine
Road right next to the cricket field gate) and
Arthur Edwards. They had been very promis‐
ing colts, but their development was halted
when – with the best possible intentions ‐‐ Mr
Rossington promoted them straight into the 1 st
XI. Neither ever regained batting confidence,
though Arthur put in what Mr Haigh de‐
scribed as a wholehearted effort in 1951 as
makeshift wicketkeeper, even if he was ‘as
frequently puzzled by spin as the batsmen’.
Peter Robson and Don Barnes had come to the
1 st XI in 1950, and in 1951 took 37 wickets
each. Robson took eight wickets for just ten
runs against Coatham. He ran in like a run‐
away train, arms and legs pistoning rhythmi‐
cally before firing the ball with a very fast
arm. He was rightly feared by the Coatham
batsmen, in particular – they nicknamed him
‘The Grinder’, and he was certainly the most
destructive pace bowler of his generation at
the school. He was also an ebullient hitter of
the ball.

Barnes, by contrast, had a more studious ap‐
proach, being probably the best off‐spinner
the school produced. He had a teasing flight,
and gave the ball a genuine tweak. He was
also a very stylish and productive batsman,
and an intelligent captain in 1952 and 1953. He
and Robson had both been called to the York‐
shire Junior’s nets in 1951, and Barnes was
selected for the Junior XI’s tour.
After he left school, Peter played regularly for
English Universities over a period of four
years.
In 1952, Barry Jubb emerged as a leg‐break
bowler, the only one of his kind I remember
playing for the school, but I would love to
know what lay behind Mr Haigh’s Old Scar‐
borian assertion that he ‘bowled the most
lethal full toss that we have seen for some
time’.
John Yeadon and ‘Geezer’ Merriweather were
both very sound batsmen by this time, and
with Barnes, Robson and the young Overfield,
formed the backbone of the 1953 team that
won the Hospital Cup. Other good players
such as Tom Jones, Derek Hargrave and Frank
Ankrett came to the fore only after my time.
And though I later saw Ray Bloom play very
impressively for the town team, he was still
only a colt when I left in 1952.
The school was knocked out of the Hospital
Cup that year by The Nomads, a team that
was made up largely from local schoolmas‐
ters, including Haigh and Hovington. For
reasons I still do not know, Don Barnes asked
me to open the bowling at the pavilion end,
even though I had never previously bowled a
ball for the school. I seem to remember bowl‐
ing right through the innings without taking a
wicket, but quite economically, while Peter
Robson bowled his explosive stuff from the
Seamer Road end. I particularly remember his
delight when he got opener Haigh for a duck.
When we came to bat we faced old boy Stan
Lewsey, who bowled medium pace off a pecu‐
liar jerky marionette‐like run. He came in from
the Seamer Road end with the bright red set‐
36
ting sun right behind his arm, with no sight
screens. Not surprisingly, though Don Barnes
got 37 and I got 42, we found it impossible to
score quickly enough, and fell short by just 9
runs.
The glorious story of the Hospital Cup win the
following year, with notable contributions
from a couple of new names – Overfield and
Moor ‐‐ has been told elsewhere, and all I will
say here is that I would have given anything
to have been part of that great team.
This story is primarily about the players in my
time at the school, but it would be wrong not
to pay tribute to the masters mentioned earlier
on for their contributions. Others non‐players,
such as ‘Bomber’ Stirling and John Rice, gave
a lot of their time as scorers, and were truly
members of the teams (Rice introduced stroke
diagrams, I remember, and later achieved
success in his own right as captain of the 2 nd
XI).
And there’s one other ‘cricketer’ I must men‐
tion. Revan Tranter, my friend for more than
60 years. He played a couple of games for the
Second XI, and the pinnacle of his cricketing
career was taking 5 for 24 for the Librarians
against the Boxing Club. In truth, he had a
quite remarkable antipathy to anything re‐
motely athletic – Brad’s sword dances in PT
lessons pushed him well beyond his limit.
Moreover, the vision in his right eye was so
bad that he horrified the marshals on the fir‐
ing range, when he did his national service, by
attempting to fire his rifle left‐handed!
But though he was never one of the school’s
star players, he developed a life‐long passion
for the game. To this day, in his California
home he stays up half the night following the
fortunes of England’s overseas touring teams
on his computer. And if you want to know
anything about the fortunes of the Yorkshire
team or the latest lunacies of its management
there is no better authority than Revan.
In this account of my personal recollections it
has not been possible, for reasons of space, to
name every one of those congenial team‐mates

who were my cricket companions. But I re‐
member them all, and in my mind’s eye I can
still see those run stealers flickering to and fro
in everlasting sun on Oliver’s Mount. In my
memory they are as they were then. They do
not grow old, and I do not forget that I was
Above: Mike Rines and ‘Geezer’ Merri‐
weather walking out to bat on the only
occasion Mike captained the school side –
only for Mike to retire hurt after being hit
on the point of the elbow by a rising ball.
37
very privileged to be one of them.
TED LESTER REMEMBERS
(1933-39)
The Scarborough
Cricket
Festival
When I was born, within
the proverbial throw of a
cricket ball from the
North Marine Road, the
Scarborough Festival had
been in operation for
almost fifty years. I first attended the Festival
as a as a schoolboy when 7 years of age – my
parents always knew where I was at Festival
times ‐ but my real recollections stem from
about 1934. At this time it was an integral
part of the cricket calendar. It was the end of
term celebrations for players and acquaintan‐
ces to make new friends and to reminisce, a
time for conviviality, banter, and, above all
for Yorkshire hospitality and generosity at its
best. This was a wondrous opportunity to
absorb the atmosphere – the occasional cries
of ‘Rowntrees’ pastilles, clear gums, sugared
almonds’ from sweets sellers plying their
trade to the accompaniment of the Scarbor‐
ough Town Silver Band which played con‐
The Old Scarborians
XI with the Hospital
cup. Back: George
Mackinley; Stan
Lewsey; Mr Hoving‐
ton; Unknown; Un‐
known; Reg Atkin‐
son; Geoff Dennis.
Front: Mr Stoddard;
Sam Brooke‐Dyde;
Mr Rossington; Ted
Lester; Paddy (?)
Waterhouse.

tinuously from lunch to close of play.
Play always began at noon with stumps be‐
ing drawn at 6.00pm. Lunch was taken at
2.00pm and tea, on the field of play at
4.15pm. The opening match was always
Yorkshire v the MCC followed by either Mr
HDG Leveson‐Gower’s XI v the MCC or the
outgoing Tourists, North v South or Gentle‐
men v Players. The closing fixture was Mr
H.D G Levison‐Gower’s XI v the Tourists, a
splendid finale bringing together an array of
quite unforgettable talent. The Festival itself
closed with a rendition by the band of Auld
Lang Syne followed by the National Anthem,
both of which were traditionally observed.
On a strictly personal basis, my involvement
stretches over sixty years. Initially I was a
junior spectator and on one memorable occa‐
sion (1934) I was a ball retriever as Don Brad‐
man scored an incredible 132 in one and a
half hours off bowlers of the calibre of Far‐
nes, Nichols, Bowes and Verity. I soon gradu‐
ated in 1936 to scoreboard operative – my
38
first paid employment ‐ and in those forma‐
tive years I became familiar with my school‐
boy heroes which no doubt influenced a
lifelong career in cricket.
To an avid autograph hunter the Festival was
paradise and two cricketers will always be
remembered: the West Indian Ben Sealey
who replicated his signature on a rubber
stamp, which was as likely to finish on a
forehead as in a book, and the Indian bats‐
man Mushtaq Ali who gave away half‐
pennies with his signature, thereby assuring
his popularity.
About this time I remember running an er‐
rand for Herbert Sutcliffe and was rewarded
with a banana, albeit overripe. Little did I
think that in the first Festival after the war I
would actually play alongside him. This was
the first of my ten Festival appearances –
marking my final appearance against Paki‐
stan with the last of my 26 first‐class centu‐
ries. In those 10 years I was privileged to play
with and against the best international play‐

ers from all parts of the world.
Once my playing days were over, I assumed
the role of resident scorer, an office which I
held for more than 25 years and during which
time I scored runs and took wickets for many
skilled players. On retirement I reverted to
casual spectating and it is with much sadness
that I now see a Festival in progressive de‐
cline. From necessity, not choice, the old for‐
mat has long since gone and because of the
ongoing structural changes in the present‐day
game and the non‐availability of many lead‐
ing players, the Festival is virtually incapable
of resurrection without serious revision.
Oh, for the necessary inspiration to enable a
viable survival plan to be devised so that
future generations may derive as much pleas‐
ure from their memories
THE SCHOOL AT WAR
Whilst much of the magazine is taken up with
members’ memories, it has been suggested
that we include a specific section for memo‐
39
ries of The School at War.
Such memories need not necessarily be those
of ex‐pupils serving in the war. The memories
of those still at school during that time would
be of interest to many younger, and not so
young members. The rationing, the blackouts;
the air raid warnings; the school “garden”
and “farm”. Where did the eggs go which
were produced by the hens the boys fed? Who
benefited from the bacon from the pigs they
reared?
To start this section, a few items submitted for
this issue seemed appropriate and have been
included.
Maurice Short writes from
Northwood (1938-42)
(Group Captain M Short MBE, AFC, RAF
Retd.)
I hope that you can increase the size of the
photo. (See photo above) Otherwise the
members will have to purchase a special Old

Boys magnifier (special sales pitch!). It will
certainly test members, even those who think
they still have 6/6 vision.
Attached are some historical memories of my
time at the High School for Summer Times. In
the first picture taken of the ATC Squadron
739 taken in 1941, I am sitting 9th to the right
as you look at the picture from Mr Marsden.
THE SHORT DYNASTY
By Maurice Short (1938-42)
The Short dynasty occupied a seat continu‐
ously at the High School from 1932 – 1942.
Eldest brother Geoff started us off in ’32 fol‐
lowed by Vernon and finally myself in ’38.
Having read through the 2003 Summer Times
I found myself reminiscing over what now
seem in retrospect to have been halcyon days.
At the outbreak of war HW took firm control
over the approach to be made at and by the
school. He very quickly harnessed the Post
Office engineers to come along to the school
at the end of the day and provide each class
with lessons on the Morse Code!! This proved
very valuable in the future during my tours
with Coastal Command. He also started the
first of the early Air Training Corps Squad‐
rons. HW was the Squadron Commander and
Mr Johnson our Caretaker was the Squadron
Warrant Officer, enhancing his already pow‐
erful position within the school hierarchy. In
the commissioned ranks were Mr Taylor
(Art); Mr Wallhead (Woodwork). Joining the
other ranks were members of the Hull King‐
ston College members who had been
‘evacuated’. To Scarborough.
Although sport was an important part of the
curriculum HW knew that there were many
reluctant heroes who enjoyed a relaxing
Wednesday half day rather than climb the
cold and windy heights of Oliver’s Mount. So
he decided that he should support the na‐
tional slogan ‘Dig for Victory’. He, in consul‐
tation with Cush Turnbull, of literary fame,
decided that the plot of land opposite the
school entrance, now occupied by TESCO,
40
could be cultivated. The work force to be
formed by enlisting the support of the afore‐
mentioned reluctant heroes. The result sur‐
prised many ‐ not least HW.
For those of a sporting nature Oliver’s Mount
continued to provide its barren beauty of
wind and freezing temperatures. I recall one
outstanding athlete of my time at school. One
Les Hartzig, who I had the great pleasure of
sitting beside at a County game at North
Marine road some years ago, was the cause of
my immense but unsuccessful interest in
cross country running. My brothers had been
very successful at this sport and I was ex‐
pected to follow the family path. I knew that
Les was one to keep an eye on. So I trained,
even studied a book on the great Olympian
Paavo Nurmi. Alas, the result was the sight of
Les’s heels on the last stretch into the field. I
knew I could run long distances, but not very
quickly! So I hope Les is still in good health,
maybe not running but walking quickly still.
I have another memory I would like to share
with members. Shortly after war was de‐
clared my friend Cecil Bean (of ill‐repute and
5u) advised me that there was money to be
made out of scrap iron. He had located a back
axle up near the quarry on Oliver’s Mount,
which needed collecting and delivered to the
Scrap Merchant. The next Saturday morning
off we set with a dilapidated pram with good
wheels but a poor body to collect it. All went
well until we reached Valley Bridge. As we
neared the School end, out of the School en‐
trance came Herr Bon, moving with his usual
independent air, umbrella and sharp stride,
we now with heads bowed pushing our iron
along the roadside, hoping he hadn’t recog‐
nised us. Monday morning proved differ‐
ently. Our presence was demanded outside
his classroom. He was a WMD long before
they designed nuclear weapons. Eventually,
we were brought inside for what I foresaw as
a very embarrassing one‐sided discussion.
He demanded to know what we were doing
on Saturday morning pushing a pram with a
car back axle in it. My friend Cecil presented

the case for the defence in fine style. He
explained to both Herr Bon and me that we
were carrying out work of national impor‐
tance, helping the War effort by collecting
metal for use in the arms industry. Having
got over my surprise at that brilliant expo‐
sition, there was another one to come from
Herr Bon. He proceeded to reprimand us
in no uncertain way for not wearing our
caps when carrying out such a worthwhile
task. Our war work in this field came to an
abrupt end.
Hindsight provides a more realistic assess‐
ment of our schooldays through compari‐
son with today’s school systems and devel‐
opment of our youth. Having had three
daughters with experience of State school‐
ing, as pupils and teachers I have great
difficulty in reconciling our schooling with
that provided today. I have to accept that I
have a very real generation gap or two!
I record that the High School led by a great
headmaster in Mr Marsden gave my broth‐
ers and myself a very good grounding for
life. Geoff went on to lecture in metallurgy
at York College, Vernon became the County
Architect at Northallerton, and I served for
52 years in and with the RAF.
Thank you SBHS.
HOV’s WAR MEMOIR
The World War
II experiences
of an infantry
officer
by Major
George
Reginald
Hovington
Edited by Michael Rines
Continued from Volume 44
CHAPTER 8: SICILY 1943
The day eventually arrived when we
41
boarded a liner at Suez and sailed through
the Canal to Port Said, where, after a day’s
pause, we set out to sea. Within 24 hours,
the whole convoy was assembled with its
appropriate naval cover. Then came a
storm, with waves as high as we had en‐
countered rounding the Cape of Good
Hope. We were told that the invasion, be‐
cause of the weather, had been postponed
for a day, and we sailed round and round,
buffeted by the waves, the winds and the
rain.
For some years we had been friends with
artillery and sapper officers, particularly
those who were attached to us, and I
watched the flares and fires over Sicily
from the top deck with one of them, Oliver
Johnson, as we made our approach through
the night. We were due to land at dawn,
but there were so many soldiers in the sea
that dozens of times the liner hove to, and
the sailors took out boats to rescue them.
One soldier murmured to me as he drank
his hot rum that the American aeroplane
pilots had released the gliders far too soon.
As soon as the flak came up they were off!
Our landing point was a beach just south of
Augusta, and the liner anchored about two
miles off shore. Then began the hazardous
operation of sliding down netting placed on
its steep sides onto the decks of landing
craft. The sea was still rough and the liner
and the landing craft never seemed to rise
or fall together in the swell, nor was it pos‐
sible to keep the landing craft within a yard
of the side of the liner. Consequently, a few
men fell between the crafts and were lost.
I had been detailed to be the first in the
Battalion to go ashore from the landing
craft, which went aground about eighty
yards from the shore. Officers were armed,
just like the troops, with a rifle so that they
could not be picked out from the other
ranks. We also carried the same hand gre‐
nades, blankets and emergency rations, but
unlike the men, we also had a pistol, so the

weight was considerable. The sun was shin‐
ing brightly, the sea was blue and looked
about two feet deep, so I jumped in ‐‐ and
found the water well over my head; the depth
must have been at least fifteen feet.
Somehow, I managed to throw off all my
equipment, and I half swam, half splashed till
my feet touched the ground, still holding my
rifle and pistol, both now useless, as they
were waterlogged. I shouted to the crew of
the LCT that they must find another place to
land, but it had gone aground.
I thought I had carried out the invasion sin‐
gle‐handed until four members of the Para‐
chute Brigade sauntered down to the beach –
they had been there since dusk the previous
night – and invited me for breakfast of bacon
and egg! It was an hour before my colleagues
landed half a mile away, after an LCT had
come to the rescue of ours and got it afloat
again.
As we moved inland, the Italians we met
must have been the worst troops ever. There
they were in well‐sited pill‐boxes from which
they maintained sporadic fire, but when they
saw us approach, they just stopped firing, a
white flag was hoisted and out they came,
smiles all over their faces.
My platoon took 56 prisoners in less than half
an hour without any casualties on either side.
The Germans, as we soon found, were of dif‐
ferent mettle. About two miles on, we came
under heavy fire from a wood. How the Ger‐
mans had managed to stay in it I do not know
for, after heavy shelling from our warships,
the inside of nearly every tree was burning
red hot. There was the digging in and a two‐
hour pause before the artillery, having
landed, were able to mount, direct and fire
their guns in concert with the fleet’s.
This was to be our first battle, and everyone
was tense. Almost hysterically at the given
signal we ran towards the enemy, being cov‐
ered by Bren gun fire on our flanks. To our
surprise, not a shot was fired in return. We
42
were in the wood, through it and half a mile
on, and no Germans, just a few remnants of
their occupation – spent cartridges, a con‐
tainer of stew and a forage cap! They had
retreated to more suitable defensive ground –
and this was to be the pattern, as we made
our way forward. When, after a week, we
reached the Catania plain, we knew from the
strength of the fire that here they were to
make their big stand.
The vast plain between the undulating hills to
the north and south must have been nearly
ten miles wide. We dug in on the crest of the
hill. It was time to send out night patrols to
ascertain the enemy’s strong positions. Any
movement on the hill occasioned an immedi‐
ate shelling. It did not take long and not
many casualties to discover that the Germans
had deep entrenchments and their small arms
fire was on fixed lines, able to rake with cross
fire almost every yard of ground.
Our Brigade colleagues, the York and Lanca‐
shire Regiment and the King’s Own Yorkshire
Light Infantry, had put in two attacks, sup‐
ported by a most amazing bombardment from
the fleet and every available piece of our artil‐
lery, but had been forced to retire. It was to
be our turn next, we knew.
Overnight, a squadron of heavy tanks had
established themselves on the hill, spaced out
and camouflaged to look like haystacks. They
could not have looked more conspicuous if
they had hoisted flags. The German artillery
put down a tremendous bombardment and,
within two minutes, three tanks were ablaze
and the others scuttled in alarm over the hill,
still carrying their hay! Naturally, we who
were in slit trenches over a hundred yards
behind their front tanks were very angry, for
we got a share of the shells meant for the
tanks.
That night, we were to put in our attack. As
soon as it was dusk, we moved forward a
couple of miles and lay for cover in a ditch
about a quarter of a mile behind the starting

line, which was a long white tape laid down
by the intelligence officer. ‘A’ company, in
which I was a platoon commander, and ‘B’
company, commanded by Hedley Verity,
with ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies behind us in
reserve, were to advance behind a creeping
barrage, which every available artillery and
naval gun would supply at a pre‐fixed time.
Although it was cutting it fine, the Colonel
about a mile back sent for all his officers for
a further briefing. This briefing was really
nothing more than the synchronising of
watches, but I had to run as fast as I could
back to my platoon to reach the start line in
time. I was supposed to liaise with the left
hand platoon of ‘B’ company, but when the
time came to move forward over the start
line, they were not to be seen.
The horrific noise of the barrage, the dis‐
charge of shells and the thumps they made
on landing just numbed the ears. We were
supposed to keep within 50 yards of the
barrage at all times as it crept forward, but
some shells landed behind us and killed
several members of ‘C’ and ‘D’ companies.
When the barrage finished, the sky was lit
with German flares and we could see their
positions on the hills clearly. The tracer
bullets from cross fire raked every bit of
ground in front of us. It would have been
suicide to go any further forward, and we
were given orders to withdraw.
We hastened back in good order for about
two miles but, as dawn was now breaking,
we were obviously an easy target, so we had
to hide, about 80 of us, in a ditch. We had
just got our Bren guns in position, ready for
the likely German counter‐attack, when
through the early mist running towards us
came wraith‐like figures. We fired and con‐
tinued to fire until we heard English voices
shouting, ‘Don’t shoot!’ Still we fired – we
had heard of that old German trick! Then
our attackers went to ground, but walking
casually towards us we spotted Reg Bell, ‘B’
company platoon commander. We had been
43
shooting at our own men!
From Reg Bell, who was awarded the MC for
his bravery, we learned that at the briefing
meeting with the Colonel, Hedley Verity had
taken off his boots because his feet were
swollen, and when it was time to go he could
not find them in the dark. The few precious
minutes he lost till he found them meant he
did not arrive at the starting line in time, and
missed the creeping barrage. However, he
decided to put in a company attack without
it. His men never had a chance against accu‐
rate German fire. His second‐in command,
Laurie Hesmondalgh, was killed by machine
gun fire. Hedley was shot in the chest. His
batman, Reynoldson, stayed with him – and
both were taken prisoner. Arthur Johnson,
another ‘B’ company platoon commander,
was brought back on a stretcher, laughingly
shouting to us as he was carried past that he
was going back to England to his wife. We
learned two hours later that he had died of
his wounds.
We stayed in that ditch all day, motionless,
burned by the hot sun, our water‐bottles
long since empty. Some were so thirsty, they
drank some of the stagnant water from the
ditch, and soon vomiting added to their
misery. It was not until darkness that we
were able to return to our lines.
In the middle of the next night, all except the
sentries were sleeping exhausted in their slit‐
trenches when the order came that we were
to arouse our men as we had to put in an‐
other attack at dawn. Naturally, there was
grumbling – hadn’t we done enough? – and
only harsh words got them moving into
some kind of order.
At about 4.00 am we were assembled in the
same place as before. While we were wait‐
ing for the signal to move forward to the
starting line, a jeep appeared and out
stepped General Montgomery. Then the
battalion commanders of the three brigade
regiments arrived.

I heard what he said to them: ‘You will report
back to Brigade at once. Each second‐in‐
command will take over forthwith your battal‐
ion. That’s all!’ Then he got into his jeep and
moved away without another word to them.
We heard within minutes that Montgomery
had called our attack off. We were to retire
and take a week’s rest from the line. During
that time, in face of incessant bombardment
and subsequent attacks, the Germans retreated
from the hills overlooking the Catania plains
and we were then called upon to make our
way towards Messina via the foothills of Etna.
Resistance was only sporadic, most casualties
being caused by shellfire and the occasional
burst from marauding German fighters, when
they could escape the watchful eyes of our
Spitfires.
One day, I witnessed a magnificent dog fight
just over our heads, which ended with the
German plane on fire and belching black
44
smoke disappearing with a terrific bang into
the sea. The Spitfire pilot then did a victory
roll at some 3000 feet. Then we heard his en‐
gine splutter and then stop. It seemed to take
ages before we saw him climb out of his cock‐
pit and begin to fall. We waited breathlessly
for his parachute to open, but it never did. His
body hit the grass at the side of a track about
fifty yards away. We rushed up to him. He
looked about 18, and was fully conscious: ‘At
least I got the bugger’, he whispered with a
smile, and then died.
Eventually, forward platoons told us that all
German troops had evacuated the island. On
hearing that, we just lay down on open
ground wherever we were, and slept solidly
non‐stop for twenty‐four hours.
ITALY 1943-44 TO ANZIO
Before our landing on the mainland of Italy,
we witnessed a tremendous bombardment by
our guns on Scylla, our landing place. But
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after experiencing the rigid defence of the
Germans on the Catania Plain, where they
seemed to take supernatural punishment
and still were able to return scathing fire, we
all expected our attack to be strongly re‐
sisted. We thought we would be sitting
ducks crossing the straits in landing craft.
I had now been put in charge of the mortar
platoon, which had six carriers, on each of
which was mounted a three‐inch mortar.
There was also a motorbike for the sergeant.
Mortar carriers were low in priority for land‐
ing – foot soldiers first, tanks and then carri‐
ers on which were mounted Bren machine
guns.
From the shore, we watched our troops
crossing the turbulent water of the Straits of
Messina, waiting every second for the Ger‐
man shells and machine gun fire to blow
them out of the water. But nothing happened
– not one shot! Even as the craft approached
the shore, we awaited some kind of trap, but
again nothing happened. Then, through
binoculars, I saw our troops go ashore and
be embraced by Italian civilians. The Ger‐
mans must have gone.
I crossed in a tank landing craft, but when
we hit the shore, my bloody carrier would
not start. I had to leave it and commandeer
the sergeant’s motorbike, so that I could try
to keep in touch with our forward troops.
The next few weeks were like a holiday – hot
sun, blue skies, beautiful scenery, lots of vino
and no superior officers – for I had found
there was no chance of contacting the for‐
ward troops.
As we advanced, the Tedesci, as the Italians
called the Germans, blew the bridges. On the
west coast, the railway line ran just below
the road, so the explosions cracked the roads
on to the railway line, making both impass‐
able to vehicles. Then there were long de‐
lays before the Germans could be winkled
out from the hills, so they were able to send
heavy fire on anyone approaching the
45
bridges. This meant that the sappers could
not erect their Bailey bridges till they were
freed from gunfire.
In a few places, I managed to manhandle my
motorbike round the obstructions and, to‐
gether with the carrier officer, also on a mo‐
tor‐bike, we left our carriers miles below.
The rich civilians who lived in magnificent
houses overlooking the sea had long since
sought safety elsewhere, so we broke into
their houses, slept in their beds, and bathed
in the sea at least twice a day, while in the
distance we could hear the sounds of battle.
This, unfortunately, was not to last, because
when the bridges had been re‐built behind
us, the mortar carriers caught us up and,
soon afterwards, we rejoined the Battalion.
Shortly before reaching Paolo, the direction
of our attack was changed away from the
coast and into the Apennines. Again and
again, blown bridges grounded our carriers.
Nevertheless, on one occasion the Colonel
wirelessed me to bring up the mortars to
reinforce an attack. As he must have known,
we could not bring up the carriers, and the
mortars and shells were too heavy for the
platoon to manhandle.
I wondered how he imagined I could carry
out his order. Then someone suggested
horses. I toured the nearest village on my
bike, but no farmer had any horses. Then I
spotted about a dozen mules in a field. The
farmer was very loath to let me have them
until I wrote on a piece of paper: ‘The British
Army promises to pay after the war the
equivalent of £1 sterling for the hire of each
of the twelve mules’. Signed General Mont‐
gomery. The ‘General Montgomery’ did the
trick! He would harness them and accom‐
pany us.
We loaded them up and set off over the hills.
The leading mule, led by the farmer, was the
only one to behave itself, and only then
when the farmer beat it about the legs. Of
the rest, some rolled their eyes and kicked,

some just refused to budge after about a quarter
of a mile. The farmer dashed up and down the
line of mules, flogging each in turn. Then a
German observation post must have spotted us,
and their artillery put down about twenty shells.
The mules did not turn a hair, but the farmer set
off back home as fast as his legs could carry him.
Eventually, we got seven mules to our destina‐
tion, and I take my hat off to them, for they had
to carry the loads taken from the defectors, as
well as their own. Having reached our destina‐
tion and fired off all our shells, there was the
question of what to do with the mules. I would
have liked to have kept them, for they were
certain to prove useful in the future, but we had
no food for them and they were a visible target,
so we pointed them in the right direction home,
slapped their bottoms and they ran out of sight
like thoroughbreds.
The Germans made their first big stand at the
river Minterno, which flowed between steep
hills. Of course, the bridge across the river was
blown and they were well dug in on the other
side. Our troops were dug in on the slopes op‐
posite. By this time, bridges having been
erected, I had all my carriers, which were sited
behind a small village, just over the crest of the
hills. ‘D’ Company was the most forward of our
companies, dug in on a spur, and it was my job,
every night, to take hot food to them – contain‐
ers full of stew, rice pudding, and scalding tea –
which necessitated the use of three carriers.
There was a narrow track that ran round the
village down a hill and then up on to the spur.
The first three nights we had no problem – the
moon was shining and our Artillery bombarded
the German positions, inter‐alia, to drown the
sound our carriers made. On the fourth, I had
just set off, driving the first carrier myself, when
the moon went in. I proceeded very carefully
but, just as I had nearly reached the bottom of
the hill, the carrier slithered to the right on meet‐
ing softer ground and ended up half on the track
and half in a field three feet below the track.
There was nothing to do but unload it and get
46
the other carriers to pull it out. They could not
get past my carrier anyway, as, though half in
the field, it was still blocking the narrow track.
We toiled for hours – two towropes snapped –
but we could not get the carrier back on the
road. By using all the manpower available, we
were able at last to lever it out and haul it off the
track completely and into the field. When the
two carriers arrived eventually with the food at
‘D’ Company, we were met with extravagant
oaths for being so late!
Having got back to my carrier, we proceeded to
cover it over with soil, because, otherwise, when
daylight came, the Germans, who from their
position in the hills missed nothing, would have
blasted it and the village. It took us all nearly
until dawn, and we all had blisters from con‐
stant use of our rough handled shovels.
Just before leaving, we saw a curious sight. Into
the field where the carrier was buried strolled, I
should think, all the inhabitants of the village,
men, women and children of all ages, who then
proceeded to defecate while they chatted hap‐
pily with each other. When I got back to the
village, I asked the head man, who had learned
English while building American underground
railways, why the villagers were not using their
own toilets. He laughed, ‘In England’, he said,
‘you have horses and therefore manure. In Italy
here we have no horses and therefore no ma‐
nure, so we ourselves have to fertilise the fields,
a different one every morning, ‐‐ and you
should see our crops!’
Some time afterwards, when the platoon was in
the town of Minterno itself, an officer came up
in a jeep and asked to see the Colonel. He said
his name was Len Hobbs, Jack Hobbs’s son, and
he had found Hedley Verity’s grave at Caserta.
Hedley had been taken prisoner and evacuated
to the hospital at Caserta, where he was making
such good progress that he was walking around
and helping others in the ward. Then the Italian
doctors found he had gangrene in his chest.
They had to operate on him without anaesthetic,
because the Germans had taken all the supplies
with them in their retreat. He had died of shock.

CROSSWORD SOLUTION
Number 4—November 2003
Congratulations to winner Revan
Tranter, (1942‐52) Berkeley, California
Correct answers shown opposite:
PRIZE CROSSWORD
Number 5
Clues on next page.
Compiled by Alan Bridgewater
(1933-40)
47
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
S A M U E L S T O D D A R D
L N Y H U I E
S A W H O R S E T I T B I T
N A I R T N
11
R O C K I
12
N G H O R S E
13
F M S F A
R E E F F R I A R A G E
T U
18
H N O O
H E L L M U T H C L O T
F A
22
E K D
P E T E R F J U D S O N
M P G C R
26
H
P O S S U M H A R R O W E R
T O O T O L R
G E O M E T R Y W I L S O N
9 10
14 15 16 17
19 20 21
23 24 25
27 28 29
30 31
1 2 3 4 5 6
7
10 11
13
17 18
21
22
8
12
19 20
23 24
25 26
9
14 15 16

During a three‐day rest from the line, Lt Colo‐
nel Shaw and Norman Yardley went to visit
his grave.
From Minterno, the Germans pulled back be‐
hind the Gariglione river. Conditions in the
Apennines were appalling – slit trenches were
a foot deep in melted snow, and driving sleet
soaked everybody to the skin. There was very
little action – just a few patrols on either side
and occasional shelling by both sides to an‐
nounce their presence. Unless you got a direct
hit on a slit‐trench, you were comparatively
safe.
Down the main road leading to the river one
day sped six jeeps, each loaded with every
48
Across
4 He specialised in Modern Languages, but his namesake had a ʺhalf‐hourʺ on the radio. (7)
7 The school ʺnext doorʺ after the move to Woodlands. (6)
10 The Festival here was (and is) a great favourite. (5,6,4)
12 Jack taught Classics and moved to Pocklington when he retired in 1973. (5)
13 He succeeded A.E. Jones to teach History.(8)
14 The badge on our caps was green in colour. (6)
19 He followed D.J.Price as head of Biology. (7)
21 This house had blue badges. (6)
22 The head of Geography at the time of the move to Woodlands. (7)
24 The nickname of J.R.Liddicott.(3)
25 A Classics teacher his initials were R.C.V. (4)
26 We all knew the second chemistry master as ? (5)
Down
1 R.Edwardson was known as this ‐ poor chap! (8)
2 Les Brown would have insisted that this was the opposite of ʺleftʺ. (5)
3 Normanʹs subjects were Divinity, Economics and Hockey. (9)
5 When we were at Westwood our Speech Days were held here each year. (7,4)
6 A Maths teacher with a mechanical engineering background. (1,1,4)
8 Many pupils attended this educational establishment in Queen Street, now no longer in exis
. tence.(7)
9 He taught in the department headed by Sam Rockinghorse. (6)
11 He arranged Rugby tours to/from his home territory of South Wales. (3,5)
15 A certain dance hall looking out over the South Bay. (7)
16 Handicrafts were his speciality. (6)
17 Alec took over from Joey. (8)
18 The School badge was yellow for these chaps. (8)
19 Alan taught mainly French and Spanish. (6)
20 He took over Bonnʹs timetable. (7)
23 His renowned saying was ʺWatch the board while I go through itʺ! (4)
conceivable weapon, including mortars, with
the crews looking like tramps. It was Popski’s
private army, which had caused such havoc
behind the German lines in the Desert. This
terrain, it seemed to me, was of no use to them
and, not surprisingly, within the hour, they
were streaming back with wounded on
stretchers, and two jeeps missing.
Out of the line for a week, we were billeted in
the town of Campobasso in houses where, for
firewood, we burned the inner doors and dried
out our clothes. It was, it seemed, the height of
civilisation to have a roof over your head, to
have a bath and to turn on a tap for drinking
water, but, within two days, nearly all the

Battalion were sick at both ends. The medi‐
cal officer analysed a sample of water he
took from the town’s reservoir and found it
full of germs. The inhabitants of Campo‐
basso had been drinking this water for gen‐
erations and had obviously become immune
to the microbes.
After reaching the vast Foggia plain, we
were to switch to the east coast, and on
Christmas Eve, relieve the Gurkhas at
Pescara. I was sent a few days before the
Battalion to liaise with them. They were, of
course, in trenches, and snow was thick on
the ground. They had a cookhouse hidden
in a small valley about a quarter of a mile
behind the line and the two in each slit
trench took it in turn to crawl out and race
to safety and hot food. I was having a meal
there when about 40 Gurkhas appeared.
The cooks had run out of Indian rations and
had to serve the usual British fare. Each
Gurkha put into his mess tin stew, then, on
top, rice pudding and a dollop of jam, and
he stirred it round and ate up the mess. It
looked revolting, and many thought it so for
they spat it out.
I had never seen Gurkha soldiers before. I
always imagined them small, compact men
with beautiful white teeth and a ready smile.
I honestly believed in the story that they
used to wriggle up to German trenches at
night and cut off, with a kukri, the head of
the sentry on alert while his colleagues slept.
In this way, they not only killed one enemy,
but also destroyed the morale of the others.
However, I never saw any kukris.
In reality, I found them to be as fed‐up with
the war as our own soldiers, unsmiling, cold
and resigned to the inevitable. One of their
sergeants told me that they had never ex‐
pected to serve in such dreadful weather
conditions. Nevertheless, it was an honour
to be a Gurkha soldier, and their pay ‐‐
much higher than they could ever hope to
earn at home in Nepal ‐‐ enabled them,
when their army days were over, to buy a
49
farm and be highly respected. We were
relieved in turn on New Year’s Eve, and
then told we were bound for Anzio.
Editor: The next instalment will follow in
our November 2004 edition.
A VISIT TO ROMANIA
Alan Hodgkinson
(1949-54)
May 1989 was a big
month. I had just retired
from work, all the prepa‐
rations for our daughter’s
wedding were reaching
the frantic stage, and my
son had been selected for
his first match for England. Never mind the
wedding, we were off to Bucharest for the
rugby.
We joined a party of supporters at Heath‐
row for a flight by Tarom Airways (who?),
the official and only Romanian airline. The
plane was a Tupolev something or other and
basic would have been a flattering descrip‐
tion. For example the let‐down shelves in
the backs of the seats had no upholstery,
and everything was in a sort of military
grey. Confidence was not improved when
we all had to get out of the plane because
there was more luggage than passengers
and we all had to identify our own. Pre‐
sumably the extras were just blown up.
Anyway we flew into Belgrade Airport,
which of course was a military installation,
and then had to be actually allowed into the
country. We filled in lengthy forms and
were then individually scrutinised by an
armed young soldier, glowering with suspi‐
cion, and clearly not comprehending the
party atmosphere we were showing. As the
jokes flew about the officials became increas‐
ingly uneasy and a number of guarded tele‐
phone calls were made, but eventually we
were escorted to our coach.
There we met our tour guide and the driver.

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The guide was a very good looking young
woman, with perfect, accentless English. When
asked where she had learned the language she
said “at school”, obviously thinking it a
strange question. It became clear she had never
been out of Romania and never expected to be
allowed out.
This was about 8.00pm Thursday evening, and
as we drove through the outskirts of Bucharest
the chatter gradually subsided as everyone
realised there was no one on the streets. There
were no pedestrians and virtually no cars.
Street lights were dim and all curtains were
drawn. We alighted at the hotel in the centre of
the city and entered a huge, chandeliered mau‐
soleum. It was vast, but we seemed to be the
only visitors. However the rooms were com‐
fortable and we soon trooped down for a meal.
We then discovered one of the features of the
trip. There seemed to be a waiter for just about
every guest and it started to dawn on us how
there was zero unemployment in the country.
They just created jobs. Any sort of a job. As we
were driven around the country we saw gangs
of women weeding the roundabouts, on hands
and knees. There was a street cleaner every
few metres.
Back to the meal. The food was good, but
every few moments a waiter would sidle up
and ask, in a furtive whisper if we wanted any
local money. We had bought Lei, the national
currency, at the airport, but not much, since
we had been warned we would not be allowed
to take any out of the country. The exchange
rate was 15 to the £. The waiters were offering
120, 130, 150 to the pound. They would give
anything for hard currency.
Next morning we were due for a sightseeing
trip around Bucharest. Our guide chattered
happily away about the monuments to our
glorious socialist freedom fighters, and the
statues to our heroes of the revolution. Eventu‐
ally we had to seriously disconcert her when
we said we didn’t want to see any more monu‐
ments, thanks, we wanted to go to the pub. To
51
give her credit she found an inn and we all
ordered beer. Well, it wasn’t very good, but
what can you expect at £2 for ten pints?
It was evident that the route was carefully
chosen so that we would not see the markets
or the food queues, but they could not avoid
them altogether. The guide was very evasive
when asked questions, and stuck determinedly
to the party line about how good things were
under Leader Ceausescu. Someone asked her
who was the most well‐known Romanian
outside the country. “Of course it is our
Leader”, she said. “Oh no, it’s not”, we replied,
“its Nadia Comaneci”. Suddenly the coach
stopped in a narrow street. There were cars
parked all down one side, but someone had
parked on the other side, blocking the way.
The driver settled down resignedly to wait.
After a few minutes we decided the best thing
was to move the car, so we piled out of the
coach and bounced the car to the other side of
the street. The locals clearly thought the Mar‐
tians had landed and the guide got us out of
there, PDQ.
Next day we travelled through Transylvania,
en route to Dracula’s castle. The countryside
was very pretty and eventually we stopped for
lunch at a restaurant in a small town. As we
sat eating we enjoyed another, now familiar
feature, a twelve‐piece orchestra and choir
playing and singing traditional songs. This
happened at almost every meal, and it was
quite touching. Another, comical feature of
these trips was that every time we climbed on
board the coach a guy in sunglasses would be
ostentatiously looking the other way, but obvi‐
ously counting us on. Then when we pulled
up, another guy, also in sunglasses would
watch us get off. In some of the rural places we
visited they stuck out like jock straps in a nun‐
nery, and eventually we would seriously em‐
barrass them by offering to shake hands.
When we got to Dracula’s castle it looked im‐
pressive from a distance but was shut! The
doors were locked and windows boarded up

so we wandered round the outside for a while.
Then Barry John, the former Welsh fly‐half,
who was on the trip as a newspaper corre‐
spondent, decided he could get through a
window. He squeezed through and jumped
down, straight into a (shallow) tank of diesel
fuel. No one would sit with him on the way
back.
On the morning of the match we went
“shopping”. A typical window in a depart‐
ment store contained a few cans of fruit, a
cheap tennis racquet, some T‐shirts and a bicy‐
cle wheel. These people had nothing. We
bought a few little gifts, more out of curiosity
than need, but it was difficult to be in such an
atmosphere, with a pervading and perpetual
air of unhappiness.
And so to the match. It was preceded by Eng‐
land U‐21 v Romania U‐21 and featured a
flanker with long blond hair who covered
every inch of the pitch and scored four tries.
His name was Neil Back. In the full interna‐
tional Simon played well and so did the other
debutant, Jeremy Guscott. All Jeremy’s family
were there, from Gran downwards. After‐
wards Jeremy’s father, Henry, got absolutely
plastered, but seemed to have the gift of reach‐
ing that state in an amazingly gentlemanly
fashion. We became good friends with the
Guscotts from then on.
On our way home next day we decided to give
all our residual cash to the guide and driver. It
was only a few pounds. Later we realised we
had probably given them the equivalent of a
month’s wages. I often wonder what hap‐
pened to her.
A few weeks after our return we were watch‐
ing the TV scenes of Bucharest in the throes of
revolution, as the people of Romania took
advantage of the weakness of the masters in
the USSR. We saw tanks in the streets we had
walked and bullets hitting the hotel where we
had stayed as the revolutionaries took their
revenge on Ceausescu and his family.
52
HA’PENNY CUSTOMS
By Frank Bamforth (1935-42)
It might be thought surprising by boys of to‐
day that a coin with a face value of only
£0.0020833 could actually have some purchas‐
ing power. But in the Thirties the humble half‐
penny (or half a meg) bought us each morning
a 1/3 rd pint bottle of milk with a cardboard top
and punch‐out disc for the straw.
At break Harry Johnson served out the milk
from galvanised steel crates on trestle tables
set up in the roadway in front of the school,
collecting more and more coins in his out‐
stretched hand till it held fifty or more. On
cold, wet winter days he operated in the Hall,
where we stood the mushy half frozen bottles
on the lusty old black radiators to thaw out
and gurgle.
There were some items priced at ½d in the
School Tuckshop on the bottom corridor, as
well as in Philip Smart’s (of Filey) attache case
as we left Scarborough station for Aix‐les‐
Bains in 1938. I think he was completely sold
out of everything before we got to York!
One day at the end of term the word went
round at lunchtime that something good was
happening in the lower playground. It was
Bon throwing down halfpennies in handfuls
from the Hall or Lecture Theatre windows.
The ensuing scramble down below was excit‐
ing and enjoyable, especially if you struck
gold!
Sometimes the dreaded Brad held jumble sales
of lost and forgotten items in the gym, or as
the blackboard outside Joe Boss’s office an‐
nounced (probably written by a pupil in lA or
Prep) ‐ JUMBLE IN JIM. At these sales you
might, for a halfpenny, obtain a broken bicycle
pump or a pair of plimsolls or a ruler. Unless
the item was claimed from the floor, when
Brad if satisfied of ownership would withdraw
it from the sale and throw it to the owner,
wrapped in a sarcastic remark.

Cush Turnbull used the incentive of half‐
penny rewards in 1938 in his English class.
We were learning Analysis, dividing up sen‐
tences into separate parts and classifying each
word or phrase according to its function e.g
adjective, adverbial phrase etc. First out to the
front of the class with the correct solution
received ½d. I actually won three halfpence
and really enjoyed the game. It was a good
competitive aid to learning and what was
learnt became and remained embedded in the
memory, just as did Pete Cornish’s German
songs (Ich hatt’ ‘nen Kameraden…….usw)
So many happy days at Scarborough High
School filled a treasure chest and became
lifetime memories.
FURTHER RECOLLEC-
TIONS
by Peter Newham
(1954-61)
As a relative new boy with
only three years member‐
ship and two London din‐
ners under my belt I
thought I had exhausted my
declining reserves of mem‐
ory until my attendance at the recent Scarbor‐
ough Dinner. However, despite there being
very few immediate contemporaries to prod
my memory, others present certainly
prompted further recollections and the em‐
barrassment of seeing some very gauche
pictures of myself at 15 (the prompter in Mac‐
beth and subsequently Midsummer Nights
Dream) and indeed identifying a photograph
of myself standing next to Mike Mansfield,
whom I had previously, in one of my fre‐
quent lapses of memory, denied having ever
known at School!
I must admit my previous reluctance in join‐
ing the Association had been conditioned not
only by inertia but partly by the feeling that,
even with advancing years, looking back on
what were not always halcyon days could
perhaps be interpreted as a reflection of ad‐
53
vanced age. At School I perhaps now with
hindsight plead guilty to being one of the
more bookish wimps, with an intense dislike
of Rugby, who consequently lived in fear of
the caustic tongue of Jock Roxburgh and the
dreaded Thursday pilgrimage to Oliver’s
Mount, tempered only by the 6 th form oppor‐
tunity to forsake this for hockey with Nag.
Gallagher. This was also further leavened not
only by playing every second week on the
South Sands below the Spa when the tide was
out but also by the occasional prospect of
competition against the Girls’ Schools,
though even this was daunting to those of us
who were then backward in coming forward!
On this subject I can also recall the dancing
lessons with Scarborough Girls High School,
locked in the gym at the Girls School to the
accompaniment of the piano, with Colditz
style supervision, which regrettably did little
for my musical or social education!
Back to the Dinner (a most enjoyable event)
and it was good to see Bob Watson, for whom
some of the credit or blame for my capability
or otherwise in English must rest, instantly
recognisable even 45 years later (which is not
something that can be said about most of the
rest of us) though neither his remonstrances
on the sins of splitting infinitives nor ending
sentences with prepositions seems to matter
very much these days, as they appear no
longer to be matters which we keenly strive
for!!
Jack Thompson, the re‐acquaintance of whom
I made after 45 years, has referred in a previ‐
ous Edition to the Newby County Primary
intake of 1953 – Andy Wyvill, Michael Kemp,
John Edwards, John Kennedy, Jack and my‐
self, and he also demonstrated an almost
encyclopaedic recollection of other female
members of the class, many of whom ended
at Scarborough Girls High School ‐ Gillian
Lincoln, Judith Appleby and others, which
quite puts my own imperfect memory to
shame and traces us all back to when we
were aged six or seven. But this is all seri‐

ously embarrassing stuff, particularly as I
have some of the original photographs to
prove it!
Summer Times itself (and I hope it continues
biannually, albeit that I concede myself heav‐
ily outvoted on any change of name) also stirs
up memories. Even now I must confess that I
cannot hear William Blake’s “Jerusalem”
without thinking of Speech Day at Queen
Street and being bored by some self‐
important local worthy exalting us to “play
the game” followed by the ritualistic singing,
orchestrated by Mr Costain, and perfunctory
applause from the proud parents of those
who were awarded the school prizes.
It was also at Westwood that I first discov‐
ered that apparently I was a ”philistine” – in
fact I did go home and look up what this
meant after having been accused by Harry
Wilson of failing to take any serious interest
in Advanced Level French poetry, though my
interest in Shakespeare arising from the
School Play perhaps partly redeemed this.
Regrettably my subsequent years in the South
of England have done little to improve my
northern lack of culture!
So far as School Plays are concerned I recall
vividly Donald Hellmuth’s over‐the‐top Mac‐
beth in 1957, also recalled recently by Adrian
Casey, whose own performance, coupled
with the other two witches could also per‐
haps be described as an over‐theatrical tour
de force! For a brief period of time I could
claim to remember the whole play, and
lengthy quotations still occasionally spring to
mind, but are in little demand when currently
drafting legal documents for my real job!
Even the Latin which Jack Ellis sought labori‐
ously to teach us, which was then needed for
admission to a Law Course, has almost disap‐
peared within the legal profession.
Back however to philosophy – albeit perhaps
rather pretentiously – should we look back? I
like to think that we are not so much dwell‐
ing in the past but recognising that we are
54
partly what we are today because of the for‐
mative effect of the School, and the Associa‐
tion is a recognition and reflection of that,
and perhaps also an opportunity for belated
appreciation of the enduring influence of the
School.
GRAHAM SCHOOL APPEAL
I am informed by Bill Stuart, the Head of
Science at the Graham School, that the
£50,000 has been raised and the proposal for
the school to become a Specialist Science
School has been submitted.
He also expressed his thanks to the members
of the Old Scarborians Association who
pledged help for the appeal.
Peter Robson
Secretary
THE CHUCKLING
MOUNTAINEER
By Gerald Hinchliffe
(1947-55)
Harry Marsden—Joey the
boss – loved mountains.
They were his friends and
his inspiration for most of
his life. He was irresistibly
attracted by their grandeur,
their wildness, and their
never failing challenge. In a serious mood he
once spoke to me of how moving he found
the overwhelming silence and spirituality of
desolate valleys and hills. In reality and in his
reading he absorbed them all.
It is not surprising, therefore, that this pas‐
sion was apparent in his educational philoso‐
phy. Not surprising that most of his holidays
were spent on school camps in France, Swit‐
zerland, the Lake District, Scotland and else‐
where. No lolling on beaches, no loitering in
skittle alleys, his students were out almost
every day attacking accessible mountain
peaks, exploring remote valleys, or setting

55
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(Programme subject to alteration)

foot on glaciers hitherto only names on a map.
To a ripe age Harry Marsden was their com‐
panion. He would climb three or four thou‐
sand feet on a daily basis, more than matching
the stamina and discipline of young men sev‐
eral decades his junior. He just revelled in the
drama of it all.
Harry kept a diary most of his life. Many will
remember his superb, often poignant, wartime
diary. He liked to chronicle interesting events,
and so it was that details of many of the
school camps were recorded. Some of the
highlights he duly despatched to the
‘Scarborough Evening News’, thereby parents
were kept well informed of their sons’ adven‐
tures. Some Scarborians may well remember
the Switzerland camp of 1951. It was spent in
Langwies, Arosa and Davos. The flavour of it
is apparent in this old newspaper cutting
which I unearthed some time ago. Harry takes
up the story:
‘Our first camp was at Langwies, a village on
the mountainside five miles down the valley
from Arosa. As our camping site was very
cramped, we found another, close to the town,
moving into it on our third day. From here we
made some mountain excursions in very hot
weather and the novices soon discovered that
sunbathing in strong Alpine sunshine is
quickly followed by torturing discomfort.
‘We ascended the Arosa Weisshorn, a peak of
8,000 feet, an easy walk up, as Arosa is 5,000
feet above sea level. There was snow in
patches on the northern side but the top was
clear. We looked through the telescope on the
summit at the distant Piz Palu range on the
Italian border, all covered with vast snow‐
fields.
‘Our second expedition was harder, the ascent
of the Rothorn, 9,000 feet. Half the campers
volunteered for the climb. We decided that the
party should stay the night at the Ramoz Hut,
about an hour’s walk from the summit on the
other side of the mountain, from which the
descent to Arosa is easy.
‘The remaining campers had an easier day,
56
carrying food up to the hut, and then return‐
ing to attend the celebrations of 1st August,
which is the Swiss National Day.
‘Things did not quite turn out as planned. The
party did not reach the summit and finding
conditions in the melting snow rather difficult,
wisely returned to camp.
‘But up at the Ramoz Hut were one master
and his fag, left there to prepare a meal for the
party which failed to turn up. To relieve his
anxiety, several of the climbers, on their return
to camp, volunteered to go up to the Ramoz to
tell him what had happened. Four were al‐
lowed to go with one master. (AR Wood, JD
Belcher, P Hartley, J Stirling, and Mr Hinchliffe)
and they arrived there at nightfall.
‘It was rather a remarkable feat – rather as if
having spent a day climbing the Great Gable
from Dungeon Gill one were asked on one’s
return at 6 pm to run up to the top of Bow Fell
after quarter of an hour’s rest. There was a
very pleasant party at the hut that night. The
In difficulties on the slopes of the Rothorn

ABOVE: Outside the Ramoz Hut. L to R:
J Stirling, H Reynolds, H Marsden, G Hinch‐
liffe, Front, L to R: P Hartley, JD Belcher, D
Hellmuth
BELOW: Another day—near the summit of
the Fluella Weisshorn L to R from top: G
Taylor, A Rogerson, J Stirling, D Hellmuth, G
Hinchliffe, ? , A Jarvis, AR Wood, P Hartley.
57
hut is delightful. It is high up on the moun‐
tainside, the door is on the latch, and you
walk in to take possession of a delightful little
house which has stove, fuel, beds, and blan‐
kets, pots and pans; everything you want,
except food of course. You sign the visitors’
book, drop your hotel charges in the box
provided, and clean up before you leave
ready for the next comers. The place was
spotless.’
The following morning dawned, bright, crys‐
tal clear, and tranquil in a way that is difficult
to describe. We busied ourselves restoring the
hut to the spotless condition in which we had
found it. In buoyant mood we set off on the
journey back to camp, the ‘sublime silence’
punctuated by that distinctive chuckling so
well remembered by those Scarborians who
long ago thronged the corridors of that old
school at Westwood.
OLD SCHOOL FRIENDS
MEET AFTER 50 YEARS
(Extracted from, and with acknowl‐
edgements to the Scarborough Evening
News)
Two Scarborough school friends who have
not seen each other for more than 50 years
were reunited in their old home town in No‐
vember last year.
Ted Lancaster, 65 (1949‐54), and Roger Beau‐
mont 64 (1949‐54), were both pupils at the
former Scarborough High School for Boys’ in
Westwood.
While surfing the internet last year Mr Lan‐
caster came across his old pal’s name on the
SBHS section of the website Friends Re‐
united.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw his name”,
he said. “I decided to send Roger a Christmas
card by e‐mail and he wrote back.”
“I had never forgotten Ted” said Mr Beau‐
mont, “I even remember what he said he
wanted to do when he grew up.”

They exchanged details ant agreed to travel
from their homes in Bournemouth and
Worcestershire to Scarborough to reminisce
about the “good old days”.
The men, who saw each other last when they
were 15, admitted they were real tearaways as
pupils.
“We were terrors,” said Mr Lancaster. “We
were always playing up the teachers.”
Mr Beaumont added, “I used to sneak out of
class by climbing through the window and
then come back in through the door to con‐
fuse the teachers.”
So did they recognise each other after so
many years?
“I saw a chap sitting no a bench waiting and I
went up to him and asked him if he was
Roger.
“I explained I was waiting for a friend I had‐
n’t seen for 50 years. He was a bit offended
and said he wasn’t even 50!
“But then I saw Roger walking along and I
recognised him straight away. I just knew it
was him. 50 years hadn’t changed him.”
The pair, who worked at Jaconellis ice cream
parlour at weekends and in the holidays dur‐
58
ing their school days, had agreed to meet for
dinner, along with Ted’s wife Pat, but they got
on so well they ended up spending the day
together.
They revisited their old school, which is now
part of Yorkshire coast College, and were
delighted to be offered a guided tour.
“It took us right back to our school days,” said
Ted. “It was wonderful to see the place being
used, even though it was all quite different.”
Ted’s wife Pat said, “It has been lovely, it was
so interesting to see where Ted and Roger
used to go to school and I’ve really felt a part
of it which is really nice.”
Mr Lancaster, who works as a private tutor,
and his wife regularly visit family in Scarbor‐
ough, and Mr Beaumont, who is a quantity
surveyor, has returned to the town a few
times.
But neither has returned to their old school
before.
“It has been really emotional.” Said Mr Lan‐
caster. “A fantastic day, it has been really
good. “We have been talking about going to
Bournemouth to visit Roger and meet his wife
Janet. We will definitely keep in touch from
now on.”

59
COLT’s XV
1943-44
Back: Cox;
Alleker; J Barclay;
Freeman; North‐
rop; Herman;
Benson.
Centre: RH Cook;
Partridge; Apple‐
ton (Captain);
Roberston; Few‐
ster.
Front; Scriminger;
Pennock; Davi‐
son; Lund; Rag‐
shaw.
BELOW: OSA SOCCER TEAM 1951
Back row: Bill Godber (Manager); Jack Tamblin; Frank Lownsborough; Ernie Elliott; George
McKinley; John Foxton; Gerry McGurk; Front row: Ron Gledhill; Arthur Cooper; Hov; Les
Hatrzig; Alan Newham; Supporters: Barbara Elliott; Kath Cammish; ?. (Photo provided by Les
Hartzig)

FINAL SNIPPETS
Adrian Casey writes from Tolworth
(1951-59)
(Adrian is one of our proof readers).
You may be interested to hear that I have been
rewarded for my ‘proof‐reading’ by the makers of
Mr Brain’s Pork Faggots.
The text on the packaging of a new product was
so full of mistakes that I thought it might be bo‐
gus, even though I bought it at a reputable shop.
The red faces department replied that it was the
real thing, and so far nobody else had remarked
on the mistakes. The packaging is being revised
but there are still several hundred examples out
there. Incidentally, they sent me a fiver by way of
thanks!
Joey’s creed
When he was interviewed in 1946 as headmaster,
he cited the creed he followed:
“The happiness of a school is more important
than its work, and its spirit depends on the will‐
ingness of its staff to interest themselves in the
many activities – clubs, camps, and music—
making the school a real community of manifold
interests.”
There are thousands of High School old boys who
will attest to his success.
Head honoured
In May 1979 – 25 years ago this month— the first
Principal of Scarborough Sixth Form College and
previously, the last headmaster of Scarborough
High School for Boys –Percy Alec Gardiner –was
honoured at a retirement dinner given by the Old
Scarborians Association.
His nickname among pupils was ‘the Head Gar‐
dener’.
David Fowler writes from Scarborough
(1949-55)
Many thanks to all those members who have
been in touch with good wishes since hearing of
my recent health problems.
Luckily, this edition of Summer Times was virtu‐
60
ally complete before I was taken into hospital,
and on my return I was able to finalise the last
three pages.
If your contribution has not yet appeared, I
apologise, but I hope to have things back to nor‐
mal for the November 2004 edition.
FUTURE EVENTS
Golf
Dr Meadley—Thursday 3rd June
TA Smith—Thursday 22nd July
Bookings, please to Chris Found – see page 7 for
details.
AGM
Tuesday 23rd November 2004. Please contact
secretary Peter Robson for the venue and time.
Scarborough Dinner
Friday 26th November 2004 at the Palm Court
Hotel. A booking form will appear with our next
issue, due for publication early November 2004.
Please contact secretary Peter Robson for further
details in the meantime.
POSTSCRIPT
• Please respond positively to the OSA Finan‐
cial Appeal as soon as possible.
• A CD containing all issues of Summer Times
since 1999, is available at £3 (£4 overseas).
Proceeds to OSA. Order from David Fowler.
Address on page 2.
• Will existing members please pass on the
enclosed membership application form to a
non‐member old boy? If everyone found just
one new member, we could double our mem‐
bership very quickly and with little effort.
• A few copies of Frank Binder’s tour de force
remain available from Mike Rines. Please
contact Mike for details at 32 Saxon Way,
Melton, WOODBRIDGE, Suffolk, IP12 1LG
Telephone 01394 610034.
E‐mail rines@rinesm.freeserve.co.uk

Published by The Old Scarborians Association, Telephone 01723 365448
Printed by Prontaprint, 5 Station Shops, Westborough, Scarborough
Telephone 01723 367715