School days
But, before I go further, I must write about 'Moorland House'. This was my 'Prep. School' (now demolished) on the top of the hill on the Chester side of Heswall. The owner and headmaster was Mr Dobie, a kind man who used to teach small groups of us to play Bridge and Chess. The Bridge lasted until Cambridge, where I found that it took too much time from the more important business of talking. The Chess came to a sudden end for me, when a big boy, called Mytton, did not like being defeated, and beat me over the head with the board!
The second master was a rather dour man, Mr Daniel. He used to cycle to Chester every Sunday afternoon for Evensong at the Cathedral. For a time he had the assistance of an 'Auto-wheel', a contraption with one little wheel attached beside his cycle's rear wheel. Every Sunday he told us of the wickedness of the motorists who speeded past him, and often came too close.
There was a Mr Wright whose Maths teaching was, I think, the cause of my being put in the bottom Maths 'sets' at Blundells. Mr Colt's Latin and Greek helped me to be good at Classics. There was also Mr Routledge, who, years later, took over the School. He was a great talker: he also introduced us to the mysteries of 'the Wireless' with a lot of wires connecting his bits of apparatus and batteries. Broadcasting was at first from 'Writtle' 2LO and other stations followed in due course.
I do not remember when my stammer began to trouble me. It probably developed when we all had the 1918 'flu' at Shawford; but, from Moorland House onwards, it was a great nuisance. I remember Mummy taking me to a 'Coué' man in London to see if he could help. I found that, for me, it was not true that "in every day and in every way" I was getting "Better and Better".
The day before I started at Moorland House I went to stay with Teddy Jager (one of my 'double-cousins' in Birkenhead). That evening we went to our Aunt Una MacIver, as David and Peter were already there. We also met Bill and Pat Renison. Pat eventually became the last Governor-General of Kenya. He was a much happier and better schoolboy than I ever was. Apart from my stammer, I found it hard to make friends. This was, I think, partly because I was no good at games and too good at studies: but also, maybe, because I had the 'supercilious manner' which Joan Morgan, many years later, lovingly attributed to me. My trunk and my tuck-box went by the "luggage in advance" that the Railways then efficiently arranged for a shilling a piece: but my overnight things were carried in a little leather Gladstone bag that, sixty years later, survived in our garage to hold my tools.
The best thing at Moorland House was the Saturday afternoon Roller-Skating, when, with a roaring sound that must have been heard from afar, we circled round and round the wooden floor of the gym. Perhaps even better in my first term was H.M.S. Pinafore, with an all-boy cast. As a Sailor, I was rather disappointed that all the dressing-up I had was some chalk marks on my blue jersey; but we all enjoyed the rehearsals. I remember large pasty-faced Royds Major as "dear little Buttercup". We did not use Christian names, just 'Major and Minor' I was Jager Minor.
Although I never made any difficulty about going to school, life was altogether happier and better in the holidays, particularly when we went to Wanlass. As well as Granny herself, there was the fun of belonging to a really big family, and enjoying each other's company as well as the house and the garden and the Lake and picnics with Albert, Granny's chauffeur and factotum, making a fire for us to brew cocoa. But Wanlass needs and deserves a much longer separate account. I would only add that it was there that I was initiated into smoking, in a way that enabled me to be a life-long non-smoker. We puffed at scorchingly hot cigars of cedar bark. When I went back to school and we puffed at fag ends set into toy pipes that had been in crackers, the effect was so insipid that, when discovery was imminent, I gave up smoking, without regret, and for good. One final incident at Moorland House that Hamin remembered and I had, mercifully, totally forgotten, was the occasion when I was expected, as a member of Class I, to read a lesson in Chapel. Someone insisted that I should persevere, and I did!
I went to Blundells because Daddy had decided that we could not afford to send three boys to Rugby School, where he and his brothers had been. Blundells was much less expensive and one of his Oxford friends had been, and was, a very good advertisement for the school.
I began at Old House at the beginning of the Summer term, and the other new boys were Park, a West country boy who later became Sir Hugh Park, and a very distinguished and witty judge and School Governor, and Sadler, whose father owned a cinema at Weston super mare. We shared a little "dorm.", and on our first afternoon went for a walk together, exploring. Quite innocently, we went down a lane, which we later discovered was 'Lovers' Lane' and out of bounds. We were caned for this. I do not remember much pain, and was, I think, never caned again. 'Old House' was on the far side of the Big Field, and consequently, as we could run when we heard the bell, were (unlike the School House boys) almost never late for Chapel. There were about 50 boys under Mr Batterbee, our Housemaster, and his sister, and "Matron". We had cold showers each morning, and gas lighting. I remember Matron being alarmed and annoyed by a little explosion that was made by holding a tin over one of the jets!
Junior boys had no studies and gathered in a 'Prep.Room' in which we each had a desk. I was only there for one term. When I was a sixth former, which I was for most of my school career, I used to take my turn there at the head of the table, "Taking Prep". I did no Maths as a Sixth Former and remember catching up quite a bit in that subject by helping Juniors to solve the Maths questions that they brought to me! But, for my first term, I was a fag myself.
After that first term in '4x', when I took, and gained, an internal Scholarship, I was promoted to '5a1' to take School Certificate at the end of a year. Jimmy Hall, who was also Choirmaster and did great things for the School's Music, is chiefly remembered by me for the oft-used phrase, "Beat him on the head" addressed to the neighbour of any boy who seemed to him to have made a stupid mistake. But he kept us interested and drove us well. Some years later, when he was taking his turn in the thankless task of taking the Classical Sixth in one period a week of French, he treated us as adults and was quite an inspiring teacher.
We had, of course to play games. They were fun to watch; but I found Rugby football very chilly, and Cricket rather frightening. Every Spring Term we all had to take part in "The Russell" unless we had weak hearts. This was a cross-country race of about four miles (or was it seven?) which began with the whole school dashing across a field to cross the river Lowman; then I remember muddy fields and a fence or two, a lot of exhaustion and, at the end, some sense of achievement.
The worst thing for me was "Roll-Call" on half holidays, when I had to queue up with the others to try to say "Here" when my name was called. My stammer also caused me to be a permanent Private in the O.T.C. So, when the chance came to be a Senior Scout instead, I took it, and learned to enjoy camping in pouring rain. When in 5a1, I shared a study, and the use of a "Primus" stove. Our window looked out over the Old House front drive, which was approached by a steep entry from the lane. One afternoon we heard a horrible and repeated grinding sound. I looked out and saw that it was my Auntie May driving the Hupp Straight Eight which Daddy took over later, and I fear that I disowned her! Poor Auntie May! They had bought the Hupp because it would go up the steep hill from Bowness to the Hermitage without having to change gear; but when you did have to, it was really difficult. I found this out for myself years later. She was a nervous driver and a real heroine in taking her stepmother, Granny Jager, who was only a little older than she was, on their long tours. As my father said in his Memoir of her, she was a really selfless and wonderful woman.
After my year in the fifth form, and passing the School Certificate, I went up into the Classical Sixth, and worked in the little class room in the tower for the next four years. Our teacher was Mr Hickey, who did not inspire me. As a sixth-former I was entitled to a two-seater study upstairs at Old House, and a fag. I found him rather an embarassment. Owing to my stammer I was never a Monitor. I did then have the interesting experience of being detailed to help look after the boys from our Blundells School Mission in Charlton, South London, who came to camp in our OTC hut. One of the boys decided to run away. So I went with him, after following him for some while. After some miles we decided that it was too long a walk, and we went back. Later, I visited the Mission for a short stay; but I only remember how drab it was, and that I would have liked to paint the front door red!
In my second year at Blundells I was confirmed, partly because it was the "done thing", partly to please Auntie May, who was my godmother. Mr Batterbee relied mainly on my learning the Catechism. Mr Clough, Master of Francis House and our School Chaplain, showed that Christianity meant a lot to him personally. The Bishop of Crediton confirmed us. I only remember that he was grey-bearded. My Christian faith did not then mean very much to me; but I understood that it was a really serious matter. So, when 'Fusty' Wynne our headmaster was ordained in the year before his retirement, I was shocked by the thought that he was taking an easy option for his declining years. I did him an injustice: he was a vigorous village Vicar for, I think, thirty years. He lived to be 100.
All this time, real life began in the holidays, at Hoylake, whither we moved after Mummy's death, and at Wanlass, where we spent most of each school holiday.
It was at Wanlass that I began my love affair with motor-cycles. This started when my cousin Teddy let me have a ride on the back of his little 'W.D.Douglas'. I rode on his bare carrier from Rydal to Wanlass, and held on to his back while the metal tool-boxes cut into my bare thighs. I then pleaded to have one of my own, and Daddy bought me a similar one for the next holidays. It was black and shabby with two speeds and no clutch. The belt drive made it possible to change gear while on the move. The bike often broke down: and then I had to push it back to Keith MacNaughton's Garage by the lake where "Gibson" would put things right. I soon learned also to do many things for myself. My first ride up to Ambleside resulted in me riding back to Wanlass with my trousers and much else (including the beautifully Comfortable Brooks saddle) covered in tar. They had to burn the trousers. I had come to the middle of the village, opposite the old Post Office, and found half the road covered in wet tar, and a van coming up the other side. I chose the tar and at once fell off. The workmen picked me up and wiped me down with old newspapers, pieces of which remained on the saddle ever afterwards. Next day I had to learn to use the brakes (not so easy). The front brake was useless, and I had to swing my right foot forward and past the large carburettor, to get at the brake pedal. But I did enjoy exploring the lakeland roads and hills, which could be tackled with more success when the belt was slipping. I even contrived to ride the long journey to Hoylake, along cobbled roads and over the Ferry, at the end of each holiday.
The last ride on the Douglas was on a rainy day, when I was slithering through Liverpool towards the place where the Birkenhead Tunnel now emerges. After a small fall the exhaust system became dislodged. This was noisy; but it had happened before. However, that time the carburettor was leaking and caught fire. The standard drill then was to smother the fire with a heavy coat, or beat it with heavy gloves. But it was summer and I had neither. I stood stupidly over the bike and would soon have been enveloped in flames. Mercifully, a chap came up with a 'Pyrene' fire extinguisher, and it really worked. You could see the little flame being driven away. After we had pushed the bike to his cycle shop, we found that the tank had split by the soldered edge and was empty. This was not the only time that my life had been preserved!
I must say a little more about my time at School. When I first joined the Classical Sixth, I rebelled against the practice of writing Latin and Greek verses with 'Virgilian echoes' etc. So I was allowed to write 'extra proses', choosing my own passages, from books or newspapers, to turn into Latin or Greek. (I preferred Greek). I found that this discipline required me to discover the basic meaning of each English passage. It taught me to read the Manchester Guardian rather than The Times!
Although my best work was often spoiled by gross carelessness, it was good enough for our Balliol visitors to interview me with a view to awarding me one of the 'Blundell Scholarships'. But my stammer defeated them. And soon I decided that 'Classics', leading then either to teaching or the Civil Service, was not suitable for me. I thought that becoming an Engineer I would be able to spend my life dealing with 'things', rather than with 'people'. So, having read a leaflet, I told my father that I should like to go to the new Loughborough College to take their 'Sandwich Course' in Engineering. He went to Loughborough and did not like it. (Too many foreigners). He persuaded me to apply to do Engineering at Sidney Sussex College, which, like Balliol, had a Blundells connection. Those were the days when fathers paid the fees.
I broke this news to Mr Hickey, in a letter that he must have found very hurtful, and Mr Batterbee arranged for me to go on the back row of the Maths Sixth with him as my coach. Unfortunately, although he was a good Maths teacher, I was, perhaps the first Blundellian ever to take 'Mechanical Sciences', and so he did not realise that the one thing really necessary was a knowledge of the Calculus.
Return to Index