St Anne’s Preparatory School

 

From the age of five I attended St Clare’s Catholic Primary School in Blackley. At that time the church was little better than a Nissen hut but the American born parish priest Father George had great plans for a new church which eventually came to pass. However, in the fifties the primary school suffered a great deal from overcrowding. My class had fifty four children and most of the other classes were the same. When my father came to visit once he was appalled to discover that there were two classes of a similar size sharing the hall, divided by a coat rack – the noise level of one hundred or so seven year olds must have been pretty astounding.

We weren’t a rich family but neither were we poor. We lived in a semi close to Heaton Park Road and rented it for 32/6 pence each week. Sacrifices were made to send me to the prep school of the grammar school that my father had attended, even though it entailed a two bus journey of over an hour to Fallowfield on the opposite side of Manchester. At first I travelled most of the way with my elder brother Bernard who had made it to Xaverian the hard way – via St Clare’s and the 11 plus. After a few weeks I made a couple of friends who lived on the north side of Manchester and we usually caught the same bus from Piccadilly  bus station.

St Clare’s was a tough school. I had been bullied on and off for about three years until my brother negotiated some protection – how I have no idea – and two boys he knew used to accompany me at dinner times which helped a lot. I think I must have been quite a sensitive child and doubtless a worrier which may also have helped Dad in his decision to remove me from the cauldron of fear that was my school experience up to that point and which deserve a separate post.

On my first day at the Prep I went into a room which I remember resembled a conservatory with a great deal of glass and a piano. It doubled as the music classroom. It was the first day of my first term and I was nervous to say the least. Then I heard a teacher shout ‘Vicky!’ and a boy smaller than me started to run towards him and they hugged each other. This was a sight that never left me. This school had people who actually showed affection rather than the scowls which were the usual exchanges which took place at St Clare’s. This was a different school, different people. It could almost have been a different planet.

Over the next few weeks I realised that there were the offspring of some very prosperous middle class families with fathers who were doctors, dentists and so forth. But there were many boys like myself whose families made sacrifices for their children which were almost unbelievable. There was the son of a bus driver and a security guard as an example. I never felt that I was looked down upon because of my background – it was never an issue. But for years I was always acutely aware that I felt out of place for most of my working life in a ‘trade’ . Only later did I feel this had been because I had had a taste of a different kind of life which for whatever reason, I could never join. It was, of course, a complete illusion.

St Anne’s Prep was on Wilbraham Road, Fallowfield. A large grey house behind tall wrought iron gates set in a privet hedge and surrounded on three sides by tarmac which was the playground. The back of the school  was adjacent to playing fields which consisted of football pitches and artificial cricket strips made out of a hard dark brown composite material which gave a fair amount of bounce when bowled at with any speed. the left hand side of the fields were walled behind which were residential semis and at the far end of the fields ran the railway line to Manchester.

I remember going with my father to be interviewed for a place when I was eight. I was introduced to Brother Cyril Birtles who was the headmaster at the time and was dressed in the robe of a Xaverian lay brother which was a long black habit. I didn’t find the process intimidating – I was asked to read from a book of stories and then he asked me various questions about the content. He may have given me a maths test as well but I am not sure about this. On the way home my father stopped at a shop and told me I could have any sweet that I wanted. I chose a red lollipop.

Many months later I was told that I was going to a new school next year and as I was not happy at St Clare’s in Blackley, that suited me just fine. The fact that the school was on the other side of Manchester and meant two buses with a walk from Canon Street to Piccadilly didn’t bother me at all – my elder brother would ride with me most of the way as he was going to the senior grammar school, Xaverian College which was just a couple of stops before on Wilmslow Road.

Those three years I spent at the Prep were certainly my happiest school years and among the best years of my life.

Somehow these remained at the back of a drawer at my parent’s house for many years. I found them when their house was being sold after my father died and my mother having to be taken to a care home – 2008.

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St Anne’s Preparatory School – the large Victorian building at the end of the row of semis. Pictures by kind permission of Manchester libraries

The school was located on Wilbraham Road at the Wilmslow Road end. It was a large Victorian villa in its own grounds with playing fields to the right. It was between Wellington Road and Chervil Street, both of which are residential streets. Today there is little sign that there was ever a building there, let alone a school. It has been demolished and replaced with a housing estate. The railway line that ran behind the playing fields is now a cycle track and the only remains I could see on a recent trip is part of the concrete fence that surrounded the fields has been incorporated into the house boundaries at the rear of the estate. There is a narrow footpath that runs from Wellington Road to Chervil Street.

 

 

 

 

I have genuine confusion regarding my thoughts on Brother Cyril Birtles who died in April 2014 aged 88. I will try and recollect my feelings from fifty odd years ago as accurately as I can. On the one hand, I remember a man with a good sense of humour who was capable of acts of kindness. On the other, he had a side to his nature which I found morose and unfair but that may be due to the bias which occurs due to an almost flashlight memory of being caned on several occasions.

My fondest memory is being tossed a brand new leather cricket ball after he selected me to open the bowling for the Prep School team. He showed faith in me that I tried to repay. His comments on my school reports were  really positive which was nice. He organised school trips on holy days of obligation – one would be to Trentham Gardens and the other to St Anne’s where the coach would drop us off at Fairhaven Lake which continued at Xaverian College itself.

My worse memory of Brother Cyril happened just a couple of weeks after I started at the Prep School. At the time he was taking us for Religious Instruction, as subject I was more than familiar with from my days at St Clare’s. He asked the class a question and I put my hand up together with many other boys. My recollection is that I shouted out ‘but it still gives us grace’ – to this day I have no idea what the question was. But Brother Cyril looked at me with a look that I very occasionally saw again over the next few years. He ordered me out of the classroom and I had to follow him to his study – I had no idea what I had done wrong. He then accused me of ‘being impertinent’. I genuinely didn’t know what he was talking about and started crying. After a while he told me to return to the classroom and he followed me back in. Later at break time other boys shouted ‘Cummings got the cane!’. I hotly denied this and was asked why I had been crying. I seem to remember telling them I had put it on to avoid being thrashed.

Although I find it hard to describe the look that came over Brother Cyril’s face, I came to recognise it over the years – I saw it again when my best friend decided to play cricket for a local team rather than the school team and when I was caned for throwing a training shoe at another boy and accidentally hit a statue of the Virgin Mary, but that’s another story.

I remember at the Prep School Brother Cyril set us a maths homework and told us that he was going to allow us to mark our own efforts. In retrospect we should have seen the trap that was being set – I am sure he did it to every new intake. After we had marked the sums with the occasional student giving themselves the benefit of the doubt when the answer was ALMOST right, the trap was sprung. Bro Cyril asked for the exercise books to be handed back. At the next lesson at least half a dozen of us were sent to his office where we were subjected to four strokes of a very slim and effective cane which I came to know reasonably well over the next few years.

Did it teach me a lesson I never forgot? Well I am re-enacting it now in my mind so the answer is obviously yes. Did it modify my behaviour a la Pavlov? Unfortunately it didn’t hence my further visits to his study.

If my memory serves me correctly, Bro Cyril had had a lung removed due to T.B. but in common with most of the brothers at the time, smoked quite heavily – I think they were Senior Service. When the results of the 11 plus had arrived, he was intending to give the results to the class. In an act of kindness, he asked the only pupil who hadn’t managed to get either a grammar school or technical school pass, to go out and get him a packet of twenty while he gave us the results.

So, I remember both good and bad events from those times but I wouldn’t change a great deal – maybe I would have worked a bit harder towards the end rather than spending quite so much time in the Twisted Wheel. It took me to the age of 47 before I got my degree but I knew I had unfinished business… thanks Xavs.

I had attended a catholic primary school before escaping to the relative tranquillity of St Anne’s Prep. The catechism lessons had begun at an early age and have been implanted in my long term memory (‘Who made you? God made me’ etc).

I always had a problem with the idea of theft – what if you stole a Mars bar and then ate it? How could you be forgiven in confession and so forth (the idea of restitution must have passed me by). When Bro Cyril told us in class that there were temptations in the amusement arcade at Trentham Gardens that must be avoided at all costs our collective ears pricked up at once. He described a hellish device called ‘Grip-Tease’ – an ingenious offshoot of the ‘What the butler Saw’ machine for those of a voyeuristic bent. By applying pressure to the two metal grips with both hands, the young(!) lady viewed through the magnifying lens would obligingly remove items of clothing until ‘Naked as Nature Intended’ (remember the naturism films of the early sixties?). Unfortunately for us nine year olds, the amount of pressure required meant we never got past the very first stages of disrobement…

I distinctly remember Bro Cyril encouraging us to sabotage the machine by use of a ruler or similar device. This gave me a fundamental issue as surely the destruction of property was theft? Once more I was tortured by the subtleties of the catholic faith, never to recover I’m afraid.

 

 

Hi Bob, I have been surfing the NET and come across my old school! I was at St Annes from 1959 through to 1963, when I went over to Ward Hall until 1965 when my parents moved South.

I am fascinated by the articles and photos on the Website. There is one photo in which I am in and am sitting directly on Terry Quayles right side.I think this was taken in 1960 or 61. You must be a little older than me (I was born in 1952) and maybe you were in the higher classes at that time. I remember the older boys always had Bro Cyril playing football with them in the front playground where the entrance gate was. By the time I got to the the last year Bro Cyril I think had moved on to Xaverian. 

I remember Bro Benedict ( he was a bit nasty to others but not me for some reason!), Mr McManus, Timlin and I recall we had a couple of American Brothers – Ignatius and Cahill coming in from the big school on occasions. My mates were John Lees, Mark Parish, Paul Delahunty and I remember Kenneth MacDonald who became the actor. I was also friendly with a boy named Genaro Saulino who was taken from class one day, and was never seen or heard of again!!

Were you there the day Yuri Gargarin was driven past in an open topped Rolls Royce? All the boys lined up against the Wilbraham Rd fence.

I broke my leg (in the classroom) in Jan 1963 following an altercation with a much bigger boy named McKoewn. My 11 Plus exam was deferred for a few weeks because of it.

I knew that the school had become a housing estate as I drove past it some 20 years ago whilst on a holiday trip.

Do you know if Terry Quayle is still alive? I recall he was a good man. I lived on Wilmslow Rd Cheadle and Terry lived nearby in Heald Green. 

Bro Cyril was at the “big school” when I went in 1963. There was a boy,whom I was friendly with, John Everton who also started at Ward Hall in 63 and he was related to Bro Cyril. His Father was a butcher and the shop was in Wilmslow Rd Cheadle. I have a feeling he lived above the shop(or close by) but it was put to me it may not be appropriate for me to be with John at the house if Bro Cyril was visiting!! Quaint stuff!

Thinking back, I remember My Father asking Terry Quayle his age. Occasionally we gave Terry a lift home. Terry answered 31 and this would have been, say, 1962 ? I often wonder where life took Terry. He was so good to me after I broke my leg.

Unfortunately, I have no school memorabilia as I guess once I left England in 74 my late parents would have dispensed with any school stuff of mine. But, certainly the articles you have published from other boys have brought back some good memories!

In the summer of 1964 I went on the school trip through Belgium, Holland and Germany. I remember having my first beer at Koblenz which I hated! Some of the sixth formers must have cajoled me into trying it! Mr Price was one of the teachers on that trip.

I will continue to follow this Website of yours with interest.

Thanks Julian. Very much doubt that Mr Quayle is still with us – I agree that he was a really nice guy. I remember he came to one of the Xaverian dances with his lovely wife and I think they had a daughter with them. If you have any other memories, please get in touch.

Zelinsky	John Doyle	Gorman	Kenning	Peter English	David Rhodes(?)	Robert Gleason	John Bennett	Sloan	Charles Brocki	Paul Noon
Paul Bamford	Paul Massey	Philip Weeton	Robert Cummings	Frederick Wilson	Bernard Hunter	Michael Smith	Adrian Rowland	Paul Hoyland	John Denton
Chris Dodd	Moloney	David Anderson	Edmund Robinson	Peter Higgins	Paul Hogan	James Dwyer	Peter Fogg	????? Possibly Bond?	Jim Gilligan	Dennis Whitehead

Thanks to my old classmate Adrian Rowland for supplying the wonderful photo of the leaving class of 1960. Between us, we have managed to identify nearly all the boys although we are struggling with some of the christian names and one of the boys who was hidden behind Mr Quayle. If you can help or if you know any of the class and can let us know how they are doing (all in their seventies now, of course) please leave a comment below.

We have managed to reconstruct most of the class list from 1960, the majority of whom went on to attend Xaverian College the same year.