Recollections of an Old (but young at heart) Oswestrian, circa 1952 - EPISODE 22, TALES FROM THE DORMITORIES - THE INSIDE STORY

From the moment my brother and I arrived in front of the white pillared entrance to Oswestry School on a wet and windy day in 1952, sporting macs, and shoes three sizes too big, and even bigger smiles - until the time of our departure in 1960, we probably spent nearly as much time in dormitories as we did everywhere else.

David Pickup (left), Bernard Pickup (right)

I can remember, like it was yesterday, meeting the eight boys with whom we would go on to share our small dormitory for the ensuing twelve months, and we chattered animatedly long into that first night. Identical twins, Danny and Parker Jones, made a special impression on me, buzzing about like a pair of busy bees they were full of energy and the life and soul of the dorm. The bedroom was in the upper reaches of the building, out on a bit of a limb above the Headmaster's quarters, and we accessed it via the long junior dorm which ran almost the length of the first floor, past Matron's office which was next to the Bell overlooking the chapel, and finally up a short flight of stairs.

View of the Headmaster's quarters

There were many midnight feasts and much pillow-fighting during that first carefree year, and we regularly received a slightly more than enthusiastic slippering for misbehaviour after lights out from a Master we called 'The Bod', who carried a slipper in his back pocket and roomed on the same landing. Our dorm also had a connecting door to a room occupied by three kitchen maids, and we were always badgering them to open the door, which could only be done from their side, promising, tongue in cheek and scouts honour, not to misbehave.

They only did so on one occasion, during which ten excited boys proved just too much for them, and it never happened again.

R A Hughes (left) and George Roberts-Jones (right)

Every picture tells a story, and the one above was taken in 1957 from underneath the magnificent conker trees. It was recently confirmed to me by RA Hughes and George Roberts-Jones that they are the two boys central in the photograph, captured during their lunch break. The fence on the left was where, as Prep boys, everyone wishing to play a game of quad footy, in which we used a tennis ball, lined up to be chosen alternately by me or Bernard for our respective teams.

From this aspect there is a good view of the outside of the junior dorm which ran all the way along the first floor, from the school bell to the far right of the building, above the ground-floor classrooms. Matron's room was immediately to the left of the school bell - no wonder we called her 'cotton wool ears', she must have gone to sleep at night with the sound of the bell ringing in her ears.

After twelve months we moved down into the junior dormitory, which was similar in all aspects to the senior dorm and slept over twenty of us. Many OOs will recall an ancient gas light fitting, situated high on the wall just around the corner from Matron's surgery, which was still connected to a supply. It was never officially in use, but after lights out we would sometimes activate it, and the old fitting, minus any surround, used to burst into life with a whoosh followed by a hissing noise as the gas burned off, casting an eerie glow in the dark.

At the other end of the dormitory, a large mirror occupied most of the wall, and I can picture now, in my mind's eye, Stoker Lewis regularly checking himself out as he walked down the length of the room on his way out to the Welsh Harp on a Friday night!

Alongside the mirror was a door which gave access to the one and only bathroom in the building. The three free-standing, battered and yellowing enamel baths, long past their sell by date, were in use nightly. First, it was the turn of the juniors, as we prepared for bed, then the seniors, and three boys at a time would enjoy a communal soak maybe once a week. 

Ahhhh... THAT'S where they are now!

I seem to remember that before lights out, but perhaps not every night, each boy was handed a spoonful of malted milk, scooped by Matron from a giant brown jar. I disliked this sticky, chewy, dietary supplement, and always gave mine to Jack Greves who loved it. Some boys were also given cod liver oil which was even worse.

Finally, when we were all in bed and lights were out, it was storytime, and as part of this rather quaint ritual, a boy would have 5 minutes in which to entertain the rest of us with a story. The following night, the boy in the next bed would do the same, and so it went on, night after night, round the dormitory. Some boys were quite good and enjoyed taking part, but others, not so keen, were heckled mercilessly, and dreaded it when their turn came round again. I have to say I found it fun and, unashamedly blowing my own trumpet now, I can reveal that I was occasionally asked to continue my story the following night.

 

Life in the junior dorm was, by and large, fairly tranquil for the next couple of years, but transition to the senior dormitory heralded a new regime, and more than a few surprises were in store. It was a whole new world which will come under scrutiny next week.

Senior dorm