Recollections of an Old (but young at heart) Oswestrian, circa 1952 - EPISODE 43, BROTHERS IN ARMS, THE VALENTINE CARD FIASCO & PS JONES'S BID FOR FREEDOM FAILS

My brother and I have always been quite close despite a rather shaky start when Bernard arrived into the world at which time, apparently, I greeted him with a crack over the head with a hairbrush! No doubt just to let him know where he stood in the pecking order.

Jimmy Sharples was behind the lens when visiting one of our
caravans during the school holidays.

It was onwards and upwards thereafter. Perhaps our bond grew stronger as, when we were growing up in Haslingden after the war years, we were very much left to our own devices by our parents who were busy making money in order to get rid of their pesky brats (devotees of the Dandy and Beano please note), and who parked us out of reach at some far away place they called boarding school.

This also helped to cement our relationship, but although we rarely fell out, sticking up for one another through thick and thin, the gloves were off when it came to competing against each other and sibling rivalry kicked in. The only time I remember coming close to a fight was a skirmish, more like handbags at ten paces, under the trees outside the Prep. Ma Walton (the Headmistress) broke us up, but not before Bernard had knocked my glasses off which shattered on impact with the quad. I never wore them again.

The youngest prize winners talking
to the Earl of Powis

On more than one occasion my brother made excuses for me when I had gone missing without permission beyond the camp perimeter, only to have Headmaster Frankland send out a search party for me on some pretext or another.  The general atmosphere at school was deteriorating during 1960 with several entries in my Diary mentioning non-specific damage to school property and, on one occasion, someone letting the tyres down on the Head of Holbache, Mr Schofield's car. He went to see Frankland and threatened to get the police involved, and in another incident tyres were slashed! The culprits were never uncovered and I was out of the loop, unaware who was responsible. 

However, I was very much in the know about who was behind a spate of disrespectful cards about to cascade through Mr Frankland's letter box on Valentine's Day, and I must say it did surprise me somewhat. It was not Ma Walton, Head of the Prep Department, although for some reason she had confided to me at the time that she was seriously considering putting in her resignation, being unhappy with the worsening situation.

By 14 February all the cards had been received and the Headmaster was fuming to the extent that he was threatening retribution for the whole of School House if the person or persons responsible did not come forward; I knew, of course, that it was none of our boarders.

Upon returning to school after half term the matter was still to the forefront and the note in my Diary says it all. The Headmaster clearly thought that my brother, 'Poshy' Parslew, and myself were behind the offensive cards, but he was mistakenly barking up the wrong tree.

This was patently not true, and a couple of days after Mr Frankland's Spanish Inquisition of the prefects I took on the somewhat awkward task of calling in on Miss Watkin at the Prep Department to update her on the situation. After I explained to her that some of the prefects were now in the firing line and that the rest of the innocents at School House were in danger of having pocket money and other privileges withdrawn through no fault of their own, she agreed to do the honourable thing by falling on her sword if sanctions were imposed. I reassured her that all the prefects had vowed to keep their lips sealed and we agreed to play it by ear and see how events unfolded. As days passed and nobody came forward I think the OM just decided to move on and the whole matter, thankfully, fizzled out.

The entry for 26 February 1961, just as a matter of interest, details a meeting I had with two Old Boys, Willie Welbourne and Tony Furnival, and others later that day in Manchester, where we would try to finalise the formation of the Northern Branch of The Old Oswestrian Society.

From time to time boys suffering degrees of unhappiness with life as a boarder, for various reasons, would make their feelings known both to the Headmaster and, more importantly, to their parents by making a dash for freedom in true prison camp style. 

Whilst not exactly Colditz Castle or Stalag Luft 111 (there being no turrets or perimeter guards), there were some similarities to prison camp life and we did endure certain hardships at times; OO David Tomley mentioned just a couple last week.

In this particular case it was a Holbache House junior by the name of PS Jones who made his escape on two successive days in March, as detailed below, and rumours abounded that he was going to be expelled. I cannot recall if this was the outcome.

First attempt fails

No better luck!

Such attempts at a break out almost invariably ended in failure with the escapee quickly being returned to school to face the consequences of his actions having made his point. However, there was a certain amount of kudos and a little notoriety gained from making a run for it, and at the end of the day he would not have to practice his ball skills alone in the Cooler, as Steve McQueen was forced to do in the wonderful 1963 epic war film The Great Escape!