Recollections of an Old (but young at heart) Oswestrian, circa 1952 - EPISODE 17, SUNDAY LUNCH, FOLLOWED BY 'REST AND RECREATION'

Sunday lunch at Oswestry School was a far cry from the roast beef, yorkshire pudding and 'all the trimmings' experience that our mum served up back home in Lancashire. She was a Master Baker and Confectioner, and fine food was de rigueur for us at weekends up in the foothills of the Pennines.

School House lunch was a meagre affair by comparison, and Mrs Tudor's special treat was a pitiful bowl of jelly and cream. She obviously did her best as Cook, operating within the confines of her budget, and having to cope with shortages of most foodstuffs so soon after the end of the war must have presented its own problems. Inevitably, the food was pretty basic, and we were always hungry, but one thing I did enjoy was what we christened 'window frames'; an apple-based pudding with a heavy suet surround that was very filling and sank like a stone! Unfortunately, we invariably seemed to be confronted with this on match days, and it took a yard off our pace during football matches, and did nothing for the fast bowlers in our cricket team.

 

Fortunately, it was never served up before an afternoon Triangle race or the steeplechase, as we would never have made it to the top of the killer 'molehill', let alone been able to chase and catch Roger Morgan as we ran down Pen-y-Lan Lane and across the Maes-y-Llan. I did make a point of mentioning it to Mr Williamson who was most sympathetic, but it did not appear to make any difference, as the stodgy delight unerringly arrived pre school matches.

The Triangle route: Up Broomhall Lane, turn left, then back down Trefonen Road.

Sunday teas were a little different from the norm as we were allowed to dig out a tin from our tuck box, put our name on it, and hand it in at lunch time to the kitchens. It would be heated up just before 6pm ready for us to eat along with the gloriously warm, freshly baked 'bricks' which arrived via the hatch from the cavernous cellars below, to the ravenous boys above.

During half term, when remaining at school rather than making the trip home, a lot of our time was spent below stairs in the cellars with the kitchen staff, giving them good-natured grief about the food, and generally having a bit of a laugh. Dickie Tudor, son of the Cook, and slightly older than us, boarded at School House and always welcomed our company during half term. It was then that we saw a different side to Stoker Lewis, who sometimes took our small group to football matches or the cinema, but it was business as usual when school recommenced after the break.

View from the School grounds with St Oswald's Parish Church in the background

After lunch it was time for relaxation, and there were several options. I enjoyed climbing the tall pine trees on the top paddock and took many photos of the surrounding area. In those days, school comprised of a cluster of five or six buildings designed to accommodate approximately 140 or so boys; tiny compared with today's 26 which serve the needs of more like four hundred and fifty pupils. 

There were invariably a number of sport-mad nuts who wanted to play quad cricket or football, whatever the time of the year, and using a tennis ball stood us in good stead when playing with a normal football on the Maes-y-Llan. From time to time there would be an outbreak of hockey playing, and I think it was Jimmy 'Sharps' Sharples who came up with the madcap idea of challenging some of the girls from the nearby High School to an impromptu game, but his hopes were dashed by Dai Lewis. Nice try 'Sharps', it would have been fun!!

One year there was a short-lived roller skating craze and, starting adjacent to the open-air toilets (which should have had a health warning attached to them), boys would use the natural slope to gather speed and shoot down past the tuck shop onto the playground at a fair old lick. I was hopeless on eight wheels, spending more time on my already damaged knees and backside than in an upright position, and soon realised this was not for me. I understand that just after I left school, during the final year of the Frankland administration, the aforementioned toilets underwent considerable improvement by being partially demolished by the boys!

   

Occasionally, Stoker took matters in hand and led us on a walk to Llanforda woods, the racecourse, or around the steeplechase route, and it was a pleasant change to amble slowly up the steep sides of the mole hill, a killer feature encountered towards the end of the cross country race, without experiencing bursting lungs.

My favorite was the half hour walk to the nearby woods where we would clamber about and frolic in the ruins of Llanforda Hall.

Particularly in Winter, after a heavy fall of snow, it was a magical place where we would snowball fight, skate, and slide on the numerous frozen shallow ponds and lakes that abounded in the woods. A boy's paradise. Even the rather dour English Master seemed to unwind somewhat, and, no doubt, he would be ready for a couple of pints in The Welsh Harp later in the evening.

When walks were not on the agenda many boys just spent the afternoon messing about up in the Dingle, sometimes doing a bit of scrumping in the orchard, before illegally crossing the imaginary camp perimeter onto the back lane. In this quiet backwater the narrow road ran parallel to the swimming pool and the pretty wooded area leading up to Oswald's Well, a short distance away. It was here that 'Sharps' used to meet one of the girls who worked in the kitchens. Of course, if it was really hot, there was always the pool for those of a masochistic disposition.

 

Boys, who were so disenchanted with life as a boarder that absconding seemed to be the best option to make their point, would often choose Sunday afternoon to make a run for it, and it was the optimum time for escapees. Stalag Oswestry was a camp without watch towers, or a perimeter barbed wire fence, and, as such, it was easy to slip out undetected and not be missed for, at best, five or six hours, until the tea time bell at 6pm. Only then would their absence be questioned and, surprise, surprise, a squabble would ensue over who would help out the escapee by eating his tea time food!

Objective having been achieved, the recalcitrant boy would be back in school, usually the next day, with an admonishment from the Headmaster and a story of his great escape.

A few of the boarders, including my brother, had other things on their minds as they were engaged in secret trysts, and Sundays presented the ideal opportunity to pursue these extra-curricular activities. Even Stoker seems to have been complicit with this, as he would sometimes lend Bernard his bicycle for a couple of hours during the afternoon.

It goes without saying that 'Sharps' was in a liaison, this time with one of the kitchen maids, whom he said was driving him crazy - but that was Jimmy all over, always crazy about something, particularly if it had a pulse and was female!

Jimmy 'Sharps' Sharples - second from left and dressed to impress!

 

As the afternoon drew to a close, and the recreational period came to an end, thoughts turned to the inner man, and we all relished the prospect of food and a good old gossip about the afternoon's events. What never ceased to amaze me was the variety of consumables people placed on the deliciously warm, buttered bread; from simple things like tomato sauce, sugar, and peanut butter, to slightly more exotic items such as Nestles Milk, and the occasional banana. It was a tribute to the imagination. The 6pm bell heralded a stampede through the dining room door, and it was not long before cries of 'more bricks' dominated the air. It was teatime for the animals... the end to a perfect day.