by Bryan Beames (1945-50)
Bryan Beames (1945-50), now living in New Zealand, reminisces:
Living in Cowley (I knew Alan Trinder who lived in the next street) I attended St. Christopher’s School and passed the scholarship exam, the last time it was held I believe before it became the 11 plus exam. My parents duly received a letter telling them of the successful outcome and that there was a choice of 3 schools, any one of which could be applied to for a place.
They were: Southfield ( the closest to home), Magdalen College School and City of Oxford High School ( the furthest from home, being about 3 miles away). The first, Southfield, my mother regarded as “common” and certainly not good enough for her son. The second, Magdalen College she felt turned out “upper class snobs”( her view, not mine) which left the High School which must, in her opinion have been just right.
Arriving at the school and put into Class 1b with dear old Soller (M J Soulsby) as form teacher I soon became accustomed to his (Soller’s) unfortunate habit of coughing up phlegm and spitting it out of the window much to the distress I imagine of anyone walking below at the time.
I well recall the day on which some of us turned up for elementary Latin (Amo, Amas, Amat!) a little early and somehow secured both the window in the classroom and the one in the corridor so that they wouldn’t open. Came the first coughing fit and the usual rush to the window. It wouldn’open for some mysterious reason so Plan B was put into operation which was to hurry to the window in the corridor. That wouldn’t open either so for the remainder of the lesson (amamus amantis amant!) the wastepaper basket became the receptacle of choice.
In spite of his shortcomings there was genuine affection for Soller. I always recall that, on reading through the staff list, full of Bachelors of this and Masters of that, that Soller was right at the end of the list, no letters behind his name, just the words St Edmund’s College.
On one of the first breaks (playtime?) a queue formed up at the ablution block policed by some senior boys. The intention, as an initiation cermony was to ‘duck’ us in a washbasin. Remember that anyone? I was more than a little scared and, explaining to a mate that I had once as a very small boy been swept out to sea and was terrified as to what might happen during this ducking ceremony this friend stood up for me to the extent of ‘flooring’ three guys who were intent on initiating me before they finally got the message and left me alone.
You may recall that the cycle shed was strictly out of bounds during school time. Three of us that used to hang around together, Pete Higgs, Ron Baker and myself for some reason decided that it would be a good idea to remove a wheel from one of the bikes. We not only removed it but had the blind stupidity to parade it around the playground.
Freddie was for ever looking out of his window and came out to see what was afoot. The convesation, if you could call it that went something like this. “Baker, whose wheel is this?” Higgs’s sir. “Higgs, whose wheel is this?” “Baker’s sir.” “Right all three of you go to my office” We all got six of the best in spite of my protestation that I was a mere onlooker. Happy days!
On one occasion we were having a fairly dry lesson with E J Wright, a good teacher but renowned for having a fairly short fuse. At that time I had a few ‘giant caps’ , the type which are often used in starter pistols these days. I offered one to a guy sitting a row behind me (no names etc. though I remember him well) and throughout the lesson he was to be heard occasionally shutting his desklid rather noisily. He had placed the cap between the lid and the upright leg of the desk. Inevitably there came the time when the cap could survive no longer and it exploded with a mighty ‘Bang’ accompanied by clouds of smoke. After the smoke and general excitement had died down E J said “Report to the headmaster” and whatsisname came back a few minutes later looking suitably chastened!!
At the end of the fifth form year I had long since realised that I was not sixth form or university material so the decision was made to leave. Most of the boys who had made a similar decision seemed to know exactly what they were going to do with their lives.
For my part I had very little idea until a guy in the same class, Melvin Allington told me he was going to take the exam to get into the RAF as an Aircraft Apprentice, so we both presented ourselves at the Examination Centre (can’t remember the venue) and later found we had both passed. We were sent railway tickets to Wendover (Bucks) and duly got on the train at Oxford station. Just as the train whistle blew Melvin grabbed his bags, got off the train and said he’d changed his mind.
I spent 23 very happy years in the Service and am now retired after a further eventful career living and loving being in New Zealand, but that story will have to wait for another day.