Recollections

In the Spring Term of 1943 I was a nine-year-old in the First Form, one of some 30 small boys firmly but amiably controlled and instructed (in that order) by Miss Hill (“The Duchess”), the Headmaster’s sister. The form room was worryingly close to the Headmaster’s study and the Sixth Form room, but reassuringly far from the staff room. We wore short trousers and grey woollen socks up to the knee, blazers and caps with the familiar badge based on the arms of Thomas Hardye, and dark blue gaberdine raincoats. We carried gas masks in cardboard cases slung on a string. The gas masks were inspected from time to time by Ticker Cole, the sprightly chemistry master. Our school uniforms were inspected all the time by masters and prefects: caps on at an angle or socks falling down brought reproof or worse.

Discipline was mostly well maintained and mild corporal punishment commonplace, but masters varied in their approach and in their abilities. I still remember a vigorous cuff from the headmaster, just for being in his way in the corridor. I greatly profited from the numerous blows that I, like most others, suffered from Charles Steemson (“Steamboat”). He was a brilliant teacher of Latin, charismatic, always kindly and cheerful, but intolerant of inattention or thoughtlessness. A fine teacher of maths and another firm disciplinarian was the genial Sam Fox (“Saffy”) whose sarcastic reproaches were memorable. Worse punishments were writing out lines (usually beginning “I must not”), learning mnemonic rhymes from Kennedy’s Latin Primer, detention or caning, carried out only by the Headmaster.

There were about 30 teachers led by Headmaster Ralph Hill (“Monty”) and the second master “Dunc” Lidbury. Junior boys were taught maths by the brisk Miss Osborne. Art was taught by Miss Evans and the only other mistress was a formidable black-clad French mademoiselle, and later Mrs Dutot. Some of the older masters had been at the school pre-war. Others, like the eccentric history master Mr Harvey, had emerged from retirement to replace the younger masters who had joined the armed services for the duration.

Most of us were day boys, many travelling to and from school by bus or train; I had a two-mile walk (later I was allowed to cycle) from the bus stop to the village. In the winter blackout it was dark before I got home. Boys were divided into four houses mainly for the purposes of sports competition, each identified by a stripe in the tie: Hardy (gold), Lock (black), Pope (blue) and Treves (green). There was one boarding house, South Walks (the Headmaster’s) until the school expanded and a second boarding house, Southfields, opened under Walter Lancashire. Two additional houses were formed: School (silver) for all boarders and Hodges (red) named after the affable and rubicund Chairman of the Governors Wilfred Hodges, a local wine merchant.

There was school on Saturday mornings, rare half-holidays, and sports most afternoons except Tuesdays when the CCF, of which membership was almost compulsory from the age of 13, had priority. In winter came rugby (or football for juniors) and cross country running for all. In summer there were athletics and cricket. There was frequent PT in military style under old soldier Joe Hopewell but no facilities for swimming. Apart from the occasional nature walk there were few outings of any sort, but we were all taken to the Palace cinema in Durngate Street to see the film of Shakespeare’s Henry V in 1944.

Exposure to the arts was limited: the music (and English and CCF) master was Jimmy Whittaker - a decent but pernickety man whose patience with the silliness of boys soon lapsed into imprecations (“Blast you my boy!”) to the delight of his mostly philistine audience. He played the fiddle – I never heard him use the word “violin”. Bertie Cruse the French master played the trumpet and there were other instrumentalists and a choral society. The visual arts were well developed and Steamboat was an excellent actor and director, as well as teaching Latin and running cricket. Each day began with an assembly and prayers, and the uphill task of teaching Divinity fell to the learned and tolerant AG de L Willis.

Dorchester had not been a target for German bombing, unlike Portland and Sherborne (mistaken for Westland Aircraft’s factory at Yeovil). In the blackout we could see the Milky Way shining brightly until the searchlights were turned on. American troops assembling in Came Wood for the D Day invasion could be seen from the school windows and they occupied Kingston Maurward House and Warmwell aerodrome, with their aircraft overhead providing additional distractions. When the invasion came on 6 June 1944 scores of aircraft towing gliders flew overhead, and all the Americans had suddenly disappeared.

The Spring Term of 1945 started very cold. Few houses were centrally heated and we were glad to come into the warmth of the school, miraculously maintained despite fuel shortages by the trusty George Bareham. Outside, the grounds were tended by the sterling Benny Morris, an old soldier and former Hampshire professional cricketer.

While the heating was good the food was nutritious but unappetising, with frequent gristly meat, frosted potatoes, soggy cabbage and stodge, prepared by Mrs Bratby. The food was better, though, than in the British Restaurant near the County Museum. We all stood for grace before meat as the duty master declaimed “Benedictus benedicat per Iesum Christum Dominum Nostrum” or suchlike. We were old enough to remember the delights of bananas and ice-cream pre-war, but such things had not been available since 1940 and rationing was strict, and to become stricter. The butter ration was 2 ounces per head per week, and sweets 4 ounces. Only fish, offal, fruit, vegetables and bread were unrationed, although in short supply. Dried milk and eggs came from the USA and whale meat sometimes appeared. We boys were not yet troubled by the acute shortage of such things as razor blades, petrol and car tyres, while of course clothes rationing bothered only women.

After the education Act of 1944 our fathers no longer had to pay tuition fees. A film unit came to make part of Children’s Charter [see separate Children's Charter section]. With the end of the war the blackout ended, food rationing became tighter and younger masters returned. Spring term in 1947 was bitterly cold and fuel was desperately scarce, but the school heating somehow worked as well as before. Cars re-appeared, as a little more petrol became available – Mr Hale’s bright yellow one was a culture shock, for all the cars we had seen were black, dark blue, gunmetal-coloured or (mostly) khaki. We boys hardly noticed that the Cold War was beginning.

A master called Evans had a very short fuse and would grab a boy so violently by the hair that he pulled out a handful. A boarder, Joyce (no Christian names in those days) put his hair, which had been tossed onto his desk, into an envelope and sent it to his father. The master left to general satisfaction and amazement. By and large the staff were great, although 'Monty' could wield a powerful cane which could be heard in Form 1. School was held Saturday mornings and compulsory games in the afternoon. Thursday I think was a half day though (in common with early closing day in Dorchester) as I believe detentions were done then.

Sadly there were tragedies; Mr Hill's wife took one of the domestic staff to the dentist and went into the surgery with her as the young girl was nervous and had a fatal heart attack. This was announced to the school by Dunc Lidbury at a special assembly before going home for lunch. There was a strict enforcement of a No Cycling rule unless one lived more than 1 mile from the school, so once at home this news was passed on rather breathlessly with some feeling that a momentous event had taken place.

A Weymouth boy was killed while shortcutting from Culliford Road railway bridge to the Southern station and was caught between goods wagons as shunting started. Much less seriously another Weymouth boy, Fuller, who had nicked a piece of phosphorous from the lab was examining his spoils on the train when it dried and ignited, badly burning his hands.

Assemblies were held on the first floor until the building of the new gym was completed in '36 or thereabouts. The school crest which adorned the exterior of the north end was carved in situ and watched daily as it progressed.

There were exams at the end of the Spring and Summer terms. The papers were hand written with a stylus onto special paper (sorry, I can't remember the proper name for this process ["mimeograph" - Ed] and then loaded onto the printing gadget which rotated and produced very blotched and sometimes near illegible exam papers!! The termly reports detailed both exam and form results which were closely scrutinised by parents.

Names that I recall are Pople, Harold Keeping and his elder brother (Head choirboy at Trinity Church and later partner of the accountants Edwards and Keeping in Dorchester), Cloutman, DV King and his cousin, Priddle (later Prideaux), Ian and Tony Parsons, Trenchard, Shellabere, J Croad, Paxman, Stan Alderman, Mayo, Virgin, 'Sam' Weller, Stan and John Thornicroft, John Cake, Harris, Northam, Dean, Cheeseman, Keech & John Day.

My brother Richard was very bright and went to DGS in '36 at the age of 8. With the help of a Dorset County scholarship, he later went to Exeter College at Oxford.

THE LIDBURY EVENT.

My name is Gordon Hutchinson and I was a pupil at D.G.S. from about 1933 until 1942. My age is 84 so some of the names and dates are lost in the mists of time.

I was one of the many boys that lived in Weymouth and travelled by train to school. On leaving the school you had two choices to get to the two stations. The first was to go straight down the road - I remember a shop on the corner which sold sweets and was extremely popular. Continuing down the road passing South Walk and then up a slight hill; Holland the butcher was near the Great Western station. The alternative was to turn left on leaving the school gates and proceed down the avenue. From my memory Mr Cole the chemistry master (known to all as “Ticker“) lived on the left, and further down on the right side lived Mr Lidbury. Further on you turned half right past Maumbury Rings and on to the Southern Railway station adjacent to the Eldridge Pope Brewery.

On the day of the incident we walked past Mr Cole’s residence and reached Mr Lidbury’s house. His frontage had two wooden gates; a small one about 4-ft leading to the front and back doors, and the other gate about 8-ft leading to the garage, so it was a very simple operation to interchange the two gates. Having completed our prank we went on our merry way little realising the fury that would erupt the following day.

After assembly Mr Hill requested that those responsible should remain behind. Needless to say no-one did. However it did not take the staff long to find out the guilty parties and we were told to stand outside the Headmaster’s study. After a while Mr Hill appeared. We were all in awe of him and to find him in a towering rage did not auger well for the future. We were threatened with expulsion, called vandals, letting down the school and damaging property (actually no damage or harm was done to the gates, it would take one or two minutes to restore). He would not rush into a decision but the least we could expect was a severe caning. We all went home severely chastened. I do not think any of us had a good night’s sleep.

At assembly the next day we all feared the worst, but nothing was said then or on subsequent days. Mr Hill may have had second thoughts. Mr Lidbury may have seen the funny side of it; after all, no damage had occurred. Perhaps one of the parents had contacted the Head, I just don’t know.

I would like to close by paying tribute to all the staff and in particular Mr Steemson, a great teacher of Latin, and Mr Cole (“Ticker“) who first whetted my appetite for chemistry so much so that when I came out of the army I studied Pharmacy and became a member of The Royal Pharmaceutical Society until I retired in 2004.

Whilst on the subject of Mr "Dunc" Lidbury, I would like to add the following:

In the late 'fifties, there were two stories doing the rounds, both of which were alleged to be true.

In the first story, Mr Lidbury, who was reputed to be a trifle forgetful, was walking along the main corridor when he encoutered a boy (name unknown) whom he approached with the question "Is he there, m'boy?". The luckless boy was somewhat taken aback as he had no idea who DSL was talking about. However, not wishing to appear uncooperative, the quick-thinking lad replied "Er - yes, sir!". Obviously pleased with that reply, DSL said "Well, go and fetch him."

The second story relates how one Frank Southerington was in the Library one day, reading quietly, when he was approached by "Dunc", who explained that he wanted Southerington to rearrange some of the books on the shelves in a particular way. DSL then walked off, leaving Southerington to it.

However Southerington, after a moment's thought, was not quite clear of the task he was to perform, and so he quickly set off after DSL, catching up with him at the other end of the Library. Before he could speak, DSL happened to turn round, and upon discovering Southerington behind him, said "Ah! Now, there's another boy at the end of the Library rearranging books. Go and help him."

Graham Allen, October 2009

From Colin Norman:

OLD MASTERS - Memories of the ‘old’ Masters at Dorchester Grammar School.

Because of unstinting efforts by my parents I was privileged to be a pupil at Dorchester Grammar School during the momentous years between 1938 and 1945. Some months ago I saw, in an article on Dorset schools, mention of a Dorchester Grammar School master I knew well, Mr.Duncan Lidbury, and this has prompted me to dredge my memory and set down what I can remember of the masters I knew, good men that they were.

When I joined the School all the masters wore gowns, but as WW2 gradually took its toll of standards and clothes rationing became tighter, gowns became "tattered 'n' torn" until most were abandoned, but the headmaster always wore his. Generally the masters were well respected; one was addressed by one’s surname, one raised the cap as a greeting and with hands out of pockets waited quietly until asked to speak and always said ‘Sir’. Sadly, as WW2 progressed, some masters just did not reappear at the beginning of term and one wonders what happened to all those good men.

Of course, as children will, we had nicknames for them all. Mr.R.W.Hill, the headmaster, was always respectfully known as ‘the Old Man’, or occasionally ‘Monty’ from the Latin. He was a first class headmaster and taught Latin when no one else was available. It was a singular achievement to bring the school from the old historic premises in South Street to the then superb new buildings in the best possible site to the south of town.

Mr.Hill’s judgement in staff selection must have been of the highest order because, as will be seen in my remarks on the masters, they were of the best quality and it was not until towards the end of WW2, when so many masters had just gone away and some of the later replacements were not quite to the standard of those that had gone before, that they did not gain quite as much respect, with obvious consequences – some occasionally had a hard time.

‘The Old Man’ was held in awe by the younger boys and this grew to high regard as one progressed to the upper forms. When he was around, peace reigned. My abiding memory of him was when, in the Lower Fifth, sauntering (that was one thing I was good at!) down the stairs opposite his study, probably with hands in pockets, he passed by and rounded on me, gown whirling. Perhaps he saw something he considered to be ‘dumb insolence’ (something that caught up with me again forty years later with a lady Director). After sixty-five years his words still ring crystal clear, a roar of ‘NORMAN! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?’ with a string of comments on my attitude and demeanour, the tongue lashing of a lifetime came my way leaving me, in the now current phrase, ‘totally gobsmacked’. I slunk away as soon as it was safe so to do. I must have been a fairly stroppy teenager in those days.

Mr. Hill had a sister, a pleasant lady we called ‘The Duchess’. Miss Hill taught Maths and Divinity to the lower forms. In those days one was given a rough guide to the Bible and an effort was made to hammer home the basic tenets of right and wrong which, as a code of conduct, was as good a way as any to start a child on the road to life.

The regular Latin master was Mr. 'Steamboat' Steemson, who always achieved good results, always wore his gown and had a speciality he called the ‘circularius’ which, starting at one corner of the class he would rapid-fire questions on Latin grammar and phrases at each boy, passing on until he received the correct answer. The fact that the correct answer was not forthcoming left one with a feeling of some inadequacy and pointed to further revision. I dropped Latin in the Fourth but ever since have been glad that the basics were drummed into me; after all Latin has had an enormous influence on all the European languages and so can frequently point one in the right direction in many questions of general knowledge!

Another likeable man was Mr. 'Ticker' Cole the Chemistry master. Prematurely bald and somewhat short in stature, but not in ability, ‘Ticker’ introduced us very efficiently to the mysteries of elements, compounds and the complications of chemical formulae. Under his guidance we set up our experiments, watched what happened when various noxious materials were mixed in test tubes (glass!) and tended our Bunsen burners.

There was no such thing as personal protection gear in those days, but I cannot ever remember anything untoward happening - then perhaps we were a fairly docile lot. One just did not skylark about in the ‘lab’; we just concentrated on learning. The Geography master was Mr. Harold G. Mann who took us through the physical and political parts of our planet, describing it all in detail and drew, from memory, all in coloured chalks, detailed maps of countries and continents with all the mountains, cities, rivers and mineral deposit areas shown. These we duly copied down, and in doing so, one hoped that some of it sank in. War is a good Geography teacher; we very quickly learned where places like Peenemünde, Tobruk and Guadalcanal were.

I can remember three French masters, and later one lady who actually was French. My first French masters were (by coincidence) Mr. French and Mr. 'Bert' Cruse. We had Mr. French for about three years until he no longer attended and was replaced by Mr. Roussel.

If memory serves, teaching policy percolated down from the universities (ours was Oxford), and so the Fourths and Fifths were duly separated into ‘Mods’ and ‘Sci’s’, which was Modern Studies and Sciences. Modern Studies included Art which I loved and just the basics of the sciences. The sciences, being written in the languages of maths and formulae, required good memory recall, so I took the easier way and went ‘Mod’.

‘Bert’ Cruse took the 'Sci’s' and had his own way of teaching, thereby achieving extraordinarily good results. Greeted with a chorus of approval on arrival in class, there followed a session of French conversation with quick-fire questions and answers into which the whole class joined with gusto. The noise level had to be experienced to be believed, which was all right when surrounded by two feet of brickwork, but the Fourth Form ‘Mods’ and ‘Sci’s' were in the old Assembly Room upstairs which was divided by a moveable wooded partition. At times Mr.Roussel, who took us ‘Mods’ for French at the same time, was not well pleased at the decibel level and said so!!!

When I joined the school the P.T (Physical Training) master was Mr. 'Johnny' Johnson, a young man full of enthusiasm for his subject. ‘Games’ were routinely in the second period of Tuesday afternoon. Thursday afternoon and ‘matches’ were played on Saturday afternoon after morning school, so his was virtually a six-day week. In WW1 the emphasis was on body building, but policy changed in WW2, agility and ‘thinking on your feet’ being considered more important. As an introduction to the art of landing by parachute (we were about 12 years old!) we had to get up on the ‘box’ which was a box (!) in sections with a padded top, and using a climbing rope, swing forward and land on a mattress. The idea was to land safely on one's feet and keep running. If one made a hash of it then the instruction was ‘tuck your shoulder in and roll’ which stood me in good stead about thirty years later when, helping my wife down some car park steps, I realised I was ‘going’, did as I had been told years before and finally stood up – slightly shaken but not stirred!!

As was the way of things, sadly, one term we found that ‘Johnny’ had been replaced by Mr. Hopewell an ex-military gentleman with a son at the school. My home was at Wool, and in my very early years I attended the village ‘Council’ school there. It was a typical village school with just two rooms and draughty corrugated iron outside toilets. Mrs. Dewfall was the head teacher and lived in the school house with her son Geoffrey, who also taught. Mr.Hopewell was the other teacher. Mr. 'Jimmy' Whitaker took English Language in the Lower School, teaching every possible variation of sentence construction, things like the transitive and intransitive verbs, subjunctives and the future perfect and, most important, correct use of the apostrophe!!!!! Under "Jimmy’s" guidance, a bit of Latin and some French stood me in good stead in later years with my first efforts towards writing acceptable business letters. ‘Jimmy’ ran the school OTC (later JTC) and must have been fairly well up in the Home Guard command. He used us pupils as post boys for carrying instructions to his ‘outposts’. “Anybody here live in Sydling?” “Yessir!” “Take this for me will you, boy” “ Yessir!”. All part of the War Effort! A lot of ‘ordinary’ people had absolutely no spare time at all during WW2.

Probably the master most underestimated of all was Mr. 'Dunc' Duncan Lidbury who taught English Literature. Dunc was grey and wore a beard. Even then, plays and poetry were not ‘macho’ subjects, so ‘Dunc’ sometimes had problems conveying to his often reluctant hearers the deep love he had for his subject.

‘Dunc’ took Eng.Lit.(!) for the whole time I was at the school and it was not until the Fifth that we BEGAN to realise the true value of his teaching. He took us lovingly through the main works of Shakespeare, introduced us to such other characters as Wackford Squeers and Mrs. Malaprop and, using Palgrave’s Golden Treasury, saw to it that we read the very best of the poetry written in the English language, in doing so touching on the Muses, the Greek and Roman gods’ lives, battles and disasters and, not least, various poets’ love-lives!! We had a well rounded education!!!!!

I must have disappointed ‘Dunc’. One afternoon in Longman’s I was looking for a book I could afford (a shilling?) involving ships which was my consuming interest. The only book within my reach was a slim volume on some naval battle and ‘Dunc’ leant over my shoulder probably hoping I was buying some literary gem. On seeing my choice he just said “Oh, I see” and quietly walked away.

My best subject was Art and this was taken by Miss ‘Stella’ Evans, an expert at instilling interest and imagination into those who even had difficulty drawing a circle. How I enjoyed my Art periods, made more pleasant by the fact that they were ‘double’ periods. Miss Evans’ task was not helped by the fact that the ‘Art Room’ was a new temporary wooden building which also had to serve as the canteen. Heating was by a pot-bellied stove at one end and the cookhouse at the other. One froze in the winter and roasted in the summer! The first of many such buildings one has seen down the years!

There must have been other teachers, including a pleasant history master whose name escapes me, Mr. (Beefy) Winters who, I think, taught Maths and Mr. Hazelgrove who was the Physics and Music master.

These masters left nothing but good memories. They were good, effective teachers that made learning a pleasure.

Colin Norman, September 2009

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