Contributions from some of our readers who attended Xaverian College in the Sixties and beyond. As might be expected, experiences varied greatly, both with the school and the teachers. The time spent there has often been remembered in great detail.
Xaverian College in the sixties ran several activities, the most prominent being the yearly opera courtesy of Mr (Chuck) Sellars who fitted the role of theatre impresario perfectly. He was quite capable of throwing what is today referred to as a ‘hissy fit’ but was a very talented music teacher who influence many students in a positive way.
The Mikado 
The Mikado 
The Marriage of Figaro 
The Marriage of Figaro 
The Marriage Of Figaro 
The Marriage of Figaro 
The Marriage of Figaro 
The Marriage of Figaro 
The Marriage of Figaro 
The Marriage of Figaro 
The Marriage of Figaro
I was always called Angus at Xavs by both pupils and teachers, which was nice for a young Scot new to England. Everybody knew my name! Having read all the other contributions it was interesting to see the similarity of opinion about the teachers. I liked most of them but some of their methods were boring, but they were all determined to get us through our exams even if it just meant reading us the text book or copying it onto the board! I enjoyed being a Xav. I wanted to learn and make friends like we all do, so felt happy there, and felt that our teachers wanted to be there as well, giving us a very full and well rounded education, which has carried us as a strong foundation throughout our lives.
One major disappointment for me was that I couldn’t get a regular place on the football team. However when Mr Lackey started managing the team I started getting more games. He was more willing to give other players an opportunity. “That was a very good Denis Law type goal, Angus” I’ll always remember him saying. Yes!! He really cared about nurturing my abilities. I was awarded man of the match after one game which reflected my contribution to the game, which made up for the feelings of rejection no end. Very thoughtful and caring was Bernard Lackey. I met him on Deansgate by accident one day after I left Xavs. He asked me what I was going to do. I said I was going into teaching. “You’ll make a very good teacher” he said enthusiastically. And he was right!!! Very perceptive and supportive. He had a very modern approach even then, forty years ago! They all did their professional best at Xavs, including the pupils!
Classes at Xavs were always serious and hardworking.There wasn’t any time for humour or messing about. However…I do remember Gerry Dewhurst telling us a very good, but rather risque joke at the end of a class which fell flat with the class basically. I always enjoyed jokes and humour and was a big fan of Sunday Night At The London Palladium and variety shows in general. A few weeks later I cracked rather a good joke that had the whole class laughing. “Stop performing Macdonald ” was Gerry’s angry response.
Gerry was a great and inspirational teacher of English lang and lit whose enthusiasm was infectious. PS I’ve since written my own Joke Book! I remember Gerry looking very unhappy and depressed at one point. I later learned I from my pal Jim Coleman that he had separated from his wife. Jim and Gerry used to play snooker together where he learned the sad news.
I remember taking part in the school’s production of Iphigenia In Aulis by Gluck. I was a member of the chorus and played a guard – one either side of the prisoner. I lobbed a line to the effect that we would “sort him out” which had the audience laughing their heads off! So you see ladies and gentlemen, I’m a born entertainer, who has worked as a professional magician over the years, including the Staff Show at the British Council School in Madrid!
On entering our hallowed Sixth Form I was made a prefect, so maybe someone remembered my Iphigenia performance!
Teacher Quotes:
Mr Lackey – “Here’s your bonus homework…”
Mr Dooley – “Drumlins, lads, Drumlins”
O Level Geog. “The Lake District , lads” – an O Level exam tip which came up! I think he knew someone at the Joint Matriculation Board! “Monkhouse, lads. Monkhouse.” A Level text.
I heard a leaving class gave him a bottle opener as a going away present. Well earned indeed.
Mr Halstead – “Come in foghorn” – French oral practice encouragement.
I remember Brother Cyril coming in and memorizing everyone ‘s name which is probably why his school reports felt so personal. I remember he once called me “Mac” which I liked. He came across as a bit dour but he took responsibility for all of us .Big workload and long suffering Man City supporter!!
Back to my football suffering! I was a more or less permanent sub for the team BUT I scored the winning goal against arch rivals St.Bede’s from the half way line, 1-0! Our guys won the Manchester School’s Under 15’s Cup in 1964. I played a blinder in the semi-final and scored the only goal. 1-0! Of course I was sub for the final as usual. They knew I could play but I wasn’t part of the clique and we had very good players. HOWEVER…when I moved to the Sixth Form, Tony Blackburn (PE) made me Captain of the 2nd X1 and we were unbeaten the whole season. Invincibles! Arsenal eat your hearts out!
Thanks, Angus. I’ve not come across anyone with a bad word to say about Bernard Lackey. Good to hear about your positive experiences at Xavs.
Thanks to Henry Mantel for supplying this interesting snippet regarding one of Xaverian College’s more famous alumni, Anthony Wilson, better known as the novelist Anthony Burgess remembered mainly for his influential novel A Clockwork Orange.
There is a film clip of Anthony Burgess on YouTube returning to Xaverian College.
Writing under the pen name Anthony Burgess he was Anthony Wilson when he entered Xaverian College from 1928-1937. His form included Donald Birtles (Brother Cyril C.F.X.) and in an effort to reach out to the isolated boy in the class Donald sat in a paired desk with him for a year. (Yes we did use those in the 1960’s!!)
Brother Cyril in the last years of his life would invite my wife and I to tea at the Brother’s House in Twickenham. He explained that Xaverian College in the 1920’s was a private fee paying school with a commitment to educating working class boys. The Birtles family was not well off and private education required sacrifice. In marked contrast Wilson’s father ran a group of shops and was well able to afford the fees. Wilson therefore had an air of superiority toward his form mates and was a rather isolated pupil.
In this light Wilson’s education at Xaverian was probably not a happy memory. Brother Cyril said that he was invited to return later in life but never responded. Then the BBC contacted to ask if they could film scenes for a documentary about his life; the You Tube clip shows him knocking at the door of Firwood and then cuts to a thank you as the door closes on the Brothers refectory room which Wilson recalls as the headmaster’s office.
Brother Cyril opened the front door to Firwood and closed the door leaving the film crew and their subject. Only when the crew had packed up did Brother Cyril enquire of Burgess if he recalled any of his class mates at Xaverian. He did not; Brother Cyril then described where he sat in the form room and how the pair had sat in a paired desk at Xaverian. A rather embarrassed Burgess left never to return.
Also on You Tube is a risible clip implicitly criticizing the College for not celebrating or recognizing Burgess in the English department. Perhaps if Burgess had shown any interest in the development of the College in his life this might have been a possibility.
From Anthony Coombs
I attended Xaverian Prep 1962-1965, and Xaverian College 1965-71. Before that I’d been at the Hollies Prep in Fallowfield. The Nuns booted little boys out of The Hollies at the age of 8 in case they made advances on the little girls. They could safely have waited another 8 years – or longer in my case.
Happy memories of Xaverian Prep, on Wilbraham Road in Fallowfield, are of Mr Timlin reading to us from the lives of famous artists. It has stuck with me since then that Raphael was born in Urbino in 1483 where his father was court artist, and died young but famous in Rome in 1520. This was good background when I eventually got to Urbino on a walking holiday in my 40s. He didn’t mention that Raphael might have died so young from having sex too often, but this was not the sort of information you’d share with little boys, even if it were true. He read to us what a sad life Rembrandt had – the death of his wife Saskia and of his son Titus, and his serious debt problems, in spite of being famous. I remember someone asking the elderly Brother Benedict, whose party piece was to make you stand on a chair then pull the chair away from under you, whether it hurt when you died. He answered “Did it hurt when you were born?” which was a very good but misleading answer, because it certainly hurt your mother. I remember NOT getting “the stick” from the headmaster Mr Quayle, but waiting outside his office to be punished, after I had pushed someone’s face into his pudding at dinner time. The boy was staring down into his pudding from a couple of inches away and it only needed a gentle push on the back of his head to get his nose in it. I remember cold hours standing still on the football field wondering how you got involved in the game. I remember coming last in class in my first year, which I had to repeat, and first in class in my third year, and for this being given a book called “Just like Jennings.” I am looking at this book now. The illustration on the cover shows two schoolboys standing on a station platform chatting to and shaking hands with a kindly steam engine driver and his fireman leaning out of their cab. Happy days.
My dad had gone to school at Xaverian before and during the war and was a contemporary of the headmaster Brother Cyril, so it felt to me like the right place to be. I don’t have any bad memories of the teachers at Xaverian in Victoria Park, except of being bashed around the head by Mr Arkless in more than one maths lesson. I had understood that numbers started at 1 and went upwards, and thought that was the end of it. He hammered in the idea of negative numbers and cross factorization, but put me off maths for ever, which in turn closed off sciences for the future. It’s only Brian Cox that has got me interested in science now. I came home once after being knocked around in a maths lesson, and told my dad how upsetting it was. My dad was in “The Catenians”, a Catholic social and benevolent organization, a bit like the Freemasons, but not so secretive. So was Mr Arkless, and they happened to be meeting up soon afterwards. My dad must have told Mr Arkless over a drink that what he thought was my “asinine grin” was really a grimace of terror, and he never hit me again.
The philosophy in the new Sixth Form block was to treat you as a grown-up, and to hope you behaved like a grown-up which, on the whole, we did. I had really good, dedicated teachers in Mr Connolly (Eng Lit), Mr Graham and Mr Baron (Economics), Mr Lackey (British Government) and Mr Brooker (Art), and as a result got really good “A” levels. Mr Brooker very kindly taught me in his spare time because the Art classes clashed with my other subjects. He could also play flamenco guitar, which is impressive looking back on it even now. Mr Connolly introduced us to a lot of literature beyond the set books. He also provided informally the only sex education lessons we ever had, although this embarrassed everyone. Mr Lackey organized hikes in Derbyshire and involved some students in care of the elderly. He was a really good person as well as a good teacher.
Important things happened by chance. Mr Lackey said to me one day: “I suppose you’ll be doing PPE at University?” I’d never heard of it, and found out it meant Philosophy, Politics and Economics. Brother Cyril later said to me “I suppose you’ll be applying for Oxford or Cambridge…(long pause)…Which one?” (holding out 2 application forms to me). No idea, but I took the Oxford application form from him, and went on to study PPE there. Xaverian Sixth Form was my academic high point. I got a second class degree in PPE, and had to start again, studying Law in order to qualify as a solicitor and earn a living. That’s another story.
Some people have commented on Catholicism at Xaverian. I liked the rituals, and remember running to Benediction every Friday afternoon when at the Prep, and singing “Tantum ergo Sacramentum.” We didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded good. Although losing my religion at University, religion wasn’t oppressive at Xaverian. In the Sixth Form, a dynamic, charismatic American Bother John J Donovan introduced us to Catholic philosophers Teilhard de Chardin and Saint Augustine, and taught us about the Lutheran pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who stood up to the Nazis and died for it. Catholicism at Xaverian felt safe, wholesome and northern, compared with the posh Catholics and the sinister Opus Dei crew later on at Oxford, who tried to recruit me without saying who they really were.
Some people have said Xaverian didn’t provide a first class education. I think it did, or at least it was there for the taking. Bear in mind that they had limited resources, and that the education was free. Alternatives like St Bede’s or Manchester Grammar were not free. The pupil intake came from working class or lower middle class Catholic families. No-one there was rich. The school got a lot of working-class boys to university. To the best of my knowledge, there was none of the sexual abuse that blighted other Catholic schools and institutions of that era.
Whatever happened to?
Does anybody remember Chris Bean? He shared the next desk to me in Lower IV III. Quite tall, had a resemblance to a young Prince Phillip. I am not sure why this happened but: one day Bro Cyril came into the classroom and unceremoniously (and quite sarcastically, I thought), announced that ‘Bean won’t be joining us next year’. It was a a shock to the class and I’ve an idea that came as a bit of a shock to Chris too!
A couple of years later we got back in touch and I remember he worked for Chubb Safes on Deansgate. Not sure how his life turned out if anyone has any ideas?
Chuck Sellars – David Challinger remembers…
I remember Chuck SELLERS, and am grateful for the passion for music he instilled in me, although he did once call me a Philistine! I took part in all productions from Iolanthe (1961) up to The Happy Prince (1966). You mention The Magic Flute, which was favorably reviewed in the Times Educational Supplement! The orchestra of 30 of the better pupil players augmented by 8 or 9 Old Boys coped well with the score. Recently found my programme for the Bartered Bride (1966) and among the cast was Anthony Knowles, present Headteacher of the College as Ludmilla ( a peasant’s wife). Chuck was well known for his outbursts during rehearsals. “This is definitely the last one I ever do” was often heard. A splendid outburst during final rehearsals for the Happy Prince, which I used to have on tape, went like this. The chorus had just come in late. ” I’m going to throw something heavy at you nitwits. There are people coming tonight who have an ear for music and not just friends of yours and relations, so it’s got to be as good as possible”. I suppose this indicates the enormous responsibility and sheer effort involved with these productions for him. SO grateful he made that effort.
Chuck got his MBE in 1991 while at De La Salle. He did some work in N. Ireland during The Troubles when music teachers were hard to get. Rumour has it that was why he received the award. Fully deserved anyway.
Reminds me of my A Level Music Group which was full of great musicians. Nigel Blomiley, who was for abut 20 years Principal Cello in the BBC Concert Orchestra, John Thornley, a violinist who went on to teach at Cambridge University. Iain Fenlon, who retired last year as Emeritus Professor of Historical Musicology at Kings College Cambridge, my younger brother Andrew Challinger, who was in the National Youth Orchestra and has composed and had published a long list of works for recorders / consorts, Stephen Blinkhorn , a viola player and finally me, who sold his cello to buy his first motorbike!
Great group, great memories. Thanks Chuck the mentor
Thanks to Henry Mantell for some very interesting insights into Xavs and in particular Brother Cyril Birtles. As I have indicated before, there were two sides to his character and this article relates an example of his compassionate nature. Henry attended Xavs from 1964 until 1970. Some very interesting insights into teachers and college life as well as more information regarding one of the college’s more famous alumni, Anthony Wilson aka Anthony Burgess (not to be confused with the other Anthony Wilson, of course, who was a product of that place that shall not be spoken of, De La Salle College!)
I found your site and congratulate you on establishing a replacement for the Friends Reunited College site. I was fortunate to re-establish contact with Brother Cyril when he moved to Danvers and each trip to the UK he would offer my wife and I tea at the Order’s Twickenham House.I learned much about the College from these visits.Ward Hall was requisitioned in 1939 and was a Military Intelligence house which then became a lock up for the Military Police when the US entered the war and drunken Americans were detained there.The land and buildings were purchased by the Brothers rather cheaply after the war and the rest is Xaverian history.
In June 1964 my parents and I relocated from Derbyshire to Salford where my mother was employed by the Diocese of Salford. I had attended my first year at a co-ed Grammar School but this had no Latin department. De la Salle were rather sniffy and rejected me at interview. We were advised to “try” Xaverian. We travelled from Salford one Saturday afternoon for a 5-30pm appointment with Brother Cyril who had come hot foot from his beloved Maine Road where Manchester City had lost! The absence of any Latin was not a problem and he conducted us on a tour of the main block and chapel. My father was convert to Catholicism and had been in danger of losing a leg following a German potato masher stick grenade in the Libyan Desert. In Army service he had been an altar server to various Catholic priests and as a result was honoured by being one of a handful of UK members of a Roman guild.
I became a Xav only a few weeks later; I stayed until 1970. I wouldn’t recommend moving from a co-ed to a Boys Direct Grant and the lack of any formal Latin was a challenge. Lower 4’s were a challenge. I remember Mister Archdeacon in English lit declaiming as he strode across the desk tops- marvellous almost balletic delivery! Then I encountered Mister Diamond for Latin and my heart sank. He asked to see me at the end on my first lesson and he offered to spend time with me after school to help me the first of many unexpected kindnesses I was to find at Xaverian. With his help and my work ethic and my father’s Church Latin at home I was by no means disadvantaged at the end of the year. Many upper 4’s had given up on Latin but could not drop it like Music and Woodwork; inevitably classes were disrupted by misbehaviour. I liked Mister Swallow a thoroughly decent man who had left the priesthood to marry. The facilities above the cricket pavilion were in marked contrast to my previous school which had woodwork metalwork and electronics as well as ceramic studios. One trick in the woodwork room was to place an old rubber into the winter heating- the smell was atrocious; a group marched off to the Headmaster by a furious Mister Swallow.
In my upper four year my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and at Christies he had a heart attack-mild but cause for concern. In the January he was due undergo lung surgery at Christie’s but died of heart failure minutes after I had left the house. When the classroom door opened I knew it had happened. Brother Cyril placed his arm around me and broke the news gently and explained that the curate from our parish had driven over to collect me. I realise now how hard that task was for Brother Cyril who told me years later that was the hardest thing he had to do for others subsequently. He hired a coach form my form and teachers who travelled to Salford for my father’s requiem mass. I have always felt that there was fraternal bond about Xaverian and in subsequent years there I felt supported and given every opportunity. I’m not surprised to hear that same ethos exists in a co-ed Six Form College. In 1966 the chapel altar was changed to face the Congregation; the altar stone was donated in my father’s memory.
Now to some of the characters who taught me in the 60’s a mixture of war years teachers recruited to teach at Blackpool and those who returned to teach after some very difficult war service. I was taught in my O level year and Six Form by Mister Underwood. He was an amusing ex Army officer with a very dry wit who brought Shakespeare to life and in Six Form you could get a laugh at his expense from the text. One summer I boarded a train to Wigan and found him and his wife and children were travelling at the front of the diesel car. It was there that I discovered from his wife that he was one of handful of survivors in his unit to survive the fighting at Monte Cassino without injury. After I left the school he was to lose his wife and one morning found his son had died suddenly in bed both bereavements only months apart.
John Dooley’s accent enlivened Geography and his appearance on This is Your Life as Val Doonican’s sponsor for vocal lessons meant a reappraisal for many Xav’s. His vocal mannerisms included “style of t’ing “ and he was a man for the “fillum’s”. I don’t know why “take out your Horrocks” ( the geographers Bible of the 1960’s) drew such a laugh amongst adolescent boys. “Tom” as he was nicknamed was an effective teacher and I was grateful for his spotting trends in exam questions at both and O and A level.
Jock Burns was an unqualified war time teacher who commanded a class with authority. I liked his class and achieved a decent O level. In marked contrast we had a year of Chemistry with a Welshman who tried to organise a Rugby programme. One of our form was messing about generally and the teacher lost his temper and quite violently assaulted him breaking his glasses and causing a nose bleed. Jock Burn’s entered and slapped a metre rule hard on the bench top; we all knew this meant stop what you are doing. He ordered the Welshman to the Headmaster and assigned one of the form to take the boy for first aid. Then he took over the remainder of the class. Needless to say our form’s O level Chemistry results were poor with many resits and passes that Autumn.
After I left Xavs the only teacher who remained in touch intentionally was Larry Halstead my French and German teacher. He used to pull sideburns I recall in lower school. He recruited a delightful French woman who taught in O level year conversational French and again for both years of A level. The school was changing!
I also met Mister Diamond several times. My happiest memory of him was at Manchester Union bar carrying on a conversation entirely in Latin with a University Latin Professor and the Head of Latin from Manchester Grammar. He greeted me in Latin and I joined the conversation rather inhibited by my O level; in the background I looked at a large group of baffled Russian students who must have wondered if their student exchange was going to be like this.
I worked hard as a Xav and felt the education offered me as working class lad every opportunity to progress. The School had historically been linked to Mancunian Films. I appeared on Coronation Street as a teenage extra twice and when I moved to London worked many film and TV studios over the years; returning to Granadaland to film Crown Court episodes. I wish that Xaverian College had been a co-ed in my time but the Six Form building and later expansion created an impressive achievement. The School Council enabled and empowered students and was ahead of its’s time.
Henry Mantel, Downe and Farnborough Online Parish Clerk Kent Online Parish Clerk
A few personal remarks from James provide some interesting thoughts:
Curtis. Another “head case, taught you nothing but loved to give you a serious punch if you were not in a perfect line outside class.
Geography teacher: No name. Set you a lesson and then disappeared to the Clarence pub.
History teacher: No name.
Another rubbish teacher, all dates. I love history but nothing to do with Xavs. One of these spent all of the time playing “pocket billiards”.
The school uniform had to be bought at a firm in St Anns Square.The uniform was rubbish and wore out before the first year. Brown envelopes I am sure were involved. Xaverian insisted that uniform had to be bought from firm but after a while most people bought a blue blazer and fitted a Xaverian badge. (Henry Barry St Ann’s Square – ed) I remember the Tuck shop and when I had money I enjoyed the food.
Pop Eaton was on my”case” all through school but I found out later that he came from the same town in Ireland as my father maybe he was trying to help me. I was a bit of a rebel at school nothing I am proud of but it was as it was.I was a thorn in Brother David ‘s side. A little christian Napoleon.I used to watch when he gave me the cane, he used to be like a force of nature as due to his small size he used to spin around in the room to get momentum before he hit you with the cane.
We fell out with each other when I was approx 15 when Pop Eaton decided he had sent me for the cane when he had not. It ended in a standoff with Brother David and Pop Eaton when I said he had made a mistake and I was not having the cane.They stood there for some minutes thinking about it and then backed off.Afterwards they told they would not enter me for my GSEs and I would have to pay for them out of own pocket. Nice people!!! I would love to say that it ended in a a fairy tale and I collected numerous GSEs but I only collected a Maths GSE which surprised me as it was never my favorite subject so Pop Eaton may have helped. Anyway I am now 74 and I think I had a slightly better education than staying at my previous school.
James Kedian memories
I remember the tuck shop being in the main playground. That is as you came in from Thurloe St it was on the left ,next to the bicycle shed. I remember the bicycle shed, as I got a bit older I got handy at combination locks which were very popular then. I used to go in the bicycle shed and swop around all the locks on the bikes.
I remember the sweet shop on Wilbraham Rd I used to buy cigs there one at a time. It got me into smoking ” grown up” I got the result a few years ago. I do not blame the shop ,times were hard in the fifties, make your living as you can. I remember going to Eire in 1956 and going into a tiny greengrocers and there was a mini bar in the shop with three pumps. I was gobsmacked!!
I spent my time at Xavs in the “threes”. I do not remember knowing the name of the prep school. I do remember altering the shower controls for the showers at the prep school. Whoever designed the school never allowed for school boys. They put the shower controls OUTSIDE the showers. People passing by turned the hot to max and listened to the screams.
Somebody in their wisdom thought It would be a good idea to concrete the playing area for the cricket. This area had fallen in to disrepair and they still used a corky ball. They also only had two pads, so you had to choose which leg to cover. I choose the wrong one and was off school for a week. Corky ball hit me in the knee. I had to make my own way home. It took me hours.
We knew which of the kids in our class came from the prep school. They were not the sharpest ones in the class. One I remember called Fay. His family had quite a few greengrocers/general stores around Manchester before the supermarkets took over (possibly the Hugh Fay Shops – ed). I went out with my father in summer holidays, he was working at the Fay house and I was in the back garden when I saw him in the rear room. He saw me through the window but did not come out. This guy was not the sharpest knife in the box but I am sure he would have got to the top.
John Heffernan reminisces
29th July 2020
I was at Xavs from 1956 to 1962. I had been at St Annes Prep before that. I remember my interview for St Annes in about 1952 in the dark religious surroundings of Bro ??? office. (Bernard ??) I had Miss Eaton for music and her father for maths – he was a member of the Wild Geese club in Withington and was friends with my mother and her friends but he was still strict with me. In the flu epidemic of 1956 the class streams were merged into one and Mr Eaton thought I was thick because I knew nothing ( like Manuel in Fawlty Towers ) but he had forgotten that my stream one had a different syllabus.
Pug Diamond had a good line in dialogue – “ Stop dredging out your nose boy “ and Brother Amandus was very superior and banned me from taking sixth form French. There was a cool American brother who wore a ball cap but he really hated Elvis “ the worst kind of greasy low life hoodlum “ but it made no difference to our admiration for all the rockers of the time. The two worst days were the Man United air crash and the Buddy Holly ,Big Bopper disaster. We used to go out to the sweet shop on Oxford Rd at lunchtime and I was attacked by the local bad boys and got a broken nose which still serves me well – in spite of several offers to have it straightened.
Sixth formers were given their own smoking room – unbelievable now. The art teacher “Rufus” (another redhead complete with bushy beard – Bob) advised me and Brian Sage to go to art college which we did. I remember being in a girl’s flat on the other side of the wall from school when some friends were still sixth formers and feeling very superior and adult as I supped my red wine.
The sixties were wonderful – Manchester Art College and then Leicester to do a post grad. My career was in design , at Vauxhall ,General Motors in the USA and Audi in Germany. I did some lecturing at Manchester at the invitation of the late Paul Callaghan , head of Industrial Design , in the 1980’s . My southern bred daughters love the liveliness of Manchester and we try to visit regularly , it’s great to see the old school looking so well-maintained even if Rusholme looks a little shabby.
Memories of some of the teaching staff are sometimes on point and sometimes blurred. Mr “Jack” Gleason was a good Geordie lad who managed to strike a very good rapport with a good many of my class mates. A bit of a laugh was normally always present about the weekend football clubs – of course he was a Magpie but we were always very sympathetic and never held that against him! I remember with crystal clarity the day that he handed back our English homework always accompanied by a remark or quip that gave the pupil a “flavour” of his opinion on their previous night’s scribing efforts. Calling out pupil by pupil, you went to collect your submission and always I will remember his comment on mine. “White – never uses 6 words where 12 will suffice!” Absolute class – and in all truth, he was smack on the mark – as is STILL evident in any composition of mine!! I remember too father and daughter Eaton – our Maths teachers with a fair amount of affection, particularly for “Pop”. I well remember one morning maths period with him which just happened to be the Monday morning following St. Pat’s Day that weekend. As I am descended from Irish immigrants, I attempted to lighten the opening minutes (and of course keep him away from the tedious geometry! he was going to deliver!) by asking him whether he had enjoyed a Happy St.Pat’s day. His reply was a gem and I still see him delivering his response which was “NO I did not”. So I followed up immediately with “An Irishman who didn’t enjoy St. Pat’s day sir how’s that?” Quick as a flash, his reply which I can hear even now, was “I never enjoy meself when I’m unconscious!” Superb!!
John’s life now
Left Xavs in 1962 – high spot of that year prior to my leaving was winning the Lancashire Schoolboy’s welterweight Championship under the tutelage of Mr.Gerry Dewhurst.
That year was great for Xavs and for Gerry as we managed to secure five Lancashire champions. From memory these were me (junior welter), Phil Crewdson (senior welter as he was 9 months older than me), Paul Neary (lightweight), and then a distant cousin of mine Freddie Morrow (featherweight) and finally there was a fifth and for the life of me I can’t trawl his name up. Gerry was over the moon because I think this was the 1st time Xavs had entered ANY boxers.
I joined the GPO as a counter clerk and worked in many Branch Offices across Manchester from as far apart as Wythenshawe (3 offices) down to City centre Head Office and across to Brooks’s Bar and Chorlton. Loved that job – great experiences in some great communities – special mentions for both Brooks’s Bar and Hall Lane Wythenshawe.
Met my wife Jo and we married in 1966, we have 3 children, 10 grandchildren and 2 great-grandchildren. We moved from Manchester to Macclesfield in 1967 and I started working for ICI Pharmaceuticals Division now of course morphed via Zeneca into AstraZeneca. Began as a shift process operator Bulk Chemical Manufacturing and some 4 years later, was promoted to Shift manager. I moved across to the “clean” side of the site some 6 years later to manage Tablet Granulation/Coating Area and then took operational responsibilities for managing all Tablet Packing activities – loved that job and was fortunate enough to have some really fantastic operational staff working for me.
Then big shake-up aand after due consideration I took the early retirement package in 1995 and set up my own consultancy for preparing clients for MHRA /FDA inspection. That took me to contracting in various locations as far apart as Ireland, Belgium, France, Romania and many other parts at home wherever England’s pharma sites were located.Come Covid all precautions and limitations in force saw a massive collapse and so I closed my consultancy and called it a day.
Thanks to Mike Ramsay for sharing his memories from over 60 years ago
Remembering Xaverian College Manchester
Miss Eaton at Ward Hall
My grammar school life began in 1958 at Ward Hall, after having spent my early years at the Prep School. Miss Eaton, who had taught us music at the Prep, taught us Maths at Ward Hall.
I remember her sending me to be caned for forgetting to bring a compass to school !That experience put me off Maths forever & from an interest in Irish ballads that is until ‘River Dance’ came along!
Foggy Days at Ward Hall
In the days before the clean act there were many foggy days in Manchester. Some were worse than others .The smoke from Trafford Park and elsewhere would drift over the city not only in the winter but also the summer. Because most boys lived some distance from the school, the teachers thought that they should send younger boys home early so they could get home safely.
There was nothing better for us boys than to be told that after we had had our lunch, we were all to go home!
Sitting there eating fish and chips and then going home was a real treat .Off we would go on our buses to the four corners of the city. The best times of all were when the fog suddenly lifted while were travelling home and the shone brightly as the blue sky appeared!
Fog at lunch time was the key moment. Fog and we were home .
It’s not surprising that many boys at this time wished and prayed for foggy days!
Who can forget one of the teachers being fired at by a lad with an air rifle? We were all lined up after lunch time outside in the playground. The teacher was taking us through the usual prayers when he suddenly grasped his forehead and staggered off towards the door.
We later discovered that a lad with a bit of a grudge ,had entered the sixth form block and from an open window used an air rifle to shoot at the teacher. I never heard what happened but I think the teacher was OK and the boy expelled.
Air-Bomb
Back in the 50,s and 60,s it was very easy for boys to buy fireworks. Bangers would be lit and thrown about the streets quite frequently .Apart from the ‘Penny Banger’ there was the ‘Air Bomb’. This was a super- deluxe banger and quite expensive to buy. When lit, it would fizz for a couple of seconds and then launch some other kind of explosive into the air. This was followed by an extremely loud bang which would get the dogs barking and the neighbours complaining! There was timed delay when all would go quiet .Then another would be launched and once again a repeat performance. This would happen three times, causing anyone nearby to jump out of their skin. One day when we had just come into the classroom, the French teacher began the lesson with prayer ..in French.
He had only just begun when there was a terrible explosion outside the window ,very close to it in fact. One of the boys had tied an ‘Air Bomb’ to the drainpipe earlier in the day, to which he had attached a long fuse ,so that he wouldn’t be caught. He had placed just outside the window!
The teacher stopped, looked at us and bellowed “Who is responsible for that?” No one said a word so he continued in prayer. Half way through the prayer there was another ‘Bang!’
This time he screamed at us ,”Wait till I find out who did this !“ . He began the prayer for the third time and after the third explosion he threatened us with lengthy detention until the guilty party
owned up ! This was the liveliest lesson I ever remember attending! Did the boy own up? I don’t think he did .
Wood work
Having been denied the opportunity to learn Art or Music some of us were sentenced to doing woodwork for three years in a workshop above the cricket pavilion.
I clearly remember how the teacher dealt with trouble makers. He would hit them with lengths of wood which hung from a rail in his room. He would call out a boy who was often in trouble.”Smith? ”, he would bellow. “Come out here!”
Smith would go up to him and then the teacher would say sarcastically. ”Smith, which type of wood would you like this afternoon? We have some nice Japanese oak or maybe some maple? Or you might prefer some mahogany or how about some elm?”
And there on a rail hung all different kinds of wood .
The class would know what would happen next .After Smith had chosen his favourite wood he was told to bend down and receive his punishment. It can’t have been too bad because Smith was misbehaving as usual the following week! I like to think that the teacher was fooling us all and that his ‘special’ wood was really only balsa after all!
Lunch Time Distractions
My father originated from Bristol and had moved to M/C in the thirties .He had no interest in neither Man City nor Man. U. But as we lived only about two miles from Maine Rd, he took me there to watch City, the team that eventually I would follow with a passion. It wasn’t long before I discovered that most of the lads at school were Man. U. fans and to admit you were a City supporter in those days was to invite trouble!
In time I discovered who City supporters were. It was like belonging to a secret underground movement! They told me that the Man. City players went for lunch at a café on the main road in Rusholme. So after we had rushed down our dinner, we tore down Thurloe St. turned left and stood outside the café waiting to see the players and get their autographs. (There was also a sports shop on Wilmslow Road owned by the ex Man City player Roy Clarke – he also supplied the school with its sports equipment (ed))
Paris School Trip 1962
We were on our way back from Paris on the train. Just before noon a steward came round and gave us our lunches on plastic trays, similar to the type seen on aircraft. Some of the boys had had enough of French food and now here was a ‘French Salad’, lettuce leaves, slices of cucumber & tomato, a slice of ham & a bread roll. Also on each tray was a hardboiled egg, still in its’ shell .These they put in their pockets .The whole meal was doused with a liberal portion of mayonnaise! In their disgust some of the boys decided to get rid of their food immediately, so climbed up on their seats, slid open the window and threw the meal out of the window. Unfortunately because the train was going so fast, the meal failed to clear the train and splattered alongside the window of compartment next to ours.
A couple of seconds later and a teacher appeared at our door. He quickly discovered the culprits and marched them into the corridor and into the teachers’ compartment! Spread all over their main window was a collage of dried tomato & cucumber slices, some lettuce and mayonnaise which was quickly drying in the sun. Some of us made an excuse to use the toilet, giving us the opportunity to go into the corridor see what had happened. As I stared into the teachers’ compartment I could see very little out of the window. Instead there was what looked like a colourful stain-glass picture of a French Salad! It covered the entire window.
The hard boiled eggs? They were used as hand grenades and thrown at unsuspecting travellers as they waited on station platforms, while we made our way to Calais!
Xaverian photo 1961 – Boy’s Names
(More names will be added as they are identified)
Second row from top, from left
First: possibly Thomas Coyle Third: (lower part of face in shadow): possibly Christopher Noble
Seventh: (lower part of face in shadow): Jerzy Basiurski.
Extreme right: possibly James Hardiman
Third row from top, from left
First: James (Jim) Cooper Eighth: Philip Blinkhorn
Fourth row from top, from left
Eighth: Possibly Peter Crilley Ninth: Michael Kerford (immediately in front of Philip Blinkhorn)
Tenth: William (Bill) Cannon
Row behind front row (which seems to be Martin Hannett’s class)
First on left: possibly Richard Gordyniec.
Second row from top
To right of (possible) James Hardiman: ? Backhouse? Next: Christopher Gorton (spectacles)
Next: (dark-haired lad): This might be James Hardiman
Third row from top
In front of (and slightly to the left of Christopher Gorton): Robert Postlethwaite
Row behind front row (members of Martin Hannett’s class)
Extreme right: John Long To his left: possibly Anthony Gibbons
Front Row
9th from Left: (scowling) Kennings
Thoughts on catholic education in the sixties
A working class catholic background pre Xaverian
Whilst Xaverian paid an important part in my early life I think it’s also important to consider life before Xaverian.
The family belonged to St Robert’s, Longsight, a large parish which included Catholics from many backgrounds including the English (us), Italians, Poles and of course the Irish who were very much in the majority.
Sermons were frequently preceded by the words ‘As Catholics this is what we believe…’ In other words – don’t think and certainly don’t critique anything. Your duty was to be obedient unquestioning Catholics. A very dangerous attitude and one which I wonder if some of our Muslim friends might be subject to now?
Human actions also seemed to be categorized along very black and white lines into what was right and what was wrong – and most things – especially where sexuality was concerned – were wrong.
The idea that a 14 year old school boy would go to Hell if he died suddenly after committing a certain act is patently absurd now…but not then. Catholic guilt has a lot to answer for.
The Church has changed dramatically in recent years and preaching about hell fire and damnation has long since gone. A loving God is promoted now although the church’s attitude to sexuality (about which we now know so much more) and women can still be somewhat medieval.
My parents were good decent intelligent people and my mum was especially devout and liked to follow all the ‘rules’ to the letter. Before he died my dad told me that my mum – a very kind lady who would do anything to help anybody – lived in fear of going to hell. How wrong. (Sex was never discussed and I would never ever think about going to them with anything personal).
My dad, a very skilled plumber, expected people to ‘get a skill’ at 16 and saw little value in further education after that which reflected his upbringing. This did cause me problems especially when I went into the sixth form as I felt somewhat unsupported at home.
I also remember that we were expected to be humble and certainly not ‘show offs’. Boasting of any exploits, however worthy, was not encouraged. Was this a working class thing related to knowing your place in society? The idea of using all your talents and skills to the full – expressing yourself with confidence – was somehow wrong or this is the impression I had. Getting your reward in the next world by being good obedient Catholics in this world was often quoted. ‘We may be poor but we do see life’ was also often quoted by my mum when some ‘Longsight’ incident occurred!
And with that background I arrived at Xaverian as a reasonably happy child.
Xaverian – my first great adventure
When I arrived at Xaverian in 1960 I thought I had landed on Mars. I had never come across a building like Ward Hall before never mind entered one. It was a complete culture shock after my large but friendly primary school and it took me several months to assimilate.
I had never heard of the school until it appeared on a list of schools I was entitled to apply for after passing my 11 plus and my teacher Mr Grouke (an ex Xaverian) suggested that was the school for me. I’m grateful for that advice as the alternative – St Bedes – I don’t think would have suited me.
I arrived with one ambition – to play for the school football team – which I achieved and as house points were awarded for appearances that assisted me in obtaining my silver house badge (Bernadines) which I still have.
My thoughts on Xaverian teachers
I think most teachers were men of good will – at least those who were not suffering mental difficulties as I’m sure Mr Crotty was. And how cruel school boys can be. I remember someone putting a dead bird in his desk once. He opened his desk at the start of a lesson, saw the bird – did a double take – closed his desk – said nothing and carried on but I think he was quite shocked.
I think Brother Finbarr was essentially a good man but the celibate life was not for him (is it right for anyone?). In our first year Jim Gilligan (before I knew him) became ill and needed some weeks of recovery at home. He speaks highly of Br Finbarr who visited him and his family regularly and who loved the hospitality he received from Jim’s (Irish) mum. He inspired me to master Latin in my first year by going out of his way to help me and in that sense he was truly inspirational. I became aware of his ‘touchy feely’ behaviour which was of course entirely inappropriate but I’m still grateful to him for helping me adapt to life at Xaverian. I hope he found happiness after leaving the Order.
Mr Burrows – Science -was the son of a Mr Burrows who taught me at St Robert’s primary school. I got on with him generally but for some reason I was once given the ruler repeatedly for being impudent in class. Not like me – I must have been having a bad day.
Brother Cyril did not like me – or so I thought. When I was about 16/17 he stopped me on a number of occasions as I had grown sideburns. Unless I had them removed he said he would expel me which I though was grossly unfair and not very Christian! I think I compromised a bit but it left me with a bit of a chip on my shoulder.
I fondly remember Brother Guy who ran the Marylands where lads training to be brothers lived. I once spent a weekend there in my second year to try the lifestyle out – I briefly fancied joining the brothers. However, that summer puberty kicked in and all thoughts of the celibate life vanished. I came across Br Guy’s obituary a few years ago in the American magazine the brothers still publish and I was genuinely moved.
Mr Arkless –Maths – scared me to death at times but I thought he was a great maths teacher although his methods were old fashioned! He started every lesson with a Hail Mary.
Mr Finan – Physics– an odd character whose voice and expressions I try and mimic to this day when I meet up with Jim Gilligan and Clive Jones.
‘Pug’ Diamond – Latin- another odd character who destroyed the linguistic confidence instilled in me by Brother Finbar. Latin was dropped at the first opportunity. I can still remember when someone broke wind with such a ferocity it shocked everyone in the class into stunned silence. ‘Pug’s’ response was to ask which ‘low cur’ had committed the deed and did they need to leave the classroom. I’m chuckling now remembering that incident.
Mr Barry – Chemistry – a good bloke – I completely agree with Michael de Podesta’s description
Mr Marsden – History -– I remember him for smacking someone called McConville across the face for being outrageously. Today that would probably have ended Mr Marsden’s career. He taught us a little rhyme about the battle of Marston Moor which I still remember as being in 1644. I attended his funeral whilst still at Xaverian.
Mr (Tom) Dooley – Geography – A lovely man who was unable to control a class! I believe he appeared on ‘This is your life’ when Val Doonican was the subject.
Mr Archdeacon – English – a good teacher with a good sense of humour although I can remember being rightly humiliated in his class for submitting an essay held together with sticking tape. I had cut a paragraph out with scissors rather than rewrite a whole page. It gave the class a laugh anyway.
Brother Pius – French- a somewhat severe teacher from memory. He died whilst I was there.
There were other teachers and while one or two were a bit odd I think they were all essentially decent men and I remember my time at Xaverian in a favourable light.
Friendships
I made two great friends at Xaverian – Clive Jones and Jim Gilligan – and we are still good friends.
In addition to Jim and Clive I had very good friendships with both Peter English and John Denton but I’ve had no contact with either since leaving school.
I also remember sitting behind Bill Gladwell who gulped down crisps at morning break to induce flatulence after which he took great delight in breaking wind in my direction and turning round to give me a big grin after each ‘performance’.
My academic career at Xaverian
After Ward Hall I was put into the fast stream and took my seven O Levels at age 15 passing six subjects. I got the seventh (French) by sitting an October exam which you could do then. So a great start but life in the sixth form did not suit me and I did not perform well in my A Levels. However, despite not being a classic Xaverian success I went on to have a successful career in IT – I’m definitely more practical than academic – and most importantly I’ve been happily married for over 30 years and I have 2 fantastic daughters.
Final words on Catholicism
Well, I’m still a catholic. Despite all the faults of the Institution I still find value in being a catholic. And as I’ve got quite a few faults myself we get along OK most of the time. I came across a quote recently which makes a lot of sense to me especially when looking back to the St Robert’s days when there were lots of rules and regulations to follow:
‘Nothing so masks the face of God as religion’ (Martin Buber).
How’s that for a quote to finish with?!
Contributions from some of our readers who attended Xaverian College in the Sixties and beyond. As might be expected, experiences varied greatly, both with the school and the teachers. The time spent there has often been remembered in great detail.
By Norbet ‘Nodge’ Carnegie
Paris, August 1962. I wonder who took the photograph – a copy of which was kindly sent to me by Paul Morris (hero). This was the back room of a restaurant on the Champs Élysées. We had onion soup, chicken (legs: Paul’s wonderful technique: “It’s how the French eat them!”) and chips, a dessert, and Camembert AND red wine.
Shown on our table (front right) are me (basking – the noble profile! – in my new name of “Nodgers”), John Heaviside, Paul Morris, and John Tierney from Upper V 2. Some other faces are familiar and a couple prompt names (for example, Martin O’Reilly, on front left table, facing the camera) but I can’t be sure.
From my own not-particularly-fair hand or One reason I came close to failing ‘O’ Level Art. Stephen Barratt saved me and others from that ignominy by talking us into seeing sense, at least for a couple of terms. This effort dates from spring 1963: a ham-fisted appreciation of The Beatles and contemporaries, who were “new” to most of my group of friends. The Medlockbeats was a fantasy we decided could be the Mancunian equivalent of the Merseybeat groups, to be followed (we hoped) by The Irkbeats, The Chorlton-Brook-Beats, and The Irwell Beats. The caricature (right) of a pal, Barry Mulgrew, from Warrington. Barry was one of the few (Denis Byrne being another) who had not only heard of The Beatles but had seen them on stage. (Many groups at that time did small venues and church halls in their early days. The Hollies, for example, were lauded for fulfilling such engagements and contracts long after they started having hit records.)
The 1999 reunion group . . . plus time-traveller (knobbly knees and all) from autumn 1958.
Thanks to Phil Blinkhorn for his amazing memory dredge, the level of detail is stunning. I was on the junior trip and remember Phil and his brother from that time. The mystery departure of Bro Finbar is solved for once and for all and can only admire Phil’s gumption for managing a quick snog with the gorgeous oriental guide – well done!
Now this is going to be a long confession ? In the summer of 1962 I had just finished in Lower Five Three, there being four forms as my year of birth, 1947, was known as a “bulge” year, possibly because of the large number of ladies sporting pregnancies that year.
The Paris trip was split in two. The first three years travelled in mid July, the rest of the school in early August. I should have gone on the second trip but I had joined the Air Training Corps and the summer camp at RAF Kinloss clashed with the senior trip. My brother, two years younger, was going on the junior trip and it was arranged that I would go too. There were rumours that the trips would be cancelled as the OAS were active in their campaign to prevent Algerian independence but, eventually, the go-ahead was given. The senior trip went directly to Paris but it was thought the juniors would need a break so a night was planned at Xaverian College, Mayfield, which was both a day and boarding school.
A carriage had been reserved on a Manchester to London train. Living in Stockport it was agreed we would join at Edgeley where we were met by Mr Price, who lived in Heald Green and was also joining there. The journey to Euston was long, punctuated by frequent slow running due to the electrification work being carried out on the line. At Euston we embarked on a couple of dark maroon coaches supplied by Rickards, who held the royal warrant. They took us on a sightseeing tour of London before heading into the Kent and Sussex countryside on a route I would regularly drive a quarter of a century and more later when I lived in Crowborough. A singsong inevitably started. Watneys had been heavily advertising their Red Barrel brand and sight of the pub signs started a repetitive chant of their “what we want is what we want and what we want is Watneys” promo line followed by their “Roll out Red Barrel” ditty. Advertising beer to pre-pubescent boys obviously paid dividends.
Xaverian Mayfield was large, drably decorated but set in far more beautiful srroundings than Rusholme. I was the eldest on the trip and, as the rest were put to bed, Mr Price walked me round the grounds and said I would be given more freedom during the trip in return for helping with head counts, keeping order in the dormitory and keeping a diary. This I was to take advantage of in different ways.
Next day we set off for Folkstone, visiting Battle and Hastings on the way, again courtesy of Rickards. As I remember the crossing was smooth and, we cleared customs as a group, joining a steam hauled train at Calais Maritime. The carriages, which we gained by climbing steps on the carriage continental style, were totally different to British Railways with green plastic covered seats. We arrived at Paris Gard du Nord after dark and were transported to the girls school in Les Lilas by coaches which had five seats across, the fifth seats in each row folding down across the gangway.
It soon became apparent that an English girls school was in residence on a lower floor. Much to the apparent disgust of Bro Finbar (whose interests were elsewhere) many of these girls were able to be seen in the evening as we passed their floor, in the then very fashionable baby doll nighties.
Paris was an amazing experience. For most it was the first time abroad. The different shops, posters stuck everywhere on walls, a certain shabbiness in Les Lilas, different drinks – remember Pschitt which caused great hilarity – the smell of French cigarettes, the old fashioned buses with long bonnets and the open rear platform and the metro trains running on rubber tyres. We did all the sites, not a few churches of course and out to Versailles.
Then of course there were our guides. Two lovely Vietnamese girls. One had one hand having lost the other one in either an accident or some act of war. I was just fifteen but tall. The younger guide was just nineteen and had aspirations to be an airline stewardess when she got to twenty one. She was studying in France and had the job as she could not afford to travel home for the summer. I told her I was seventeen. In those days you could walk down the whole length of the Eiffel Tower and, on the fifth day in Paris she and I did, stopping on the second stage for breath and my first real kiss. As part of the freedom promised by Mr Price, I was allowed to go into Le Lilas in the evening so long as I was back by nine. I met the girl a couple of times, had my first glass of wine and a few more kisses! To my shame I cannot remember her name and I wonder did she ever get to be a stewardess or did she return home to be caught up in the years of war which were to follow.
We were generally blessed with good weather. Towards the end of the trip I found there were two second years on the trip who, like me, were aircraft enthusiasts. I persuaded Mr Price that, having done the Louvre and not being interested in another art gallery, I should take the two youngsters to Orly Airport for a day of plane spotting. Imagine that in today’s world. We set off by Metro, got to Les Invalides where we bought tickets on the Air France express bus to Orly where we spent a good few hours watching the early jets mixed with piston engined airliners. We arrived back at the promised time, probably much to the relief of a seemingly unconcerned Mr P.
We slept in a dormitory and, inevitably there were some disruptions. Bro Finbar seemed to make every excuse for settling the younger boys and after the trip there were allegations and he quickly disappeared.
For the journey back to Calais we were handed lunch packs including boiled eggs still in their shells. These were used by some to bombard a station we passed. The boat trip back to Dover was followed by a trip on the boat train to London and another long journey back by train to Stockport.
I’ve been to Paris many times since and know the city well but that first trip will always rank as the most memorable.
My name is Paul Hughes and I started at Xaverian in 1972 and went right through until it became a 6th form college. I also went to St Anne’s prep school prior to my time at Xaverian. The head at the prep was Mr Delahunty and I also remember Brother Mario being there along with Mr Chisnall and Mr Haughey.
I have many fond memories of my days at Xaverian and teachers who left a lasting impression. I remember the excitement when Miss Whitelegge arrived into the all male environment. Mr Townley was our French teacher and we had Mr Millington for Maths. Mr Dewhurst was also there during my years there and the formidable Jock Burns took us for Physics! I have a feeling it was Bernard Keavney who was head boy the last year of the Grammer school before we became a sixth form college.
I still live in the North west and would love to hear of any forthcoming reunions! I will be 60 this year as am sure will many of the boys who were in my year and would love to be in touch with them again!
SO LONG AND SO FAR AWAY
OR, ‘THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE THUGLY’
THE JOURNAL OF FUN LOVING BOY
I attended Xaverian from September 1957 until June 1964. This document presents my perceptions of the school at that time, based on my experiences there. The perceptions of some teachers are different to those of other contributors, probably because we had different experiences of them.
My overall opinion of these experiences is mixed, some good, some poor to the point of being appalling. The pleasant memories are based mainly on the friendships made and the escapades these friendships engendered. I also have some good memories of a number of dedicated teachers who made lasting contributions to my academic development.
Unfortunately, this is offset by the indifference and disregard for pupils displayed by others. Many of these were dotty and manic and included nutters, thugs and abusers.
Because the quality of teaching was thus piecemeal, I am somewhat surprised by the success of many old Xaverians in their chosen fields. I attribute many of these successes being in spite of and not because of the school. As my old mate Tom McGrath has commented, despite the bad teachers we somehow got through the hoops of exams.
About twenty years ago I met an old Xaverian teacher from my time there. We bumped into each other in a pub in Hale Barns.I found him warm and personable and he impressively remembered me,despite only teaching me for a year. He was one of those teachers that I gratefully remember for the contribution he made to my education.
In our conversation I mentioned my concerns about the teaching ability of many staff. He replied that there was a view prevalent among some staff at the time that if pupils wanted to learn they could and if not, then that was their issue. I said that this appalled me and added that the school and those teachers did not have the right to make that decision, as it was wasteful on pupils and inhibited their opportunities. It was the responsibility of the school to do what it reasonably could for each pupil.
He did add that Brother Cyril recognized this failure and subsequent improvements were made. I only had a brief experience of Brother Cyril as he was appointed when I was in the 6th form but I have noted that many subsequent pupils speak warmly about him.
My first day at Xaverian was 9th September 1957. I was filled with excitement. My reluctant escort was Tom Rawlins who was in the Upper 4th. We got the 45 bus from Broadoak Road to Princess Road and then the legendary 53 from Raby Street to Wilmslow Road. Over the next few years this became a well worn route. At Wilmslow Road, Tom quickly departed into the Manchester drizzle. After all, which self respecting old hand wanted to be seen with a sprog whose blazer was too big, whose short trousers were too long and even wore a school cap into which his head had to grow.
I wandered up Dagenham Road to Ward Hall, at one point on the grass, passing a pile of deflated white balloons . In my youthful naivety I presumed a party had taken place. A more worldly pupil told me they were the residue from a lady’s emporium for male relief. They were there, afresh, each morning for the next twelve months.
I made my way to the imposing Ward Hall where I teamed up with Tom McGrath, Ian Ramsay and Harry Lowe, who had all been at St. John’s, Benchill with me. I was nervous but excited at the prospect of the great adventure before me. Tom and I had been mates since 1952 from our time at ‘Johnnies’ and still are. Along with two other Xavs.’ lads, Pete Booth and Danny McIlwaine and our respective wives we each do a friends’ meal each year, the Quadannual. The four mates also have an annual game of bowls at Mottram St. Andrew and a game of snooker at Tom’s gentleman’s club in Chorlton. It is remarkable to retain such friendships for so long and we do value them. I did make many friendships at Xaverian, but sadly, once I had left the school, these other friendships evaporated.
Of the other two St. John’s boys who started at the school with me, Ian sadly died three years ago and Harry emigrated to Australia.
It is an interesting statistic, that out of the 1957 intake of ninety pupils, fifteen of them came from Wythenshawe Catholic primary schools. This trend continued at the school whilst I was there and was not universally celebrated by all staff. One staff member, I think it was Brother Albert, commented that, “Too many boys are now coming to the school from that rough council estate in the south of the city.”
My first year at Xaverian was the most enjoyable I had there. There was a positive atmosphere and those teachers who taught me gave out a feeling of wanting to positively initiate you into the school and ensure that you achieved. I loved and thrived on the experience and did very well academically that year. I never had a similar experience of learning pleasure until I was in the 6th Form.
The teachers were, collectively, the best group I experienced at the school.
Brother Gerald was our form master teaching RE and English. I found his English teaching good and he introduced me to much good literature. He was also pastorally very good.
Miss Eaton taught maths efficiently and again I made good progress. For some reason her teaching of LCM and HCF has stuck in my mind. Jock Burns taught Science and I remember him introducing me to interesting scientific concepts, my interest in astronomy emanates from this time. Sadly, I never again. enjoyed Science as much.
Kevin McEvoy taught French and I found his methods to be interesting and innovative. I loved the subject for that one year and much of my current French speaking derives from that year. He also arranged for us to have a French penfriend, mine being Jean- Luc from Calais. I do not know what he and his family made of my pigeon French. I certainly had a chuckle or two at his pigeon English.
Mr Archdeacon, “Archie”, taught History and I found his teaching of early civilisations interesting. He also encouraged individual research and during one half term I researched the ‘Romans in Manchester’, by going to the Local History section of Central Library. Archie was well impressed and asked me to teach the lesson to the class. This did wonders for my self esteem and I became the first pupil in the school to receive house points under the new system introduced. I liked ‘Archie’ but boys in other classes remarked on the fierce temper he sometimes displayed.
Mr ‘Chuck’ Sellars taught music. I found him to be loud and stern, but a wonderful teacher. I learnt how to compose and read music and after an audition for the school choir, Chuck complimented me on the quality of my singing. At the time I was beginning to learn how to play the violin at a venue near home. I proudly told Chuck about this and he asked me to audition for the school orchestra. I scraped and scrawped after which Chuck invited me to play In the school orchestra at the Free Trade Hall. He did add, “Make sure you put plenty of soap on your bow and strings before you come.” I thought this was technical advice and duly obliged. It was years later that I realized the advice was given so that no sound emerged from my twelve inch long violin. However , what a great example of teacher encouragement to a child!
With regards to my violin playing my father had it succinctly expressed. He invited family members to come and” listen to our Paul playing the catzholium!”
Brother ‘Jack’ Adrian taught PE. He was a chain smoking taciturn individual but I enjoyed the variety of his lessons, particularly the end of term game of ‘Pirates.’
Mr. ‘Rufus’ ‘Fungus Face’ Curtis taught art and I enjoyed the sessions in the art room. He was by turns fierce and sensitive to his pupils . He once punched me in the kidneys for talking. I milked this by groaning and whimpering like Fred and Fernandes at Old Trafford.He became concerned and asked how I was feeling. I told him that I had recently had an appendix operation where he had hit me. (I hadn’t). Rufus became remorseful and fed me orange juice and biscuits, which I gratefully received.
The next week he had second thoughts about my ‘surgery’ and asked to see my scars. He said “There’s nothing there boy.” “ No sir, I had invisible mending!”
Another punch ensued but without the complimentary orange juice!
Geography was taught by Bernard Crotty who always wore his trilby. He was an appalling teacher and, unfortunately, I had him for the next four years. Strangely, I never finished lower than second in the end of term geography exams. This confirms my theory that Xaverian pupils could do well in spite of the teachers.
For the first year only we did woodwork in a room near the cricket pavilion. After the first year nobody in our year chose woodwork as an option. The reason was the teacher, a Mr. Porter. He spent every Friday lunchtime in the Clarence pub on Wilmslow Road and we had him first lesson on Friday afternoon. His mood was always foul and he was not beyond throwing tools at pupils, including wood chisels. You can always tell a Xavs.’ lad from this time. If you mention woodwork such lads always instinctively duck! Dominic Sankey endured the brunt of this brutal behaviour from Porter. Dominic was a sound lad, but to Porter he was Indian and this disqualified him from decent treatment in Porter’s eyes!!!
The Munich Air Disaster in February 1958 had a huge effect on the school and I never knew it to be so subdued. The day after the plane crash, a Friday, everybody shuffled round the yard, football and shouting forgotten. The staff were also sensitive to the mood and lessons were muted. In the Ward Hall dining room at lunchtime the usual boisterous hour was suspended. A radio system had been set up and we listened in silence to the latest reports. Everybody, fans and non football fans were affected by the disaster, and even devout City fans, like myself, admired the Babes. To Mancunians they were ‘ours’.
At the end of the first year we all had to make a subject choice from Art, Music and Woodwork. I do not know of any boy about who chose Woodwork. I was mortified and I thought it was an appalling choice to make. Not only did I love both Art and Music it meant that my cultural education was sadly diminished. I did choose Art and never again received the learning pleasure of being taught by ‘Chuck’ Sellars. I am sure the choice emanated from a logistical staffing decision but I’m still appalled by it.
Boys in my class whom I remember from this time include: Harry Lowe; Peter Cookson ( excellent at Maths and a great cricketer); John Toft ( Very good at French); Thaddeus Kondracowicz, (very quiet, studious and able); Geoff Morris ( a very personable lad and the best footballer I saw at Xaverian); Dominic Sankey ( A very likeable and gregarious boy); Michael Doherty ( he always came top of the class); Michael Hewitson ( easy going and a good right winger) and his mate from Bishop Bilsborrow, John Bradley; and Lawrence Carmody and Thomas(?) Poole, neither of whom returned for the second year.
To offset this great group of lads was a boy in the parallel class, 3.3. I vaguely remember his name being Traynor and within the first two weeks had established himself as the ‘Flashman’ of Ward Hall. He bizarrely espoused himself to be an admirer of Hitler! He gathered around a group of, mainly big boys who set about unmercifully making the lives of other boys a misery.
These other boys were mainly quiet, inoffensive and shy and I do remember Dominic Sankey,Thaddeus Kondratowicz and Michael Congdon being in tears. This group of thugs always referred to their victims as being “evil”, an horrendous and humiliating jibe.
About half way through the year an incident occurred which thankfully diminished the power of this group, whose hold was similar to the ‘tribe,in “Lord of the Flies”, with Traynor taking the “Jack” role.
Thaddeus was being bullied again when Geoff Morris intervened on his friend’s behalf. They had both been at St. Joseph’s, Longsight and were good mates. Geoff challenged Traynor to stop. The whole yard watched. Although the smaller of the two and despite his customary geniality,there was an edge to Geoff. This was recognised by Traynor and he backed off and with it the group’s hold faded away.
Well done Geoff, you were always a good officer!
If Traynor is still around and would like to discuss the old days with me, I now live at no abode, in Tristan da Cunha.
The next year I moved into the main school in the Lower Fourth. Although I still did well academically that year, it is from this time that my overall results , performance and motivation diminished. This was emphasised by my yearly exam results which over a three year period went steadily downhill. I refer to this period as ‘the lost years’ of my education This was mainly due the general poor teaching by some (but not all) disinterested, diffident and incompetent teachers who saw their job to dryly present information that was largely not understood. There was little, if any attempt to inspire or check for understanding, but punishment was inflicted for not knowing.
Mr. Gleason was new to the school and was a chain smoking, beer drinking Geordie. I found him pleasant and certainly in English he was able to motivate me to maintain my previous good standards. He also encouraged and directed us to several good writers which was something I appreciated. As a beer drinker he once informed us that we could obtain most of our nourishment from beer. I informed my mother of this who replied,”That may be well and good for him, you are having a casserole!” It was several years before I could put his theory to the test!
He also taught the new subject of Latin with which I initially coped reasonably well.I suspect that this subject had been imposed on Mr Gleason for he gave the impression that he was only a page or two in front of the class. His teaching of Latin did not measure up to his teaching of English and I soon lost interest.
The Latin primer we had was a dull book entitled, ‘Civis Romanus’. To amuse myself and my mate Tex Burke,I inscribed in the inside cover, “A soul, searing, saga of life in Imperial Rome.” Unfortunately I was sent to be caned for “defacing school property.”
From this I gave up on Latin and concluded that I wanted nothing more to do with the Romans and their language, both being without humour!
Maths was taught by Mr. ‘Pop’ Eaton who was the school bursar and taught maths like he was addressing a ledger. His teaching(?) of algebra bamboozled me. It consisted of writing some hieroglyphs on the board and directing us to do “page 87”. I was lost because this teaching(?) seemed to consist of the presentation of a number of magic rules and if you did not understand magic rule 1 you could not do magic rule 2 because this depended on understanding magic rule 1. ‘Pop’s’ methodology(?) consisted of “I have told you, now do it.” No thought was given to the concept of assisting those who struggled with magic rules. I found his teaching of geometry perplexing, and one one occasion, I could not answer his question and he ordered me to, “Stand in the corner.” To my frustration I did not know where this was!! I suffered this mathematical morass for three years until I was taught by Tom Arklass.
Science was taught by Mr. ‘Percy’ Whelan. He was a good man but the teaching methodology was mainly chalk and talk with little practical work and the ‘magic rules’ syndrome set in. The school science block did not appear until several years later.
I had the misfortune to be taught by Bernard Crotty again, and for the following two years. He had little interest or motivation to teach and the lessons degenerated onto class cabaret sessions , where we all just messed and disrupted, continually interrupting his important ‘Times’ reading. I always did well in the end of term exams. However one year, my end of term report ( which I still have), informed me that I had come first with 74%. It also stated, “Bernard has not worked nor made an impression this year.” My mother demanded to know who Bernard was. It could not have been Bernard Hill because he came third. My only conclusion was that it was a self appraisal by Dotty Crotty.
After enjoying French with Kev McEvoy,I next encountered Mr. ‘Larry’ Halstead. There could not have been a more marked contrast. His whole approach was didactically regurgitating French grammar. There was no spoken French or the other interesting methods utilised by Mr. McEvoy. Mr. Halstead also had an abusive and brutal punishment regime. If you could not answer a question he pulled your sideburns hard, often bringing tears to the eyes. If you chatted or played about, he would place his left hand on the right side of your face and then forcibly slap the other side of the face, leaving a prominent red weal. Definitely not a nice person!
I had first hand (sic.) experience of Halstead’s ritualistic brutality. He called me out to the board and asked me to write out the past pluperfect of four French verbs. He knew I could not do it. I scratched a few marks on the board accompanied by Halstead’s sarcasm. “ Come on Jackson, you can do it” and “We are with him so far boys aren’t we!” The inevitable came and I received the ceremonial face slap which stung for the rest of the day. There were a few sniggers from some in the class. I suspect they were sniggers of relief that they were not the victim. My humiliation was complete and it was akin to hearing a grandchild heckled at the Nativity play.
Another old boy account has described how somebody fired an air rifle at Halstead. The story I heard concerned a 6th Former called Kelly who was a bodybuilder and had an impressive physique. One day after school, Kelly waited for Mr. Halstead, grabbed him and took him into Sunbury where he locked him in a cupboard. He then waited for the caretaker to lock up and left Halstead for the night. Kelly then walked out of the school gates, down Thurloe Street and never returned.
My fervent wish is that teachers like him have received their just desserts!
My History teacher for three years was Dan Mallon, a Canadian, of whom, the school legend stated that he was a black belt in karate. As most of us did not have such a belt of any kind, even in origami, we never tested Mr.Mallon with our behaviour. I remember him as being very pleasant, but his History teaching was somewhat unorthodox. It consisted of him drawing elegant diagrams on the board, mainly of past battles, usually between the French and the Prussians. To demonstrate the climax of these battles he would bang his hand fiercely on the blackboard. I never knew whether this was for emphasis or karate practice.
A new PE teacher came at the start of our second year. His name was Mr. ‘Harry’ Newton. He was a pleasant, generally easy going man, who looked smart in his Loughborough College blazer with a badge. He was not the most dynamic PE teacher, particularly in the summer, when the sun was out. He would take us on the field wearing his tee shirt and shorts. Groups of six were sorted and various pieces of athletics equipment distributed among the groups. We were to have a session with each piece of equipment and move around at the sound of Mr. Newton’s whistle.This was fine, except that Mr. Newton removed his tee shirt and lay down on the grass to absorb some much needed vitamin D. From this supine position and with his eyes closed he would periodically blow his whistle and we would move round. We never learnt anything but we were occupied. The only cautious note was being aware of Bernard Hill, who was a very good javelin thrower, but dangerous!
In the gym Mr. Newton had an innovative punishment sanction. Boys who had earned his displeasure had to remove their vests and hang from the wall bars. If they could do this for three minutes they had endured their punishment. If not they were hit on the buttocks with ‘Harry’s’ plimsoll or his plimsoll line as we called it.
In the Lower Fourth the RE teacher was Brother Albert, a serious man who was never seen to smile. He presented an RE challenge research project. As I enjoyed such ways of working I entered this. One day he came into class and said, “Jackson come with me.” I was worried and wondered which of my misdemeanours he had found out. I followed him into the next classroom where his form was seated. Without a word he held out his hand and presented me with a book, a Knox Bible. He then turned to his class and unceremoniously berated them for not entering the RE challenge. Without a word he beckoned me away. It was good to see that my work had been so graciously recognised by him!
In this three year period before the Upper Fifth, I became increasingly disenchanted with the quality of the teaching I was receiving. I view it as the forgotten period, as little learning substance took place. It led to me seeking an alternative form of motivation and I became the class joker constantly looking for new ways to mess about and disrupt lessons. I still feel strongly about the bullying and abuse from some teachers. We had no redress as we were expected to conform, no matter what. It was, unfortunately, endemic of the age. I sometimes think some staff behaved in the ways they did because they thought it was character building for us.
I did have one positive channel of fun, which was through the innovative debates initiated by Mr. Gleason. We all enjoyed these and they gave scope to some excellently prepared and well delivered speeches by my classmates. I always volunteered to speak and saw myself as the entertainment officer in these providing light relief in serious debates. I had an introduction which never varied and began, “Gentlemen,we are gathered today in this melancholy classroom————“. After time the class knew what was coming and joined in with me in the Xaverian version of plain chant!
Mr. Gleason said after one, “ Very entertaining Jackson but you have not once made reference to the subject matter.” I was delighted with this feedback. He also referred to me as “Joker Jackson” but I had to correct him, “ Jokeson sir”. My future was now mapped out before me, I would become a nationally renowned stand up comic. The Glasgow Empire beckoned ( but not on a Saturday when both Celtic and Rangers had lost).
I can recollect a number of incidents from this period. One involved a Brother David, the Headteacher. Bro. Dave was going bald and like Bobby Charlton he refused to accept it . What he had, he let grow long and arranged it like a cinnamon whirl around his head. Unfortunately for him,when he took morning prayers in the yard, especially when a north or south wind was blowing, it blew his coiffure sideways. It was surreal to see him, eyes closed, hands joined in reverence, with a metre of grey hair blowing out sideways.
‘Rufus’ Curtis took his turn on the rota at gathering the school together at the end of lunchtime. We were expected to line up in our classes, with the youngest pupils at the front. The expectation was there would be four groups of three lines ready to go to class. Then the pantomime would start. The three Fifth Year classes would form one line which snaked away across the yard, through the gate and down Thurloe Street. Rufus would chase after them and bring them all back into form three lines.in the meantime everybody else went back to playing football etc. Order was then restored and we lined up again. Except that the Fourth Years now snaked away down Thurloe Street etc. ad infinitum. In the meantime, the rest of the teaching staff watched from the first floor windows, not one offering to come to the aid of Rufus, who was so red in the face, looked as though his head was about to explode!
One incident I remember from this time involved myself, Bernard Hill and Denis McKay. It was after school and for whatever reason we were on the top floor of the main school building. There was a teacher, whose name I do not know, walking across the yard. I think he taught Science in the 6th Form and he bore a remarkable resemblance to Hitler,without the moustache. I could not resist it, and stepping back from the window with Bernard and Dennis I yelled, “ Adolph!”.
Something must have resonated with him and he immediately turned and made his way back to the main school building. We panicked and began to run downstairs.we made it to the first floor but realised there was no way out. We would be trapped. Our panic was now worse and I said to Bernard and Denis, “ The Chapel !”.
Once inside, I said to Bernard, “ Start us off on the third Glorious Mystery of the Rosary!” Bernard was brilliant, and in his best sepulchral tones, which magnificently captured the voice of Father McGuinness, parish priest of St Edward’s,and led us in the Rosary. ‘Adolph’ then rushed into the chapel and seeing three devout Catholic boys left us to finish our prayers. I take great pleasure in announcing that I was Bernard Hill’s first director, in a path which led him to Hollywood fame.
I must admit Bernard was fantastic and I can take no credit for that.
Some of my best mates at this time were, the erstwhile Tom, Tex Burke, John Challinor, Nicky Walsh, Bernard Hill and Denis McKay. Others I remember are, Roger Norman, Brian Morgan, Paul Davidson, John White, Keith Bradbury, Edmund Flood, Joe Telford, Francis Green and Leo Fewtrell. There are others I can remember but whose names escape me including a lad from Gorton, who remained in class during a fire drill to have a fag. Despite the traumas of some of the poor teaching I have fond memories of this class as being a good set of lads. One of the best motley crews I have ever known!
DID IT REALLY HAPPEN?
The Rusholme Ice Cream Wars on Thurloe Street !
The younger kid dubbed ‘Greensleeves’ because he always had a runny nose!
Kelly answering the register from a third floor ledge!
Buying a fag and a match for a penny from that kind newsagent on Wilmslow Road!
Adults were sometimes more understanding in those days!
Keith Bradbury hiding in a classroom cupboard and calling out, and Crotty’s fury because his reading of the Times was disrupted and he couldn’t find the culprit!
The whole school coughing wars when Rufus took lining up time after lunch and his resultant apoplectic fits!
Barney the ‘ King of the Toilets!’ He spent so much time there!
Brian Morgan creeping out of the toilets at the end of playtime so that he could say, “ Don’t tell anybody. I’ve just wagged break!”
Hanging swots by their hands from the underground red hot heating pipes in Sunbury. ( the year above us did this)
Mckerney (?) being sent out of class three times for the cane by Crotty because he didn’t think he had received enough strokes!
The sight we all envied of two fifth formers being brought to school in the back of a police van and delivered straight to Brother David’s office!
Michael Burke, two years above us, who left in the third year, but who was kept on the register and was hereafter named ‘Michael Burke Absent’!
Michael Kelly who left in the third year and it was conjectured that he had gone to the Hollies as he had spent so much time with Hollies’ girls! ?
Hislop who was excused from the “ Rusholme Cross Country Runs” because he told Newton he had only one lung!
Edwards’ excuse for giving Greene a black eye, “ I was aiming for his nose sir. I missed”! (?)
Plumb(?) adopting a dog off Denison Road and insisting to Gleason that he wanted it put on the register!
Those days did exist are not the result of a Malbec induced fantasy!
UPPER FIFTH
At the start of the Fifth Year the class groups were changed around, One of my first tasks was to see which teachers I had. I was appalled. They included, Crotty, Halstead, ‘Pop’ Eaton, Dan Mallon and ‘Pug’ Diamond. I had realized that at the end of that year we were to sit something called O Levels, which were deemed important. I had to do something about the teaching situation so I devised a cunning plan. Following the Vocations Exhibition at Belle Vue a couple of years earlier, Tex Burke and I had enjoyed holidays at a White Fathers’ seminary near Bishops Waltham in Hampshire. With this in mind I sought an interview with Brother David, the Headteacher. I explained that I was seriously considering becoming a White Father for which Latin was a pre-requisite. The class to which I had been apportioned did not do Latin, so I asked Brother David if I could be placed in the parallel class which did Latin. He listened carefully and graciously agreed to my request.
My actions may be thought devious, but I believed that my education was more important. The fact that I was useless at Latin was not even a consideration.
The move proved to be good and in the first few days I discerned that the new teachers had a brisk professionalism about them. It was their job to ensure we learnt and passed exams. I was again motivated as I had been in my first year although it took me some time to re-adjust to working and completing homework. My previous attitude of being, ‘Jack(son) the Lad diminished.
The Maths. Teacher was Mr. Tom Arklass. He was forthright and mainly traditional in his approaches but he encouraged questions and class discussions to collectively answer questions, which I found stimulating. Magic rules were carefully explained and if you were unsure and let him know, help was received. My maths improved and without Tom Arklass I doubt that I would have passed my O Level.
Mr . Clive Price taught History. He was an eminent local historian and was an enthusiast for the subject. I caught this enthusiasm and my enjoyment of History returned.
Jock Burns taught Science and his no nonsense approach ensured I made some progress with Physics and Chemistry.
The form master and teacher of RE, French and Latin was Brother Pius whom I had not met before. He was strict,with an accompanying dry sense of humour. Many in the class benefited from his teaching, particularly in French. Sadly I did not. My previous three years’ experiences of Latin had left me too far behind. The White Fathers thus missed out! Brother Pius invited pupils to come into school in the holidays for additional French lessons. I was warned off because he apparently had a ‘reputation’. I was invited to conjugate but declined!
The Geography teacher was ‘Tom’ Dooley.Almost any teacher would have been an improvement on the Crott, but Mr Dooley was a competent teacher and a really pleasant man. I had no problems maintaining, and even improving, on my previous standards in Geography. His teaching of map reading was particularly good and helpful, as the Crott had never even touched upon this.
I met Jack Connelly for the first time in the Upper Fifth and he had an important influence on my English development. He was a good teacher with a great love of the language. I had always performed well in English. in all my previous classes, but Jack’s teaching and enthusiasm, particularly for literature., led me into insights I had not met before. Thank you Sir! As I write this we are blighted by Coronavirus. It is somewhat ironic, that one of the set books in English Literature was “Journal of The Plague Year”, by Daniel Defoe. The parallels with the current situation are remarkable.
SIXTH FORM
My cunning plan had paid off and I did better in my ‘O’ Levels than I would if I had remained in the original class. I entered the Sixth Form wearing my new black blazer like a winner of the ‘Masters’.
I had decided that my three A Level subjects would be English Literature, Geography and History. This was determined by my consideration that I would do better in exams in these, but also because the teachers would be those I had in the Fifth Year, Jack Connolly, Clive Price and ‘Tom’ Dooley, each of whom I had grown to respect the previous year.
We had a new Headteacher, Brother Cyril, Brother David having moved to become the Provincial Head. I had not met Cyril before and shortly after the start of term we crossed paths in the yard. He surprised me because he seemed to know me. “ Ah! Jackson”, he said, “You have a reputation!”
I didn’t know that I had and was taken aback.
“You have that lean and hungry look. Such boys can be dangerous.”
I was even more taken aback, first, by his knowing me, and then by comparing me to Cassius in ‘Julius Caesar’, which we had just studied.
I was warned!
I did not come across Brother Cyril much in the Sixth Form and I presume he was engaged with age groups lower down the school. It was with these that he would create the school he wanted. This made sense and was a good management strategy. I did meet him in school when I went to find my A Level results. He was charming and complimentary, especially as I had been rushed into hospital with a burst appendix a month before the exams. From later reports it appears that he was highly thought of by subsequent pupils.
I enjoyed my time in the 6th Form and it was interesting that, although there were greater expectations of us, we were treated better than previously. There was even a smoke room provided and to celebrate this a number of us became smokers!
A Level work had a greater emphasis on thinking rather than regurgitating, and essays had to be presented with considered arguments. Once I had assimilated this as a process I enjoyed the stimulation in researching reasons to back up my arguments. This approach was encouraged, particularly by Jack Connolly and Clive Price.
Mr. Price invited impromptu debates in class about issues and historical characters. Much good discussion arose from these.He also recommended good background reading material, to widen our understanding.
Jack Connolly provided insights into language and the nuances of literature which deepened my understanding of texts. He also challenged our thinking by asking that we give examples from the text to support our statements. All this methodology was not only helpful in the subsequent exam but also in helping my reading after I had left school.
There was an innovation in the Sixth Form that I found strange. We were all expected to study a language to O Level standard. For those who had been successful with languages, Russian was the option. For those less successful, like myself, Latin was once again on the agenda. I suppose the school must have thought it still important to support my admission to the White Fathers!!
The teacher was newly minted, very pleasant and eager to do his best for us. His name was Mr Huntingdon. It was unfair. He should never have been asked to teach a group such as ours. We were not interested in Latin, in fact, I would say we were linguistically challenged, as far as the subject went. He manfully attempted to motivate us to be interested. We were not, and indulged in constant low level disruption. His tormentors in chief were Jackson and McGrath. He was stoical in his response to us. After a while we tired of disruption and retired to the back of the class with Brian Morgan to play cards and other meaningful pursuits.On one occasion I could not believe it! I had a prile of three’s and whooped with joy. ‘Mr Teacher’, as we had named him, was not standing for this.
“Please leave the classroom Jackson and stand outside.”
I was mortified, for it was possible that never again would I hold a prile of three’s! I went downstairs to the back of Sunbury, climbed a drainpipe and tapped on the classroom window. Tom McGrath let me in and we continued our game.
After a while ‘Mr. Teacher’ noticed me.
“Jackson, did I ask you to leave?”
“ Me sir? No sir. That was yesterday sir.”
“Oh!”
The card game then carried on without further interruption from the lesson. Tom and I both possessed” lean and hungry looks”. In a fit of nostalgia I find it sad that he will never throw me out of a class again!
Mr ‘Pug’ Diamond. It was only in later years that I realized how he had gained his nickname. It was when my niece obtained a new dog.
I had never been taught by ‘Pug’ before. I had met him four years before on a 53 bus but did not know who he was. I had lost my school cap and was wearing my dad’s cap because of the rain.
“I would recommend you cover that hat in blue paper”, said Pug.
I was nonplussed . “Cover it in blue paper and it will look like a school cap,” said Pug.
I muttered a thank you and got off a stop early as I didn’t know what else might come from Pug. At this time in my life I seemed to cop for the nutter on the bus, with a worrying frequency.
In the Sixth Form Pug took us for RE which consisted of a diet of dry Catholic theology. That and the fact that Pug had no control led to our belief that we had to have some sport and sport we did have. A favourite was to wait for Pug to turn to the board and then surreptitiously move our desks forward a tad. This was kept up until Pug was hemmed in and unable to move, being jammed against the blackboard. We waited for it, and it always came.
“You’re all scum,scum from the slums yer curs.”
We always raucously cheered at this. The contrived debate we had with him about whether Jesus arrived in town on an ass or a donkey and his fury when we concluded it was with his ass on a donkey.
My particular mates in the Sixth Form were Tom McGrath (as always), Pete Booth, Danny McIlwaine, (and both are still firm friends), Ian Ramsay, Chris Sherratt, Brian. Morgan, Chris Moynihan, John Phillips Paul Davidson and John Challinor. Others included, Michael Corrigan, Michael Kotwinski, James Hardiman, Joe Telford Bernard Adshead .
As stated above I was rushed into hospital a month before the A Level exams and my revision was interrupted. However I was reasonably pleased with the eventual results.
After the exams there was no Leavers’ Ball or any such frippery. It was a case of, “See yer.” “Yeah, tara”.
Seven years together, seven years of friendships and escapades, seven years of thick and thin. Or Crotty and Halstead as they were known. It is strange as these close friendships disappeared and I often wonder what became of a lot of my mates. What they did? What sort of people they became?
A POSTSCRIPT
A couple of months later a few of us met up to travel to Brussels to join ‘The Bauworden (?). This was a Catholic, charitable organisation and they arranged for us to travel to Sinzig in the Rhine Valley, where we engaged in assisting in the building houses for refugees from East Germany. We had a wonderful three weeks, but sadly it was the last hurrah for our particular intake at Xaverian.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was a time like no other.
Paul Jackson March 2020
Many thanks to Paul Richards, now residing in Australia for his excellent memories at Xaverian and St Anne’s Prep. If there is anyone else out there who has memories to add, email me at bcweb01@billbl
I was there from 1956-63, when Bro. David (rather unkindly known as ‘Chimp’) was headmaster– he twice administered 6 of the best to my rear end, and judging by the fearsome look on his face at the time, he thoroughly enjoyed it! Then Bro. Cyril became head for my last 2 years – although I had met him at St Anne’s Prep School where he taught maths.
Now much as we all admired Bro. Cyril as headmaster, I have one memory from St Anne’s that may show him in a slightly different light. If he thought he did not have your undivided attention, he had the habit of waving one of those 12” wooden rulers to and fro horizontally such that the ruler made contact with the tip of your nose on each of its swings, all the while speaking to you in that quiet voice – which, more often than not, served to claim your attention.
Despite thus tantalising my nose on more than one occasion he was kind enough to make me Cuthbert’s House captain when I was in the 6th form at the College, an onerous responsibility for the shy/retiring sort I was then.
As far as the teachers are concerned, I remember them thus:
Bro. Aidan – PE (or was it Bro. Adrian?) Most of us used to hate PE, especially trying to climb up those hanging ropes. He also used to send us on runs around Victoria Park. I wasn’t the only one who took short cuts and then simulated heavy breathing on re-entering the gym to give the impression of dedicated and honest athletic toil.
Bro. Pius: spoke with decidedly plummy tones – I recall once, on his entry to a rather hot and stuffy class room, he declaimed in a booming voice: “There’s a distinct smell of boy in here”.
Bro. Gerald: I can’t remember what he taught but recall him murmuring approvingly “Well played, Richards” after I’d scored 75 in a cricket House match.
Mr. Connolly: English. Tall, imposing bloke, wasn’t he?
We had a visiting American brother, whose name escapes me, but in typical American fashion would regularly set us short tests on the subject matter. Whenever the fatal words “I have prepared a series of questions” were uttered by him, a collective groan arose from the class.
‘Chuck’ Sellars, our music teacher: We had classes in a ground floor room in Marylands, overlooking the lawn. We did a lot of singing and he arranged the class according to voice i.e. sopranos, tenors, bass etc. In my first lesson I was in the sopranos and, about 8 bars into the first song, his ears seemed to prick up and he stopped playing the piano. Looking in my direction, he said “Richards, move to the tenors”. That sore throat I’d had wasn’t the onset of a cold but was my voice breaking. He also came for lessons at St Anne’s where we sung lots of jolly Cecil Sharp-type folk songs – “The Lincolnshire Poacher” sticks in my mind for some reason.
‘Lippy’ Marsden, chemistry: he had a speech impediment caused by a protruding lower lip and was unable to pronounce his Rs. There was much unkind sniggering when he spoke about “copper pywites”.
Dapper ‘Dan’ Mallan, history: a popular teacher whose life was tragically cut short.
‘Tom’ Arkless, maths: irascible, and I never really liked the way he taught maths. He paced across the front of class, hands grasped behind his back, dictating geometry theorems and algebraic solutions. It was all a bit too ‘learn by rote’.
‘Jock’ Burns, physics: He frightened me to death. Enough said.
‘Larry’ Halstead, French: I remember his waspish, sarcastic comments. He was once the target of an air pistol shot from the upstairs window of the 6th Form building (Sunbury) – which fortunately missed. He threw me out of his French class for incompetence (probably why I recall his acerbic comments.). [The air pistol shooting incident I have mentioned elsewhere. This account varies from what my brother Bernard Cummings told me and illustrates how easily events can be changed over the years. According to Bernard, the shooter was stood next to him in assembly and caught Mr Halstead in the back of the neck. Alas, Bernard passed away in 2013 so I can’t cross check if my memory of what he told me is faulty. if anyone else has a perspective on this I would love to hear it. BC]
Mr Dever, history and British Government: my favourite teacher who treated 6th formers as adults and soon-to-be University attendees, and always made his lessons involving and interesting.
Mr ‘Underpants’ (I know, not very original was it?) Underwood, Eng Lit: another favourite teacher who illuminated Alexander Pope, John Milton and William Gibbon. One lunchtime, with English as the first post-lunch lesson, someone thought it would be a wizard wheeze to write “Fartbreak Hotel” on the blackboard. ‘Undies’ was not amused when he entered the class and proceeded to make us feel very small with a brilliantly judged tirade against childishness (correctly so, especiauncturelly for so-called adults!)
Mr ‘Pug’ Diamond, Latin and RE: he was regularly distraught and practically in tears over our murdering of his beloved Virgil. I presume it was an RE lesson when I received the only ‘official’ sex education at Xavs from ‘Pug’, when, forewarning us of the perils of the Sodom and Gomorrah which awaited us at Manchester University Union, he came out with the immortal line: “Beware of the men with the little rubber bags (!)” He used to enjoy pointing out that my name – Paulus – was Latin for ‘little fellow’ (I’m only 5′ 7″) [I was never taught by Pug Diamond but another of my brother’s stories was that he once dragged a boy out of his class onto the fire escape, still sat in his desk. Apparently the dinner time venue of choice was The Clarence which is quite probably a curry restaurant now – I will check the next time I am in the vicinity of Wilmslow Road. BC]
We had woodwork lessons in a room above the cricket pavilion – I can’t recall the teacher’s name [Mr Swallow? I think the building referred to was once a racquets court from what I remember my father telling me. BC]- but he continually bemoaned our inability to perfectly reproduce the mortice-tenon and tongue-groove joints he demonstrated for us.
(From St Anne’s I also remember Mr Curtis, a ginger headed and bearded art teacher – and a crack shot with a piece of chalk if he caught you giving less than 100% attention.) [Yes, Mr Curtis – ‘Redbeard’ – used to set a test for new boys to see if they had artistic potential. Failure to produce a Rembrandt or similar meant woodwork instead – I inevitably ended up making a bad job of the aforementioned mortice-tenon joints BC]
We also had a Tuck shop, situated in the back yard behind Marylands – a big favourite was baked beans in a balm cake. I think the Tuck Shop was discontinued.
Some contemporaries I remember – John Heffernan, Tony Keigher, Tony Blackburn, Tony O’Malley (a lot of Tonys), Gerald Higginbottom, Kelvin Humphries, Tony Conduit, Kenneth Lee, Philip O’Grady (a seriously mad fellow – yes, it was he who – allegedly – was in command of the aforementioned air pistol which discharged in the direction of ‘Larry’ Halstead, and who also took delight in igniting the gas outlets in the chemistry lab – without attaching any Bunsen burners – thus causing a roaring flame to shoot horizontally across the lab bench) , Michael Denton, David Howell, Charlie Lomas, John Kind, David Ansbro, Roger Macnaughton, Peter Quinn and Kevin Skerrit. [I remember Peter Quinn – I think he went on to be head boy. I remember he used to go to Old Trafford for net practice which I thought very impressive at the time. David Ansbro – another head boy? BC ]
Now Kevin Skerrit had a unique talent – he could make brilliant farting noises – dry ones and wet ones – with his hands. This intrigued me no end and I practiced endlessly until I was almost, but not quite, his equal – at the cost of seriously aching finger/hand joints and hours of unfulfilled frustration. It’s a skill that I still sometimes exercise on special occasions. But Kevin – he was definitely The Man when it came to hand farts. He had blonde hair and a rather pale complexion (hence his ‘Milky’ nickname.) He also had long, thin fingers, undoubtedly adapted under evolutionary pressure for maximum hand farting prowess.
Ward hall lunches – what can you say? I wish Jamie Oliver had been around then to put pressure on the cooking staff. My memory is of greasy, fatty stew, over cooked chips and veg and ‘sweets’ which included rhubarb and custard, tapioca and the aptly named rock cakes. The main utility of the latter was to serve as a missile when the not infrequent ‘bombing’ missions broke out amongst the various tables of lunch attendees. And I remember the fish cakes and the ever-present odour of burnt chip fat.
One day that will stay with me forever was that of the Munich disaster. The sense of shock and incredulity in the school yard was palpable as people drifted into school that the morning. I have been a lifelong City supporter but there was no division that day.
Memories, memories… and I haven’t mentioned the hours spent at Central Ref, studying and being incredibly cool with the girls from Loreto and The Hollies in the basement coffee bar, and enjoying a pint or two – on breaks from the Ref – at Willoughby’s just off St Peter’s Square, and buying my first ‘proper’ bike from Johnnie Berry’s cycle shop on Wilmslow Road, and wondering innocently what it was like inside the reputedly decadent Temperance Billiard Hall, and playing “shuffle table tennis” at lunchtime, using textbooks as bats … etc., etc.
Regards from Down Under
Paul Richards
Peter Ulleri had a nostalgic evening in 2019 with Xavs chums from the 70’s in one of the South Manchester pubs:
It was a really special evening that is still bringing a smile to my face. When I arrived at the pub I saw a group of strangers in the corner and headed straight to the bar.
Little did I realises it was my old school chums until one of them shouted out my name!
The time went far too quickly with promises made of meeting up some time in spring 2020.
I look back and do consider myself to have had a privileged schooling … but the biggest privilege was being part of a great bunch of school chums.
As you would expect .. some have done very well and others not so good…and it was particularly sad to hear that a few were struggling health wise and that one or two had died.
Peter also kindly sent some more photos which can be seen on the Gallery page.
Another Brother Cyril story
Thanks Peter for this story which anyone who knew Brother Cyril would surely be certain of its authenticity:
Phil Glancy who was both a teacher and old boy was at the reunion. He told a the story of a fellow teacher going in to see Brother Cyril for a pay rise having been a teacher for a couple years and proving himself more than capable. Having politely asked there was silence … Brother Cyril was looking down at his hands which were in prayer mode … his fingers tapping together. A request turned into a plea .. “whatever you can afford” was again followed by silence.
The plea became “I appreciate you are busy “ followed by a hasty retreat. The downhearted teacher told Phil he retreated as he felt that if the meeting had gone on any longer he would have had to take a pay cut!
Phillip Glennon remembered
Message from Hannah Hodgson regarding her father, Phillip Glennon. If anyone remembers him, please email me at the above address.
My Dad, Philip Glennon, and his brother Peter both attended Xaverian, early to mid 50s rather than the 60s. My Dad was extremely proud of his time there, where by all accounts he seemed to excel on the football field as well as academically.
He went on to Manchester University to study Law. He married my mum, Marie, in 1966 and together they had 9 children and 11 grandchildren.
Dad passed away at the weekend, aged 81, after suffering from vascular dementia for the past ten years following a stroke. I felt it right to reach out to his college.
Introduction
I attended this school as far as I recall from 1952 to 1959. I came from a primary school via the 11+ and had no connection with the prep school. I left with seven O levels and three A levels. Apparently – job done. I have just stumbled across this blog and thank those involved in creating it. I guess it’s quite recent as I have googled from time to time but never seen it until now. (in fact, the blog has been online since February, 2016 – ed)
I’ve skimmed through a lot of posts and it’s interesting to see details about the staff and the school that I was unaware of. I’ve learned a lot, but I think my memories – though strictly outside the time frame of the blog, would perhaps add something to the story.
I would say that no one got a good education at this school – which is a bold comment, but how can anyone be taught how to think and critically analyse ideas for themselves, (surely the essence of education), when the overriding ethos of the religion is not to be challenged – ever. If you want confirmation of that checkout a list of former pupils from Wikipedia, and compare it with the list from that other place down the road – Manchester Grammar School. The saving grace was that throughout, I didn’t find that there was a particularly strong religious atmosphere.
It was quite something to pass the 11+ and get to Xavs. Of course I was too young and ignorant at the time to be able to query any of it, but perhaps the best thing about the situation was that they didn’t send me to St Bedes. There’s plenty on the web about what happened there. Read Paul Malpas – his writings are still available.
I arrived at Ward Hall in as far as I can calculate in September 1952. I was ten and a half having for some reason taken the 11 + at ten. I went into a class named 3S which alongside 3.1, 3.2, and 3.3, formed the year group. It was a small class of only about 15 pupils, and Brother Justin was in charge. Modern schools use names rather than numbers for the classes so as to emphasize that all are equal, and the class number does not indicate superior status. No reason was given for this, and I later found out that the S stood for Shell which I guess was short for sheltered. Perhaps all the ten year old were in it? A years age difference at ten is a lot.
I think the ‘Threes’ were kept separate from the rest of the school, but it was traditional on the first day for raiding parties from the main school. After primary the change in surroundings was great, including the two bus journeys across the city. Remember the umbrella shop called Y.B.Wet on Oxford Road and the nearby dry cleaners which announced ‘We Will Dye for You’? (Also the Undertakers on Wilmslow Road ‘Blood and Sons’ – ed)
Can’t remember if we were allowed across the road to the tuck Shop. An Irish lady sold burgers or ‘hot dogs’ which were in fact either a round bap (4d) or finger roll (3d) with a mixture of baked beans and sausage meat inside. Also available Penguin biscuits (3d) and choc marsh mallows for 2d. That’s all. Went to school dinners for the first year – everyone went to Ward Hall an it seemed to be sausage, greasy chips, and beans every day. What’s not to like?
Brother Justin who had returned from a mission station called Mzedi (Malawi?) was OK – I think he taught all subjects, and I quite liked him actually – which on reflection isn’t something I’d say about almost any other teacher there. More later.
Culture shock
Part of the culture shock involved going to the South side of Manchester for the first time. It seemed very different from the North- a bit posher – which I believe is a feature of many large cities e.g. London, Birmingham. I travelled in on the bus, via Failsworth, Newton Heath, Miles Platting, Collyhurst and Ancoats. – all dirty and industrialised. It was not the same for the next bus No 42, which passed grand buildings – theatres, galleries, churches, the University, The Royal Infirmary, and parks. Different atmosphere entirely. By the way it cost 2 ½ d to get to Manchester, and another 2d to get to school. School started at 9.20 am which in itself was quite a change.
The change in types of pupils was also noticeable. More variety of social class, from sons of Irish labourers who lived in slums, to sons of professional people doctors etc. Most were of Irish, Italian or Polish descent, unified by the religion of course.
It was a novelty to have to wear a school uniform, and as I recall it could only be bought from one outlet. That was Horne Brothers on Market Street. Involved a Saturday morning expedition for a few Septembers. It was quite a posh shop, but I don’t recall any parental complaints about the cost – though we were not a rich family.
Teachers
Mr Diamond known as Pug, ‘taught’ me Latin from the Lower IV th, to GCE in the Upper 5th. I passed the GCE but in those days there were no grades and it was probably a ‘close run thing’. I didn’t dislike him, and his took his attitude and sense of humour in my stride. I wasn’t bothered when he referred to us as ‘swine’, I assumed he was being a bit ironic. They said he was a member of the Clarence lunchtime club, and I wouldn’t be surprised. To learn that he was fluent in the language and could hold a conversation with others comes as a total shock. He never made any attempt to do so with the pupils. There were two text books ‘Mentor ‘and ‘Civis Romanus’ – they lasted the whole four years as I recall.
I remember him writing sentences in Latin on the board, then the literal translations of each word beneath them. Then due to the strange construction of Latin, he then extracted the ‘ablative absolutes’ and rearranged the words until he got some sense out of them. It was more like solving a crossword puzzle, or a maths problem than language. The idea that there could be a conversation in the language was absurd, and the thought that (mentioned elsewhere) he could have taught sex education is hilarious!
Hic Haec Hoc – Horum Harum Horum – His His His.
Mr Arkless (Tom)
I don’t remember any other Maths teacher from Lower IVth onwards other than ‘Tom’ Arkless. He wasn’t a tall man and his gait was distinctive, and seemed a bit odd – as if his heels were worn down. He is described here by many fondly, as a ‘good teacher’ and having a strongly religious attitude to things. Perhaps both characteristics came after I left, I don’t remember either. A good teacher would have occasionally praised a pupil- he never did. He was quick to do the opposite though. Whatever we hadn’t absorbed was of course our fault – never his.
On reflection I don’t think remember any teacher that ever praised anyone.
Sometimes particular words attach themselves to memories of certain people. With Tom it was ‘surds’ and ‘it’s a gift’ when presented with what he thought was an easy exam question.Notably, I think in the Upper IVth, he just stopped teaching . He came into the class on schedule, and did nothing for several weeks, we just put up with it. The class remained well behaved. No one would have thought/dared to ask him what the matter was. I don’t know if this is the case, but I heard later that his father had died and thus I’d guess he was having a period of depression.
Mr Burns (Jock)
It seems to be the view on this site that the Physics teacher Mr Burns was not a nice person. I’d go further and say he was a nasty b*****d. He ruled by fear and his Monday morning questioning of the class was not a pleasant experience. I’ve spent a lot of my life musing about what I’d say and do if I ever met him again. Probably best i never did, and it’s not likely to happen now. I think today he’d be labelled as ‘borderline psychopath’. No child should be frightened of going to a school lesson, I’d have thought that was obvious but it seems not. I noticed that in the school photo he was not wearing an academic gown so I guess he didn’t have a degree. Perhaps he was over compensating for that. I’m being generous there.
Mr Sellars (Chuck)
He was Ok, and I’m quite surprised, and pleased to read that he lived to a great age, was awarded a CBE, and had several children. That’s nice. He mistakenly thought I had some musical talent and I had piano lessons from him after school for a while. He called me a Spartan once after seeing I didn’t have an overcoat after a lesson in winter. Strange what snippets stick in your memory. There was a music theory exam, and a question was to transpose a few bars into another key.The exam was the first time I’d encountered the matter. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t do so well in the exam- or maybe because we had no text book or notes on the subject from which to learn and revise.
Miss Brierley (Nellie)
I see no mention elsewhere of Ellen Brierley (Nellie) who taught History in the Lower 4th. The only female teacher – in fact, apart from the tuck shop lady – the only female in the school. Very strong on the causes of the French revolution as I recall. No personal characteristics ever revealed. There was however a lot more to her than anyone in the class saw. I discovered a lot later, that she was on the Oldham Council for a long time, and later Mayor of Oldham.
I listen occasionally to Oldham Community Radio on the internet. One of the presenters is Gerald Brierley who is a nephew of Miss Brierley. I emailed the station last year to mention this, and they seemed pleased. I got a nice reply from the producer the next day. They seemed pleased to have had such a response.
Mr Curtis (Rufus)
Mr Curtis was said to be the ‘Art’ teacher. I think he had a motor bike? I must first declare that I had no ability at all in drawing, but I was never for a instant ‘taught’ anything which might have improved the situation. You were given a topic to draw or paint and then left to it. I never saw whether he had any artistic talent, – does that actually matter? I never heard any mention of art in a more general sense, or visited the (nearby) galleries at Whitworth Park or Mosley Street except of my own volition.
Total waste of time – mine and his.
Mr Finan
Another awful teacher, and he did have an unfortunate resemblance to Hitler, though I don’t remember anyone actually saying that. I remember his high speed dictation with a curious Irish accent, usually whilst looking upwards into the middle distance. No engagement whatever with any pupil – unless you count his scornful derision when something hadn’t sunk in. He didn’t seem to consider the possibility that the failure to understand might have been his fault. Something must had gone in because I passed. I would say despite and not because of him.
Lunchtime activities
Sweet shop on Wilmslow Road first on the right out of Thurloe Street. Big decisions – are the chocolate cream mice bigger than the chocolate cream cigars? I think post war sweet rationing was stopped about 1953. I had a packed lunch – eaten in a rather stark room next to the Tuck shop for most of my time at Xaverian. later in the sixth form we went out to Mrs Read’s Chippy which was across Wilmslow Road and in Walmer Street. She was a saint and let us eat standing up at the counter, taking most of the space in the shop. I still have a taste for Hollands Steak puddings. That was top of the range there – with chips about 1s/3d,
Within walking range was the Temperance Billiard Hall which was a magnet for us. They had cheap tables for 6d per half hour or better ‘lounge’ tables with (straighter cues) for a shilling. I remember knockout tournaments being arranged – sixpence each to enter, and winner takes all. I never won.
A walk to the public library in Dickenson Road was popular, with window shopping on the way, especially the bike shop. No Indian restaurants at all, though I remember an exotic Spanish one near the Billiard Hall.
Platt Fields was within range in the summer, with the Costume Museum (free ) and the bowling green was occasionally used (6d again) or a go on the rowing boats on the lake. I saw the actor John Gregson rowing there once.
Holiday Trip
Went on a school trip which was very ambitious involving travelling by train accompanied by bicycles to the Xaverian at Mayfield in Sussex. I think Brother Steven was in charge. I wouldn’t envy him the job. We camped in the grounds quite a way from the school, and I’d say it was a success. We saw Eastbourne, Tonbridge Wells, sightseeing in London and I taught myself to swim in the frog infested open air swimming pool. The tent was a shambles and we took a blanket each with blanket pins to make a sleeping bag. It wasn’t enough – even in summer. No really bad memories though. We went to Downing Street and on the underground which was exciting then.
“It’s a Grand Life.”
A good note to end on and the title of a film from 1953, in which the school was used as a location. It was about the Army – more relevant then as everyone had been in the war or done National Service. The playground was used as the parade square. Click the link below to see the film – fast forward to 36 minutes in to see the Xaverian playground. Look carefully and you can see that cricket net practice continued during the filming.
It starred the Wigan ‘comedian’ Frank Randle and more memorably Diana Dors who was a bit of a sensation when she turned up in her blue convertible Cadillac.
St Anne’s Prep was the junior feeder school for Xaverian College Manchester. It was privately funded – I seem to remember the fees being £50 a term but this is only a distant memory. Although some of the boys were from well heeled backgrounds, many were from the children of working class families who somehow managed to scrape the fees together.
During my time there the headmaster was Brother Cyril Birtles who left in 1962 to take over headmastership at the main college and replaced by the popular Mr Quayle.
These are some of my reports for the time I was at St Anne’s prep school. Unlike most of my reports from Xaverian, these are quite good.
Teachers included Bro Cyril, Mr Quayle and Mr Lackey.
St Anne's School Report 1960 
Robert Cummings – St Anne's 1959 
Robert Cummings – St Anne's 1958 
Robert Cummings – St Anne's 1957
These are some of names and faces of some of the students at Xaverian College in the Sixties. Maybe you know one or two or even could be their offspring.
If you know some of these guys, please get in touch and let us know how their live turned out xavsemail
Robert Gleason 
Henderson 
Anthony Noon 
Denis Whitehead 
Peter English 
Paul Hoyland 
Peter Fog 
Hobin 
Dominic Hannett 
Tony Noon 
James Reardon 
Tom McGrath 
Barry Tierney 
Terence Burke 
Terence Whittaker 
Peter Morris 
Peter Trayor RIP 
Peter Astbury 
Peter Glennon 
Paul McAndrew (caned in same incident as me!) 
Paul Davidson RIP 
Michael Doherty 
Michael Neary 
Jim Donaghue 
Joe Telford 
Michael Crewdson 
Frank Williams 
Fred Wilson 
Dennis McKay 
Edmund Flood 
Francis Green 
Richard(?) Crooke 
Chris Sherratt 
Chris Moynihan 
Robert Postlethwaite 
Paul Richards 
Tony O'Malley 
Tony Keigher 
Michael Hill 
David Howell 
David Ansbro 
Charlie Lomas 
Tony Conduit 
Tom Ryan 
Peter Quinn 
Mike Denton (looking very much like a young David Cameron) 
Ken Lee 
Kelvin Humphreys 
John O'Grady 
John Kind 
John Heffernan 
Dave Sandall 
Paul Richards 
John Challinor 
Michael Smith 
Roger Darlington 
Basil Phillips 
Bus Guy – fell off the bus at Piccadilly, trying to 'deck off' 
John Doyle, School Orchestra timpani 
Geoff Morris 
Bernard Hill, later to achieve stardom 
Phil Blinkhorn 
James Kedian 
White tie guy – Bro Cyril was NOT headmaster at the time! 
Paul Jackson 
Martin Hannett – became Factory Records Producer 
Bob Cummings (Me!) – Never realized I was so scruffy! 
Paul Jackson 
Jim photographed with John Sweeney 
Xaverian College Speech Night, Free Trade Hall, Manchester – circa 1955
“Those of us who had migrated from the Prep School found the new intake of 11 plus boys to be a bit of a mixed bunch. Some were well mannered as we were, having attended other Prep Schools from other areas of Manchester. Others were from areas such as Wythenshaw and Glossop and didn’t have the same social skills that had been drummed into us at St. Anne’s. One or two ‘didn’t fit in’ and disappeared within a few months.”
(Bob Cummings, March 2016)
Well, then, how about that for a bit of elitist, prejudicial nonsense? I know it was the 60’s and the age of “No dogs, Irish or blacks” signs, but that little passage fits right into that culture. Trouble was, it was written in 2016. Oh dear.
[Absolutely, Terry, not suitable for 2016 or 2021 and I suspect attitudes have changed even over the last six years. However, it is precisely the attitude I held at the age of eleven in 1960. It soon changed when I was cast out into the wilderness of work with my O level ENG LAN and Geography and back into the bosom of the working class from whence I came. For further reference see Hotspur Press]
Now if you think lads from Wythenshawe and Glossop didn’t have any social skills, let me tell you I come from Hadfield. It was not by chance Hadfield was chosen by the League of Gentlemen producers as the setting for Royston Vasey. Royston Vasey was bizarre, but I can assure you the reality of Hadfield outdoes it for its collection of wonderfully strange characters. Social skills? Guess not – if you’re not “local” you get eaten in Hadfield.
The passage above does explain a lot about how I feel about Xaverian – never really fully a part of it all – on the fringe looking in on those who really fitted in – the dynasties whose fathers had been Xav boys and who knew the ropes from Day 1. I doubt if anyone remembers me – I have never been to any reunion and am not in touch with any old boys. Strange, really, as I am in Whatsapp groups with primary school friends and college contemporaries and we meet up frequently. There is just a gap when it comes to Xaverian.
I wasn’t a loner by any definition of the term – I had lots of laughs and academically left school with the expected collection of O and A levels. Just never felt part of it. Brother Cyril’s blank, fish-eyed stare at me whenever our paths crossed said it all really. That look was the epitome of Billy Connelly’s “as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit” line.
I wasn’t bullied or picked on by any boys – just by the staff, like everyone else. Some teachers did their best to make me fit in and feel part of the Xaverian tradition – I was smacked in the face more than once by Brother Plunkett and Tom Arkless, chased around the physics lab by Jock Burns, had my thigh felt by Brother Finbar and was caned by Bother Cyril. Nowadays those smacks in the face would be classed as assault and both Plunkett and Arkless would never have seen a classroom again.
We hillbillies from the sticks had it good really – we got to travel every day on a coach from Glossop with all the girls from Loreto, Notre Dame and the Hollies. It was the nearest thing to coeducation we Xaverian boys were likely to experience. Also as one of your other correspondents mentioned, any fog, snow or other inclement weather meant either an early trip home, or no coach at all. When we moved on to 6th form and a variable timetable, we didn’t use the coach but instead came by train. We had a travel grant which bought a weekly train pass from Hadfield to Piccadilly. Happy days – it was also valid at weekends, so subsidising Saturday trips to Old Trafford and nights out in Manchester.
Prior to the coach being organised by a pressure group of Glossop parents, probably when I was in the 4th form, we travelled by train from Hadfield at the tender age of 11 and 12. We would often get off at Ashburys and catch a 53 bus to Wilmslow Road. Fresh-faced boys standing at bus stops on dark, foggy November mornings? May I remind you that this was 1961-3 and was deep in Brady and Hindley territory when they were just getting started on their murderous careers. Thank goodness we didn’t know! The alternative route was to stay on the train to Piccadilly, then walk along Canal Street to catch a 42 bus on Princess Street. In our innocence we didn’t really understand the warnings of older boys not to linger around the Union pub. These were the days when the gay village was not only undercover but illegal, and the brunt of much schoolboy toilet humour. For all these potential hazards of Ashburys and Canal Street we never had any problems on our school journeys, whereas I did once get beaten up coming home from a piano lesson in Hadfield.
I haven’t seen mention in any of the other contributions of the Thursday lunchtime trips to Dickenson Road BBC studios to see the stars arrive for Top of the Pops. This was the highlight of our week in Upper 5:2. Our little coterie, consisting of myself, Paul Hart, Johnny Carr, Les Toft and Spud Murphy, would head for Old Man Davies’ sweet shop for a “thrupenny hot” Vimto, 2 Senior Service and a few matches. We would make our way through the condom strewed back alleys leading to Dickenson Road, stopping to smoke our fags and exchange tall stories before staking out the BBC studios. I remember seeing the Batchelors, Herman’s Hermits, Swingin’ Blue Jeans and a few others. We weren’t autograph collectors or anything, we just used to watch them arrive, although on one famous occasion Petula Clark told Johnny Carr to piss off. Can’t remember what he had said to deserve that but it must have been bad! Downtown or what!
I could go on but won’t. If my memories so far seem a little negative about Xaverian, I would like to balance it with some positives. The teaching of history in the school was excellent and I have a life-long love of history thanks to Mr Price and his department. My knowledge of the workings of Westminster is sound thanks to Bernard Lackey and his British Government A level course. I can also parse a sentence, know what a gerundive is and never use the word “nice”, all thanks to Archie Archdeacon. I enjoyed my time in the art department with Mr Barrett, despite, with James Savage, being unpaid labourers in his sculpture projects at weekends and holidays. (Jim was a superb artist who went on to the Slade and I recently saw his obituary in the Irish Times, August 2019, where he had made a name for himself in the publishing and education worlds.) I managed to pass Latin at O Level, mainly because I felt sorry for the aged, gentle Brother Damian who taught Latin and table tennis and I enjoyed Mr Connelly’s football sessions at Wilbraham Road and Hough End, where he combined the roles of coach, referee, manager, commentator and pundit during a non stop dialogue during the match – always encouraging and positive, which is what good teaching is all about.
For the record, I went on to Manchester College of Art (with Jim Savage), but never made the grade: went on to Trent Park College of Education in London, then travelled in the US, worked as a printer in Dominica, travelled in South America then home to teach in primary schools in Newham, Derby and Leicester as well as 4 year spell in Zambia. Retired in 2016 after 24 years as head of a small village primary school in Mid Wales. Married with 4 grown up children, 2 grandchildren and, like several of your other correspondents, take to the bowling green regularly. And that’s me in a paragraph!
Thank you for the website – it’s a good read and is valuable social history!
Brilliant, Terry, thanks for your memories. Incidentally, I had two friends from Glossop – Price who I was very upset to lose as a cricket companion when he was deemed ‘unsuitable’ by Brother Cyril and Fallon (always surnames eh…) who was also disenchanted with Xavs from what I remember.
These are some of the recollections from time spent at Xaverian. Because of the passage of time, I cannot guarantee their total accuracy. If you were there at the time and remember things slightly differently, please leave a comment.
SAME SCHOOL AND TEACHERS, TOTALLY DIFFERENT EXPERIENCES AND OUTCOMES.
Reading how Xavs boys had such widely varying feelings and subsequent lives from mine, made me realize that:
– Our home backgrounds genes and prior events predetermined the way we behaved and were treated at school.
– Our fears and expectations governed our reactions to teachers and other kids.
– The teachers would have been influenced in the same way by their prior existences.
– Our subsequent lives were partly decided by Xavs.
– Xavs was one of the relatively few dominating factors in the rest of my life. For good and ill it made me.
My youngest sister recently went to her school reunion. The most interesting attendee had just come out of prison. Are those of us exploring these memories, just the most boring, smug, or self-satisfied Xaverians?
SAME SCHOOL AND TEACHERS, TOTALLY DIFFERENT EXPERIENCES AND OUTCOMES.
On arrival, we were all Catholics and mostly working or lower middle class. Reading how Xavs boys had such widely varying feelings and subsequent lives from mine, made me realize that:
– Our home backgrounds genes and prior events predetermined the way we behaved and were treated at school.
– Our fears and expectations governed our reactions to teachers and other kids.
– The teachers would have been influenced in the same way by their prior existences.
– Our subsequent lives were partly decided by Xavs.
– Xavs was one of the relatively few dominating factors in the rest of my life. For good and ill it made me.
My youngest sister recently went to her school reunion. The most interesting attendee had just come out of prison. Are those of us exploring these memories, just the most boring, smug, or self-satisfied Xaverians?
Hello Chris. I am responding to your question “Are those of us exploring these memories, just the most boring, smug, or self-satisfied Xaverians?” Well it’s safe to say that all the respondents are self selecting, ie they have chosen to post a piece, or respond to a piece on this forum. I guess that makes it more likely that people that boys that did quite well after leaving are more likely to post. But that does not mean that 100% of respondents would be in that category. I suspect that people who are retired tend to look back on their lives, perhaps with an element of nostalgia, or anger, or regret, or whatever other emotions come into play about their school days. And I don’t get the impression that most of the respondents are boring or smug. But then I would say that, wouldn’t I, because I myself am a respondent!
Hi Jim- My brother-in -law, John Grisdale, and his younger brother, Jim, were at Xavs around that time. Perhaps you knew them? John, in particular, was especially good at cricket and became president of his local cricket club. Unfortunately both are now deceased.
I left at 16 in 1955. Joined the family business
is anybody from this era reading this?
Jim McAndrew
Further to the post about the dreaded French O level oral, I remember memorising a most useful phrase for that arduous and very real “no hiding place” event when the inquisitor poses a question about what you may do when on holiday en France.
Here it is. ” Je ne sais pas a ce moment, mais je verrai quand j’y serai.”
Maybe someone remembers an old classmate of mine at Xavs one Brian Morgan from St Anne’s Ancoats? Haven’t heard anything solid about him for years. There was a rumour manmy years back (as yet unsubstantiated) that he had met the daughter of an Anglican bishop and from that relationship there was a child followed shortly thereafter by a marriage. The rumour was that Brian then followed up by becolming an Anglican vicar. All this is unsubstantiated rumour but I wonder if ANYONE else had heard the same rumour or indeed heard the truth?
Not heard that one John. The only Anglican vicar reference I do know about was a classmate Robert Gleason who swopped over to C of E, and became a chaplain in a prison if I recall.
The last I heard of Brian was in the sixth form, when we became good mates. He was an active member of the ‘Brag Trio’ with myself and Tom McGrath, during Mr.Huntingdon’s inspiringLatin lessons. He was going out with a Loreto girl, he met at a school dance. He then became one of the great lost, “ What happened to him/them.”
One of life’s enduring mysteries Paul. As the Scousers night say “Warra bastard eh la?”
Bill Cannon, same year as me and a few weeks younger, is still around and we are in regular contact.
Marvellous, as I am with Fred Wilson…
Interesting seeing that name Fred Wilson. I used to get the 53 bus from Oldham Road to Xavs with Fred Wilson and Bernard Connolly every morning for a year or so when I started (’62/’63). They were two years above me but didn’t seem to mind sharing the upper deck with a Ward Haller.
Re 1961 school photo, I’m third row down from top, eighth in from the left.
75 this coming Saturday.
Cheers Phil. Nice to hear your still in the game!!