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MEMORIES OF DULWICH
I chose the Army section, with uniform inspections and parades. Boot shining eventually became a lifelong skill. The field day was usually a hike around Banstead Downs, carrying our rifle and five blanks. We did have one notable trip to Bovingdon in Dorset to the tank testing grounds and museum. The Air Force section could be seen on the grass behind the Pavilion, assembling a rudimentary glider and then trying to get it airborne while powered by a long elastic rope with many pullers. When released the missile was propelled in the direction of the railway embankment, coming back onto its skid safely. I believe a field day may have entailed a flight for some. I have little knowledge of the Navy section, except a story of a visit to a destroyer in Portsmouth. After a day at sea, the boys stayed on board for the night in the port. One boy was asked if they were going ashore for shore leave, and if so, go to the sick bay to collect their ‘free issue’. The attendants were highly amused, and showered him with free issue. In 1953 aged 16, I was taken on with the 1st XV, as a centre. We had a wonderful group of enthusiastic, talented, hard training young men, with Iain Thomas (46-54) as Captain. At the end of the season, we had toured and played at home to enthusiastic support from students and parents and won every game. Our coaches, Ted Winter and Sam Cole had done a great job. During my Dulwich years, the trams on Lordship Lane were replaced by diesel buses and smokeless fuel was mooted. The bomb sites, scars of Hitler’s indiscriminate bombing of London, were being redeveloped. I learnt to drive, and there was no traffic problem, with the older cars from the 30s being replaced. The infant TV on tiny screens was progressing and The Goon Show continued to hold the attention of many. The Headmaster Mr Christopher Gilkes, the originator of The Dulwich Experiment, died in 1953, but only after he had witnessed the amazing Festival Hall event where the school gathered to sing Handel’s Messiah . We had an interregnum with Mr Thomas for a year before Mr Groves appeared on the scene. That year we moved into a new Science block which has now been replaced. But gone were the old Science block and surplus army huts. The longterm effects of Mr Gilkes’ inspiration has continued to echo around the world, with a strong Old Alleynian network, and the construction, and bursary support, returning to sustain the original benefactor’s purpose.
David Henry Wilson (47-55) on Dulwich College 64 years later
From Dr John Maile (48-55), Canada In 1948 I would get to travel to Dulwich College from Forest Hill by bike, along the Common, rain, shine or snow. When using a cycling cape, I would have wet legs below the knees, and wet hair as the mandatory cap only kept part of it dry. The uniform was, of course, uniform, with detachable collars on the white shirts, standard tie, black jacket, grey flannels, raincoat as needed and black shoes. The annual intake of the College was 200 and we were housed in the New Block which was close to the sanatorium! My form master was very stern and you could say he ran a tight ship, well equipped with a 12-inch ruler. It was never seen used to draw lines, but always kept handy, especially during Latin lessons. French lessons were something of a mystery, taught by Mr Alexander, who had never had to learn French himself, due to being a refugee from war torn France. At the 11am break we might see La Fleche d’Or (a luxury train) passing the school climbing towards Crystal Palace, on its way to Dover and Paris. Air travel was still very much in its infancy. A lighter note was provided with the introduction to rugby and cricket, along with twice weekly visits to Mr McLure and Wally Chromey for gym over the road at the covered courts. They kept us moving, and even sweating, in that great, unheated barn of a place. Being a day boy, I was issued with a lunch ticket each term, either four or six days a week. The Great Hall was set up for lunch, with servings from large trays of food and long tables and benches. There was a master at the head of each table, perhaps to coach us on the finer features of the etiquette of eating food! The food was a commentary on the times, with rationing until the 1950s, I think. But no one went hungry. We had a sprinkling of boys from India and Thailand who did not comment on the food, but my friend Pandit Bunyapana once took us to a Thai restaurant in The Haymarket for an amazing meal. I think some of the boarders from overseas relished such excursions. For our second year, we began Science, Classics or Modern and moved into the Barry Buildings, with convenient toilets off the open colonnades. Our prescribed one third of a pint of milk was available there, if you could stomach it. It was warm in the summer and almost freezing in winter but it was a valued dietary feature.
The Science lessons were carried out in the bombed and leaky science block (which was an imposing building before half was destroyed by a bomb from Hitler), or in the wooden sheds, probably ex-army surplus, on the sites of the bombed squash courts. In the same sad category was the swimming pool with no roof and the swimmers with no costumes! Close by was Shackleton’s boat, hull only, under cover. To strike a brighter note, we were taught by a talented selection of Masters, George Way, Sam Cole and Doug Hillier. He was well known for his aged shorts which came out when refereeing rugby, accompanying his gentle Welsh accent balancing acid comments. One term rolled into the next and my rugby improved, playing with school teams, but occasionally missing training sessions when requested to attend Mr Treadgold’s Tea Parties. I had one session being on report with extra lessons, but being a quick learner, I never went back. However, the arrival by post, of the term’s report with, ‘He could do better,’ was a constant theme which showed that I was held in high esteem by my tutors, showing that they recognised the hidden potential! Some of the more enterprising boys, soon became tired of Mr Treadgold’s silver pencil travelling up and down the list of pupils. ‘Go on for us,’ as we challenged an English interpretation of Vergil or Caesar’s Gallic Wars, despite the literal translations being obtained from a shop on Charing Cross Road. So, they used the door behind the Master’s desk in the middle block, to hide behind and sit out the 45-minute session. It was safer than being found idling somewhere around the school. The remaining boys of course had to carry a greater burden as there was only space for two or three in the hideout. On a lighter note, a demonstration of the production of chlorine gas, to be collected in glass jars, soon got out of control of the Master demonstrating, despite him speeding up his collecting. Soon the heavy gas was invading our space and we were able to evacuate the shed, in contrast to the troops in World War One. Besides sports activities, another large slice of school life was the Joint Cadet Corps (JCC), Navy, Army, and Airforce. National Service for two years was compulsory for everyone when they left school, unless it was deferred for university. Military service had a long tradition at Dulwich, and with the tensions of the time (Korea in particular), it was a constant possibility. Two of my contemporaries were shot dead during their National Service and another died of natural causes.
I had been invited to attend the launch of Our School Stories at Dulwich College. Having been one of the very first generation of scholarship children at the College, I leapt at the chance to give something back. I also wanted to see what subsequent generations had done to the scenes of old memories. My daughter accompanied me on the trip back to the College and we went on a tour of the grounds, finding it a lot more cheerful and friendly than it was back then. The scared little ten-year-old never enjoyed such a welcome. The Head of the Junior School back then was nicknamed Butcher and my form master was grim. Those three great blocks are as majestic as ever, but now the cloisters where we used to play football have been closed in, and the goalkeeper is an Arctic explorer. The boat of the real explorer, Ernest Shackleton, has sailed into a far more suitable position. It used to be stuck in a cage, rotting somewhere out in the open. And the Buttery where we queued for post-war, off- ration boiled sweets, is now the Common Room. Better not ask what they consume in there. The Clump hasn’t changed and neither has the Pavilion Salle. It is good to see that the grotty changing rooms and swimming pool have disappeared and now the site houses a proper theatre. We used to do all our acting in the Great Hall, which remains a marvellous space. Especially since my name is still at the bottom of a column on an honours board, which really impressed my daughter. We were shown the Master’s Library, which I did not even know existed. This has retained an aura from the distant past, and it is amazing to see the longevity of these demi-gods. The gravelled car parks used to be playgrounds, where we did PE during the breaks, but that’s fair enough since nowadays we use wheels instead of legs. However, the grass is still wonderfully green on the cricket and rugby pitches, which have not changed a bit. So, all in all, the nostalgia for the old was sweet and admiration for the new was full. My daughter shared my enthusiasm, and I hope all you current students and teachers realise just how lucky they are to work and play in such a magnificent place. Do not wait 64 years before you finally cotton on.
John Maile or B. Limey doc, as I have been called in Canada!
Additional note: John was recently inducted into the Northern BC, Canadian Medical Hall of Fame.
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