Teachers at Xaverian in the Sixties varied in both quality and personality. They varied from the conscientious and dedicated to the down right eccentric and bizarre. Bernard Lackey definitely belonged in the former and Mr Crotty in the latter. I think we can safely assume that they have all gone now and this belongs firmly in the history of a Manchester Grammar School in the Sixties.
Some Reflections on the Xaverian College Orchestra 1959 – Bob Postlethwaite
My first experience of ‘Chuck’ Sellars’ ‘ambition’ for the orchestra was Speech Day 1958. The programme included the chorus ‘The heavens are telling the glory of God’ from Haydn’s Creation. This was well above my pay grade in more than one way and it was many years before I came to realise what a magnificent piece it is. In many ways, this is a paradigm of Mr Sellars approach to introducing students to music. We bashed through (massacred) all manner of sublime pieces, held together by Mr Sellars sitting at the piano and filling in the parts. But what an experience and how it sowed the seeds for the later enjoyment of music. There is nothing to compare with playing a piece, no matter how badly (and often it was worse than badly), to get you into the music. I am always grateful for the foundation that ‘Chuck’ Sellars gave me to enrich my life with the enjoyment of music.
Mr Sellars had another profound effect on my life. In Autumn 1964, the Royal Opera House came to Manchester for a season, this never happened again. You could pay on the night to stand at the back of the stalls for £5.00. On one of the nights I attended Mr Sellars was there and he talked me through Verdi’s Othello. We also discussed my plans for university. I had always had an ambition to do chemistry and that is what I had put on my UCCA form. A number of experiences were inclining me to something medically related and I was considering changing to biochemistry. For some reason I don’t understand, Mr Sellars was very strongly of the opinion that I should change to medicine. I revised my UCCA form and went to see Brother Cyril. He advised that as I had done no biology and had no family connections in medicine there was no chance of getting into medical school. He informed me that very few pupils had got into medical school and they all came from medical families. His clinching argument is that I had spelt medicine wrong on the UCCA form which was a fair point!! I followed Mr Sellars advice and the rest is history.
Xaverian teachers who joined the choir
Mr Crotty has featured in some of the previous posts and his teaching ‘method’ has been very accurately described. Remarkably he was singing at the front of the choir on the above occasion but I never saw him take part in any other musical event. He was form master of 3B when I started in 1958. The first thing he said was, ‘my name is Crotty, don’t call me potty’. A little later in the lesson, he ceremoniously took the black board off the wall and lo and behold, ‘Mr Crotty is potty’ was inscribed on the wall. I am sure this routine had been repeated year after year. I think this is all I learnt from Mr Crotty.
The operas that Mr Sellars staged have already been commented on. As have ‘Chuck’s’ explosions which erupted with increasing frequency and vehemence the closer the performances loomed. His tortures even extended into the first night of the Magic Flute. The person singing Tamino was laid low with what was termed a ‘grumbling appendix’. He was being revived in Mr Newton’s office at the back of the stage and eventually was deemed to be recovered sufficiently to start the performance. In the Magic Flute after the overture there is a long introduction to the first aria when Tamino runs on to the stage chased by a dragon. This commenced with Tamino running on to the stage in front of the curtain which should have opened to reveal the dragon at the appropriate time. The cues were missed and the dragon wasn’t revealed! Mr Sellars, furious with rage, had no option but to stop the music and start again!! The curtain opened on cue at the second attempt.
A teacher who contributed considerably to music was ‘Lippy’ Marsden. He seemed to have the title of geology teacher, though I never saw much evidence of geology on the curriculum. He, however, had the most amazing bass voice almost a basso profundo. I am sure he sang Sarastro in the Magic Flute.
Another teacher seemed to have attended the same (non)-teaching finishing school as Mr Crotty. Jeff (don’t call me Hitler) Finan goose-stepped into the laboratory, flung his briefcase onto the bench top with a unique flourish and then uttered the only words he would in the whole lesson, ‘Weaver where were we up to the last day?’ He then turned to the board and wrote continuously in what seemed like Joycean stream of consciousness, though Joyce is easier to follow.
Pupils who joined the Xaverian Orchestra
John Weaver’s name appears on the orchestra list for 1959. Inevitably, as he seemed about the only one to pay close attention to Mr Finan, he read physics at university and then did a PhD in Physics. I think he worked then for a company who established the network for cash machines outside banks. He maintained some contact with the Circus Troupe (another story). He died suddenly over 10 years ago. Tony Smith (the Ring Master of the Circus Troupe), who was closest to John, only learnt of his death some months later and John’s wife did not respond to his messages.
John was one of three pupils from Warrington in the orchestra at that time. I was the second (with name spelt incorrectly!) The third was James Higgins who played double bass. He might have left in 1958. He won a place at Christ Church College Oxford. It was very rare for somebody from Xaverian to win a place at Oxbridge in those days. He hit the national press in 1963 when he was rusticated, and permanently, not just for a term. The story was that he had been caught with a young lady in his room. Not surprisingly he was not unique in this and often the ‘scouts’ would just overlook the event. It was not clear why Jimmy had been singled out for such draconian punishment. It might be that he had got on the wrong side of the ‘scouts’. Another postulated explanation is that he had become the president of the JCR, the first grammar school boy to achieve this, and there was perhaps resentment in the establishment at such an incursion. Jimmy resumed his university education at LSE and I have no further news of him.
It is frightening how many of the orchestral players I have forgotten and how many are just vague faces. I had forgotten that two other boys from the same year were also in the orchestra, Kevin (?) McKeown and Chris Ryder, the latter a very good footballer. Frank Lennon has made a number of contributions to this website.
Peter Larkin was 1st Bassoon when I joined in 1958. As the lowest of the clarinets, I sat next to Peter who, despite his position in the remote heights of the sixth form, was always very friendly and supportive. He spent most of his time as a music teacher at Cardinal Langley. This tribute to him was included in an article in the MEN in 2005 about a multitalented professional musician:
‘I had a really great music teacher at Cardinal Langley, Peter Larkin, who got me my first ever pro gig when I was 14. I was playing double bass in the pit band for Rose Marie, staged by the Salford Amateur Operatic and Dramatic Society. I got £14 for the week, which was untold wealth at the time and I thought I would be able to retire before I was 25!’
I guess from this that Peter was active in Salford Amateur Operatic and Dramatic Society. He was also prominent in choral and acting groups round Summerseat and Ramsbottom. He lived in Greenmount. When my children were young, I bumped into Peter occasionally at school musical events round Bury. I also remember that Peter was a fine sprinter, starring in the summer athletic games.
Michael Hill was also very friendly and supportive. His wonderful oboe playing has been noted before. He was a member of the National Youth Orchestra and I think another member of the orchestra was also a member of the NYO (D Howell?). It was a remarkable achievement to have two pupils from the same grammar school in this prestigious orchestra.
J Telford had aspirations to be a composer and the orchestra performed a composition of his at a concert, Winds of Change. I not sure if anything came of his ambition.
Antony Constantine has also been mentioned previously and like other contributors I have not been able to find any report of subsequent musical activities amateur or professional. It was rumoured at one of the Gilbert and Sullivan Operas (I guess The Gondoliers in 1963) somebody from the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company, who still held the copyright to all the G&S Operas then, attended a performance to run their eye over Constantine. I am not sure if this was anything more than Chinese whispers.
Peter Maxwell Davies
Some of the senior members of the orchestra would talk in hushed, reverential, whispers about ‘Max’ and what he had said and done. As over the years I became more informed about the Manchester music scene I began to wonder if they were referring to Peter Maxwell Davies, the foremost of the Manchester School of Composers (cf. the First and Second Viennese Schools).
Michael Hill was without a doubt the stellar musician in this orchestra. Good as he was on the oboe, his first instrument was the piano and he played the first movement of Beethoven’s 3rd Piano Concerto at one of the orchestral concerts. I think it was the same concert at which the Telford piece was played but that might be a false memory. He won a scholarship to study with Peter Katin, a British pianist of international renown. I fully expected him to burst on to the international concert scene at some time but nothing. I bumped into Mr Sellars at a concert once and enquired about Michael. He had no idea what he was doing and was of the impression that he had struggled with Katin’s approach to teaching. I finally tracked him down, sadly with an obituary in Fanfare the magazine of the Birmingham Conservatory in the Autumn 2016 issue. He had taken up the post of registrar there in 1990 and remained there until has death in 2016 (at the age of 70 years). It was noted that he was influenced by his long-term friends Peter Maxwell Davies, John Ogden (a wonderful pianist who was part of the Manchester School) and Peter Katin. It also stated that, ’an invitation to study with Claudio Arrau in New York proved impossible to take up’. Claudio Arrau was one of the greatest pianists of his generation and if this offer had been taken up it would really have launched and international career. I wonder what the cryptic ‘proved impossible to take up’ was referring to? The reference to Peter Maxwell Davies confirms he was indeed the hero whispered about in the orchestra in the 1960s. Early in his career Michael Hill made some commercial recordings with Lyn Fletcher who many years later became the Leader of the Halle Orchestra.
Xaverian College Concerts
Xaverian College – School Orchestra 1959
Conductor: Mr Charles Sellars
1st Violins: W. Usher, D. Howell, D Denholm, M. Brown, M. Livesey, M Duncan, O, Sleightholme
2nd Violins: J. Woodcock, F. Lennon, P. Lawrence, T. Rawlins, P. Hopkins, J. Blodwell, M. Allen, P. Banks, J. Weaver
Violas: J. Telford, S. Desmond, P. Banks, A. Constantine, M. Dell
Cellos: Mr Halstead, J Bayley, V, Thorp, A Clinton, M. Butler
Basses: Mr McEvoy, Mr Unsworth
Flutes: A Booth, I. Kelly, P. Geoghegan
Oboes: M. Hill, D Tipple
Clarinets: R Wright, C. Davis, P. Godfrey, R. Postlewaite, P. Broomhead
Bassoons: P. Larkin, P. Redman
Horns: P. McBride, J. Euston
Trumpets: J. Edwards, K. McKeown
Euphonium: H. Woodcock
Percussion: C. Ryder
Teachers at Xaverian in the Sixties varied in both quality and personality. They varied from the conscientious and dedicated to the down right eccentric and bizarre. Bernard Lackey definitely belonged in the former and Mr Crotty in the latter. I think we can safely assume that they have all gone now and this belongs firmly in the history of a Manchester Grammar School in the Sixties.
Mr Lackey taught me geography at Xaverian and it was no small feat to actually get me a GCE ‘o’ level as a result. He was an intelligent mentor and had the key to success in exams. His particular method was to produce mnemonics for all the facts that we would need to regurgitate to be successful in the exam. Somehow these worked for me and the rest of the class. I would be surprised if anyone in the class failed as I held last position in class (Upper V 3) at that time. He also introduced boxing lessons to the school which I attended on occasions, never enough to develop the necessary skills but I did live a considerable distance from Rusholme, in Blackley.
He once asked me to deliver some tickets to a boxing event at St Clare’s secondary which I did. I trudged along in my school uniform and made my way to the Staff Room encountering some pretty awful language on the way which shocked my delicate sensibilities at that time. It all seemed so different from Xavs. As I had attended the primary school years before, I was even more grateful that my dad had the foresight (and was good enough to make sacrifices to pay) to move me to the prep school, I wouldn’t have thrived at St Clare’s…
At one point he was dating my cousin and this lasted a number of years. I got the impression from other relatives that she had been heart broken to realise that he was perfectly happy remaining a bachelor. In those far off days that seemed almost eccentric. He was a truly nice bloke and probably the best teacher I had during my time at the school.
Bernard Lackey died 4th June 2018 aged 89.
Now this might sound a bit odd at first glance but I can assure you it’s true – another side to the enigmatic Brother Cyril Birtles. Brother Cyril occasionally took my class for music. There was an old piano in the conservatory attached to the back of St Anne’s Prep. We would gather round the piano and practise – usually hymns in Latin such as ‘Tantem Ergo’ which would be sung in church later. One day someone asked (probably me) whether Brother Cyril knew any other music apart from what we were all used to hearing, the rather dirge-like aforementioned hymns. He said ‘oh, you mean something like this:’ and proceeded to play a boogie woogie in the style of Jelly Roll Morton. I assure you that I didn’t dream this, it actually happened.
If anyone else out there witnessed this or similar events, please get in touch. Thinking back, this may have triggered my lifelong love of the blues which still lasts to this day. Another thank you to Brother Cyril Birtles!
Mr Charles Sellars was our music teacher. For some reason he didn’t like me. This sometimes happens and I don’t remember the phenomenon mentioned in any of my further education teaching manuals when I eventually became one myself. I really tried to get myself liked but it was no use and I dropped music as soon as was possible. A shame really because I desperately wanted to be able to play bassoon like one of my friends Mike Smith – it would never have been practical as I lived too far away from Xavs anyway.
He raised his voice a lot I seem to remember but his love of music can’t be denied. Once he played ‘Hall of the Mountain King’ for us on the music room gramophone. He introduced it by saying that this piece tended to ‘send’ people. I am not quite sure what he meant but I did love it. Once he appeared with his family at a garden party and we were amazed at how many children were in tow, each one smaller than the other. They looked for all the world like the intervals in a scale.
Mr Sellars used to organise the school concerts which became more and more grandiose. Gilbert and Sullivan (Iolanthe) gave way to Mozart and The Magic Flute was enacted on our somewhat cramped gym stage. The school orchestra manfully struggled through the score and it was judged to be a masterpiece. I have a vision of a diminutive boy with soprano voice (I think his surname was Thornley) dressed in a feathered costume and the whispered comments among the boys when he had to kiss the male lead. The rumours abounded. I can also remember a rather large class mate, John Doyle, banging his heart out on the kettle drums, totally caught up in the excitement. Heady stuff.
Probably the most painful experience I can remember from all my time at Xaverian is the one relating to Mr Archdeacon. It probably contributed more to the reason my academic achievements slid off the scale and my earlier promise evaporated. It still fills me with mixed emotions over fifty years later.
I enjoyed being taught by Archie. I was very good at English Language – I was an avid reader of virtually anything I could get my hands on, my father was deputy Head Reader at the Daily Express who constantly corrected my grammar if I made the slightest error. I was only an average student when it came to English Literature – I wasn’t a big fan of Shakespeare and I think our set book was ‘The Memoirs of a Fox Hunting Man’ by Siegfried Sassoon which didn’t capture my imagination at all. George Orwell would have been a different story.
I think every student passed both subjects in my year, apart from myself who failed English Lit. I can’t verify this but it may well have been the case. Now the incident that set me on the wrong path:
We went on an evening trip to the Library Theatre, Manchester to watch Henry IV Part II which was our set Shakespeare play. Archie arranged to meet us in the foyer before the performance and I remember him saying “and don’t wear any teddy boy gear” in the lesson that afternoon. I thought this was just his joke – wrong! I had recently bought what I thought was a very smart jacket – five guineas from a gentleman’s outfitters on Oxford Road, Manchester. This had a small velvet collar and part lapel which I had associated more with the Beatles than anything else. I decided it would be the right thing to wear for an evening at the theatre.
When I got there Archie whispered in my ear: “I said no teddy boy gear!” I tried to convince him that this wasn’t what I was wearing and thought no more about it. The next week we submitted our homework based on a question asked about the play and my essay was probably a bit below par. When Mr Archdeacon returned my homework to me he began to berate me severely, not mentioning the ‘teddy boy gear’. What he did say was this: “Cummings, as far as I am concerned, you are no longer part of my English Literature class. You can submit homework but I will not mark it.” That is as much as I can remember as my emotions at that point prevented my from taking in anything else he said. Needless to say, I told no one, particularly not my parents nor Brother Cyril. I do remember becoming what these days is called ‘depressed’ and from being a promising student finished the year bottom of my class. I can’t blame Archie completely for this but I do wonder whether the level of shame I felt and lack of confidence that I had at that time were already present and the incident just hatched them. What made it worse for me was that I respected him as a teacher and his opinion meant a great deal. Schooldays weren’t always happy ones.
Pete Burrows took me for physics and maths in Lower Five Three. He was a great guy, an all round sportsman and occasionally took us for football. As a result of his recommendation I played for a cricket team called The Crusaders based round the Longsight area for a short period until we had a disagreement about not turning up when it was pouring down.
He was married to a lovely lady and they lived not far away on the other side of Victoria Park. However, I think even he would agree, maths was not his strong point and physics not a lot better. When we had been at Xaverian for a year we were selected for the level of class that would last for the rest of our time until A levels. The top class had consistently good teachers where ours were patchy to say the least. I know that Pete Burrows was not entirely happy with his experience of teaching at the college and left while I was there to teach at Pope Pius X school, I think. When my parents realised that I was going to fail my maths O level, they decided a maths tutor was needed. I duly used to go every Sunday morning to a flat just off Middleton Road, Rhodes, where a youngish graduate would run me through all the things I should have learnt during the week in between cleaning up from the parties the night before. Unfortunately the damage was done and I failed. It was 1983 at the age of 35 that I managed to get a B grade which became extremely important for my future academic career.
One day our class were encouraged to bring in caged pets (don’t ask me why). One boy, Gregory Esplin, brought in his pet mouse. Another boy brought in his pet rat. Now I am not clear why this happened, but it was decided that it would be a good idea to introduce the two into the same cage during Mr Burrows’ lesson. There was an inevitable result. Someone shouted out from the back of the classroom “What’s it doing?” to which the class wag replied “Its S***ing it!” . It’s funny the things you remember. Not so funny for Esplin who was heartbroken.
Mr Newton took us for Physical Education. I suppose he was in his mid forties although I have often been surprised that teachers were inevitably much younger than the age we would imagine. My mental image of him always includes a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and a dark blue track suit. I remember his favourite form of punishment was making pupils hang from the wall bars and hitting them on the backside with the end of the gym ropes which were bound with leather. We had one classmate who was from London and of course his accent drew much abuse – his name was Matthews. Actually, he was extremely annoying and the only boy I remember every having a fight with (twice). Mr Newton was doling out the Rusholme Rope Trick to Matthews which gave him so much pain that he started crying. He turned round, shouted that the teacher had no right to be hitting him and left the gym. Not long after, I am fairly sure he was expelled. Didn’t fit in, you understand.
Mr Newton was also responsible for the Duke of Edinburgh Award Scheme at the college. I remember that I managed to achieve the bronze award. I always thought I wouldn’t receive the medal as I hadn’t filled in all entries in my log book and had only camped in my back garden (and then only for a couple of hours) but Mr Newton must have stepped into the breach and filled in the missing entries himself. I remember the medal came to an unfortunate end when I dropped into a beaker of acid in a chemistry lesson – it partially dissolved proving to me at least, that it had a copper content.
Because I was having doubts about many of the beliefs of the catholic church, I thought seriously about questions I was having genuine difficulties with and was not shy in coming forward with these to my R.I. teachers. My one remaining Xaverian report shows that this was well known. My teacher in 1962 was Brother Sylvester, a bespectacled highly strung Xaverian Brother. His comment of ‘Fairly good, always ready to ask questions’ is accurate although only he and I were aware of the under current of cynicism.
At one point I made the mistake of asking Mr Connolly whether the Book of Revelations which appears at the end of the New Testament was supposed to be believed or whether it was just a dream of St John which anyone of us could experience, possibly accompanying a bout of flu.
“Well Cummings”, he said with a gleam in his eye behind his horn-rimmed spectacles, “as you are so interested, I would like you to investigate the question and present it to the whole class in two week’s time!” I actually did this – I got hold of large hard bound exercise book and spent many hours finding out as much as I could about Revelations. As I was reading about the exploits of Aleister Crowley at the time, I may even have made reference to his assumed title of The Great Beast which figures large in the epistle but I cannot be sure. I certainly made frequent referrals to the ‘Whore of Babylon’ which was obviously expected by the rest of the class. I sometimes think if I had put as much effort into my homework as I did into my deliberations concerning the Book of Revelations I may have achieved more than two ‘O’ levels but that is pointless speculation now.
I do remember standing in front of the class and starting my lecture. It overran the lesson and for some reason no one was interested in hearing the rest by the time of the next lesson so I think we should call that a draw.
Mr Connolly was a big man, tall, somewhat stout and wore glasses. I think he may have taken English but for a time he was our Religious Instruction teacher. For what ever reason, he and I did not get on. At that time I was questioning the whole religion thing, not because I didn’t believe in a creator but because I found so many holes in the set of beliefs we were obliged to swallow without question. As an example, we were asked to submit written questions about concerns we might have about anything to do with sex. We may have been told the basic mechanics in one lesson or other but we might have other issues of a theological nature.
I submitted the question which I genuinely did not know the answer to (in fact, I still don’t, over fifty years later):
‘If a woman is married and turns out to be barren (unable to conceive in modern terminology) would sexual intercourse be wrong?’
Now bear in mind, we had been told that sex was designed purely for procreation and in a time before IVF treatment there was no way for a woman who could not conceive to have children other than by adoption. Anyway, all the questions we had written anonymously were put into a dish and given to Mr Connolly at the front of the class. I can’t remember the other questions that were pulled out of the dish but when it came to my question Mr Connolly read it out and said “Well we all know the answer to that stupid question!”. Mr Connolly sir – I STILL DON’T!!!
He may have suspected who was the source of the ‘stupid’ question because I had become someone who asked several questions which, truth to tell, may have been designed a little bit to get under his skin. I once asked him that if God was all merciful and would forgive anyone who expressed genuine remorse, why confession to a priest was necessary. Mr Connolly told me that not only did we need to be forgiven by God, we also needed to be forgiven by the church. I could never really get me head round that one. I really wanted to know the answer because at the age of fourteen I considered I was committing sins I would NEVER confess to anyone, let alone a priest!
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 forgot to say, after this incident the entrance door was permanent locked evermore, much to the distain of Murphy and the other boys who used to smoke down there.
Clive Price
Many of you may not know this but in the milk room was an entrance to the very extensive Cellars under the school. Tall enough for a man to walk in standing up and approximately 4 ft wide, hewn out of the dirt foundations under the school. Once in your eyes got used to the complete lack of light and you could see your way around. I was introduced to them by a lad called Murphy who used to spend all his spare time down there exploring. They were ideal for a risk free smoke. I went down there many times and Murphy was always there. He showed me around a bit and I was amazed at their extent. He spent so much time there he knew every nook and cranny. There used to be a rotating teacher supervising the milk room in those days. Murphy had had a fall out with Mr Price, who searched his blazer pockets before being excused for the toilet. He found a packet of Nelson filter tip and confiscated them, making Murphy’s trip to the toilet pointless. On return Mr Price refused to return the cigarettes to Murphy; unforgivable! Murphy swore revenge. When Mr Price, was on milk room duty and entered the milk room, Murphy was standing behind the door entrance to the cellars and said something derogatory about Price in a funny voice and immediately shot down the cellars. Price was after him. After a couple of minutes two of us followed to see what was happening. Murphy, still in a funny voice, was calling out derogatory remarks, drawing Price further and further into the Labyrinth. After about another 5 minutes Murphy stopped calling out and a few minutes later appeared alongside us. ‘Come on lads, he will never get out’ said Murphy. He was right, there were search parties around the school all afternoon for Mr Price who still wasn’t out when school finished.I never found out how Price got out but he was around the next day not looking very happy. The moral of the story is be careful who you cross especially if their name is Murphy.
I forgot to say, after this incident the entrance door was permanent locked evermore, much to the sustain of Murphy and the other boys who used to smoke down there.
We used to have benediction last period on a Friday usually every month at the Church in Thurloe St. I and 2 friends decided not to go and were having a smoke in the toilets next to the back gate. Each in a separate stall, standing up on each bog with the seats up. At the time they were replacing the sewers in Lower Park Road and there were 2 huge long ditches about 10 ft deep either side of the road. When we figured it was all clear, we left the toilets to depart down Lower Park Road. What we didn’t know was that there was a teacher patrol to spot any boys avoiding benediction. The duty patrol teacher was Mr Tom Arklass. As we left the toilets, he was approaching from the direction of the main school and shouted ‘those boys stop.’ We legged it at full speed in to Lower Park Road jumping the first ditch, about 6-8ft across, turned left and ran up the road between the ditches. Arklass, in hot pursuit, but not as fit as us 16 year olds, Jumped the first ditch and fell straight in. The ditch was wet clay with rain water at the bottom. We did not stop. They never did find out who the three boys were. I had an undistinguished academic career at Xavs. In my opinion, the standard of teaching was mediocre to appalling. After leaving school. I decided to join the Royal Navy as an Officer. At the Admiralty Interview Board, after a week of various tests I was in front of the Board composed of the Chair, a Rear Admiral. Two Captains RN, two Commanders RN and a Psychologist. After answering various questions from all it came to the Chair to ask supplementary questions and sum up. Finally looking at my references he said ‘your Headmaster doesn’t think very highly of you,’ quick as a flash I replied’ I didn’t think very highly of him Sir.’ They all burst out laughing and , although it was high risk, I am sure that answer got me into Britannia Royal Naval College, Dartmouth. At Dartmouth I passed out 2nd academically in my term, testament to the difference between good and bad teaching. I went on to have a successful career in the Navy including warship command. Since retirement I have worked in the financial markets and still do, age 78!
Hi, nice to find this..I was a bit late..story of my life…’76 to ’83 The last of the old school so saw it all changing and was always the youngest year group. Hell’s bells, 16 year old girls arriving when I was in year 8. Impossibly exotic and erotic. Strange to hear of some of those teachers who taught me in their later years. Mr “Bob” Newton’s son was the year above me..Troubled boy. Hope it worked out for him. Mr Newton was still there. Brother Cyrill was head of course. Mr Arklass I honestly thought was called Mr Heartless for the first year I had him. He scared some maths into me I guess which Mr “Foggy” Dewhurst couldnt. Was wondering about Brother Anthony who was maybe after your time. A dark eminence we called Boris (Karloff). He was a young guy and in RS introduced us to the revolutionary theology raging at that time in South America. Xavs isnt always a great school in my memory but I owe Boris a debt for giving me some insights into the workings of power and oppression against simple morality, even at that young age! Mr “Mad Jack” Connelly, I was in the same year as his son. He read a poem out in class once and talked about the author whose name I forget. He finished his talk with “…and he had a nickname, was known as Mad Jack”. And smirked.
Went on a trip to Lourdes, travelled through France by train, sleeping in turns on the luggage rack.So proud when we chosen to sing in the Basilica, never quite understood why we had to stand behind the massive alter when everyone else was at the front. Great time though, they could never find us amongst all those equally humble souls.
One time, Rufus took us to Sussex, the retreat place. I was picked as one of the elite advanced party, saw it a bit like the Para’s. Turned out me and some mates had to dig all the holes for bogs in the field. Then erect all the bell tents. Speaking of which, one guy had a mag with Bridgette in, wow did that get some hammering. Forced to cook, as an expert bog digger, made spaghetti, only a bit too much, so we lobbed it on the Pine trees, looked fantastic, or so we thought. Got a dry cow pat put it on a sandwich with an already bit mark, Rufus said “ look boy, don’t waste your food! “and snatched it. No regrets greedy …..
Good to know that you are still around, even older than me. I was at Xavs from 62 to 67, If I remember rightly.
I remember the teachers above plus: Pop Eaton, maths, Pug Diamond, Latin, Johnny Walker, French. Bro David, Chimpy,
Horsefield, German, Deaver, History, Price, History, Yogi Baron, economics, Bro Finbar French, Bro Pius, Latin.
Most of them had their own ways of beating us. I was caned a lot by both Cid and Bro David. The latter seemed to like it too much. I have recently been in touch with former head boy Roger Darlington, who has just published his memoir ’74 not out.’I did not like him as an authority figure back then. I met him for lunch. He seems a decent bloke. I was in the boxing club but only in house matches. I remember various funny and scandalous events, especially Finbar running off with a young French girl in Paris. I lived and worked on London, Asia, The US and other places before retiring in Costa Rica. I still visit the UK for 3 months every year and we have a home near Milton Keynes.
Bro Finbar running off with a young French girl??? Are you absolutely sure? It always seemed to be young boys that excited his interest to us but I am always prepared to be convinced!!!
One thing is for certain, he was ‘disposed’ by the order not long after the Paris trip. If anyone has more information on this story please get in touch…
He was interested in the boys in class, tickling the thighs of those he liked. Fortunately, I was an ugly child. The Paris trip was interesting. We went on couchettes, from the ferry. Late at night the swot in our compartment lent out of the window and bought a bottle of rough white wine from a vendor. He rather greedily drank most of it himself and was very sick. I omit his name as he might still be alive.
We stayed in a convent where the girls were on summer vacation. There was a Bridgette Bardot look a like waiting on tables in the refectory. We were all swooning over her. Finbar was very chatty with her speaking French. On the day of departure he was no where to be found. Price and Johnny Walker brought us home. Our parents confiscated the flick knives we had bought. It transpired that Finbar ran off with Marie Claude and was never seen again. Re his interest in boys.- Prisoners, public school boys, celibate clergy and the military often exhibit such tendencies when there is nothing else available.
Much of the rest of the Paris trip was spent visiting churches, often containing dead nuns in glass cases. Fortunately later in life, I made up for this lack of imagination many times.
Yes, Gerry was a good bloke. He always saw the good in people. I fell off a garage roof in the summer holiday prior to going into Lower 4.1 and badly injured my arm and shoulder. I was strapped up for months. The start of my worst year at Xavs. I was in Gerry’s class and wasn’t doing very well but he always had a kindly word and was always encouraging.
Gerry was great: and I was privileged to step out with one of his daughters for a short spell – lovely girl.
Why is there no mention of or a photo of teacher Gerry Dewhurst Bob? He and Bernard Lackey “created” the boxing team of Paul Neary, Phil Crewdson, Brian Morgan, Freddie Morrow and me when all of us were Lancashire Champions in 1962. Gerry and Bernard were like the proverbial dog with 2 wotsits at Stretford Town Hall that night!!
Only just put the page there yesterday John, Still adding new teachers as I identify them. I always remember Gerry wearing a trilby and wishing we still had him for English rather than Archie!!
Gerry was a really good bloke – plus his daughters were beautiful as well . . . . ahem,.. (As I vaguely recall across the divide of these many years . . .)
I think Dewhurst taught me English; I remember he was a big Leeds f.c. fan