WENNINGTON SCHOOL
February 1955, at the age of 12 ½, I arrived at Wennington three weeks into the Spring term, put into Form 2 and a dormitory on the top floor named Elizabeth Fry, with seven other girls. (All the dorms were named after inspirational people). The first morning I woke to the sound of a bell ringing and to be told by the other girls that I had to get washed and dressed, then go down to the kitchen to peel potatoes. It was bitterly cold. I was feeling rather homesick; I had been an avid reader of girls boarding school stories but this initiation into being part of a “veggie squad” bore no resemblance to my idea of what I thought it was all about. All children belonged to a squad of about eight. The squads were responsible, on a weekly rotational basis, for general housework duties, cleaning bathrooms, sweeping dormitories and classrooms, laying tables for meals, clearing away, and washing dishes. We had lessons in the mornings (including Saturday), and from 4 – 6pm (Mon.-Fri.). After lunch there was a siesta time followed by two afternoons of outdoor work – gardening, general maintenance jobs, and two afternoons of games – hockey, tennis, swimming in the outdoor pool. Thursday and Saturday afternoons were free to cycle or walk into Wetherby (to spend our small amount of pocket money), or further depending on age, or mess about in the woods - a large area of pine trees, bracken and rhododendron bushes. On Sunday mornings, regardless of the weather, we had to spend a couple of hours out of the building, and we were left to our own devices until tea time. In the evening there was a half hour letter home writing period followed by Sunday evening Assembly, when we were permitted to wear non-uniform clothes, sang the odd hymn, listened to a talk given by Kenneth, another member of staff, or a visiting speaker; then there would be a musical offering given by children who were learning to play the piano and/or brass, string, and woodwind instruments.
After a few weeks, because my English and French were good and I had already had Latin lessons, I was moved up to Form 3 with children a year older than me, but Maths was difficult for me: in effect I had jumped a year so missed out on a lot of basic maths and was plunged into algebra and geometry I didn't understand, and never caught up.
I felt very comfortable at school; made two good girlfriends who, to this day, are still in touch, and felt at ease with most of the staff - teaching and non teaching - who we called by their Christian names. However, Kenneth Barnes was a different matter: he radiated charm to pupils who showed enthusiasm and adulation, but barely noticed the quieter ones. In all my 5½ years at the school we never engaged in conversation apart from when, as an obnoxious teenager, he would reprimand me for swearing or some contravention of his rules. There had never been a male authoritarian figure in my life. My mother had been let down by men throughout her life; generally she despised and distrusted all men, which probably influenced my attitude. I didn't take criticism well.
During my first term I became a “couple” with a lively enthusiastic boy in my class. Elastic bands were worn on wrists to denote this attachment. Sam had dark wavy hair, brown sparkly eyes, was full of life, carefree, happiest doing outdoor work wearing bib and braces overalls, wielding some heavy tool with great gusto. I loved to watch him. We were a couple for almost two years, but he took to flirting with other girls, complained a lot about a boil on his leg and other minor ailments or injuries, so we removed the elastic bands, I tore up his photograph, and made do with a picture of Cliff Richards under my pillow at night. For a while.
My next boyfriend was also in my form, a Canadian, Michael, known as Cassy. He was caring and kind. We often listened to classical music records in the music room, sitting on the window seats, hidden away behind the curtains: he played the violin and guitar, and introduced the school to the songs of Tom Lehrer. Our relationship did not go beyond kissing and hugging, but Kenneth seemed always to be nervous about our friendship. One incident nearly got me expelled. Our form was given permission to go to the Wetherby cinema to see the film 'Oklahoma'. Cassy and I started the two mile walk back to school still 'in the zone', galloping along the York road, singing 'Surrey with a fringe on top' as loudly as we could. The school Dormobile drew up alongside, Margaret Burgess (Junior school teacher) ordered us to get in. We said we preferred to walk, but she said she had been instructed by Kenneth to take “you two” back to school, so we complied; but the evening was ruined. On arrival in the courtyard Cassy, being a most polite boy, got out and thanked Margaret for the lift: I was fuming and said: “I'm not thanking you – I didn't want a lift anyway”, unaware that Kenneth was standing on the kitchen terrace and heard every word. He was not pleased, took me up to his drawing room for a carpeting which included the threat of expulsion unless I mended my ways.
This incident has always bothered me. I understood that in running a co-ed school Kenneth would be worried that boy/girl relationships might go too far, thus bringing the school into disrepute, but my feelings and thoughts have varied from anger that I wasn't trusted, to how could he believe I might do something stupid? And knowing that I was illegitimate, did he think daughter might be like mother; if so, this was insulting to my mother. Years later, I was shocked to read in Energy Unbound a paragraph, in which Kenneth wrote about taking a visitor into the workshop one day, talking about the backgrounds of some of the children present, and realising there were 'five illegitimates in that one class'. He says that no-one took any notice of that kind of thing; indeed I was never aware that other children knew or cared, but why would Kenneth deliberately tot up the numbers? - Was he blowing his own trumpet about his good works? Perhaps this is unfair of me, but I always thought his attitude towards me was coloured by my birth situation; but perhaps I was over-sensitive.
By the time I reached sixteen (when Cheshire Education Authority were no longer obliged to pay my fees) I had passed five 'O' level exams in English Language, English Literature, French, History, and Music. I had four attempts at Maths, just failing each time to reach the pass mark. However, Kenneth and Frances wrote to the authority saying that I had the potential to do well at 'A' levels and an extra two years at Wennington would help me to mature even further. Cheshire agreed to fund me for another two years. I was to take English and Music. I had been having piano lessons for several years (who paid for them I don't know : piano lessons were classed as extras, along with laundry expenses, to be paid for by parents), but to take 'A' level Music I needed to play another instrument. My choice was to play the clarinet, but how could this come about? My father was no longer required to pay maintenance for me, but Mum appealed to him so successfully that he sent a cheque for £30 to buy a clarinet. The only other time he was apparent in my life was when he came to see me before I started at the grammar school. I wasn't aware, but Mum must have continued to have contact with him, keeping him informed of my progress throughout the years.
During the period I was at Wennington Mum worked full time as secretary to the finance manager at the Liverpool branch of Phonotas, a telephone cleaning company for Liverpool's office community. It had been a sacrifice for her to let me go away to school; although my brother was at home, she was very lonely, often suffered bouts of anxiety and depression which resulted in her being hospitalised for a period, on a psychiatric ward at Clatterbridge Hospital. Around this time Mum joined 'Gingerbread', a charitable group to provide support for single parents. She started having a bit of a social life, made a couple of reliable life-long female friend who she was able to visit whenever she felt lonely or depressed: the only proviso was that if near lunchtime she took a large potato for a jacket potato to be baked in the microwave.
Mum attended every parents’ day at Wennington. Kenneth would give a talk which always seemed to satisfy her spiritually but, like many other people, she found him most unapproachable. Being in the atmosphere of Wennington, amongst like-minded people, her batteries were re-charged and she made friends of some of the parents she met. Parents days were, for Mum, a weekend away. She would book a B&B in Wetherby for two nights, at the home of a friendly, warm landlady, recommended by the school, so there were very often other Wenningtonian parents staying as well. One of these was the mother of a boy in my form who came from London. The parents had divorced; Michael and his much older sister were being brought up by mother alone. It was not long before Mum discovered that Michael's father was the finance manager for Phonotas, at head office in London, someone she had regular contact with through her work. What a co-incidence!
When it was time for me to consider my future it was Brian Hill, the deputy head, who gave me most support. I had worked at the local library in Bebington during the long summer holidays and making this a career was a consideration. However, it was thought that I should go into teaching; but not having any burning ambition either way I opted for teaching, I'm ashamed to say`, because of the amount of holiday time. Cassy had been accepted by the Royal Academy of Music commencing in the autumn of 1960 which gave him the opportunity, having reached school leaving age in July 1959, to spend a year in Canada with his parents. We made a pact, that I would apply for teacher training at a London college, he would return to England to take up his place at RAM, and we would continue our relationship. We were very close. Cassy had stayed at my home in order to practise his violin when he had the opportunity to play with the National Youth Orchestra, which was based in Liverpool, for rehearsals under Sir Malcolm Sergeant. My brother remembers him demonstrating how to shave; something Graham had never seen before. I had stayed at Cassy's family home in Compton near Guildford when his parents were over from Canada. On one occasion we decided to hitch hike from my home to his, but my nerves got the better of me, which often happened in times of stress: I felt extremely nauseous so Mum went to a neighbour, returned with a bottle of Sal-volatile and gave me a spoonful, not realising that it should have been well diluted. My goodness – I was as sick as a dog but eventually we set off. One person who picked us up in a very expensive car - can't remember the make - probably wished he hadn't stopped. I had always been very car-sick travelling from school to Flamborough to stay with my friend, Rosemary. Whether it was the Daimler or the Jaguar, her parents would try all known remedies to prevent me from being sick; from piles of newspapers to sit on in the rear of the car to dangling a chain from the exhaust pipe; nothing worked, so the journey was punctuated at regular intervals along the York Road to allow me to get out. But I digress: the smooth drive down the motorway in an expensive car was just too much: there was nowhere to stop – I was violently sick into the well of the front passenger seat. The driver didn't bat an eyelid, stopped when he could, cleaned me and the car up as best he could, and continued on the journey. We walked the last couple of miles, Cassy acting as if nothing untoward had happened, but I was aware, on arrival at the Great Studio, that I still smelt of vomit despite walking in the fresh air.
Cassy sailed for Canada from Liverpool on the Empress of England. He stayed with us the night before and I went with him to see him off. I was allowed to go on board with him to find his cabin. For me this was a terrifying experience, so many staircases and corridors, I thought I would never find my way back up to the deck and the ship would sail with me still on board. I was petrified. Realising my anxiety Cassy accompanied me and saw me off instead. He did not return to England as planned.
I matured a lot in the last couple of years at Wennington. In 1957 there was a flu epidemic. Gradually, as more and more kids succumbed to the virus, there was much bed shuffling around as dormitories were turned into sick rooms. Although it wasn't pleasant having flu, there seemed to be riotous moments of camaraderie amongst the sufferers. Lessons were cancelled and those of us unaffected acted as assistant nurses to the matron by serving meals and drinks and making beds. This I enjoyed, but was disappointed that after everyone recovered I went down with the virus and was consigned to a sick room on my own. Maturity also developed through outdoor work. I liked things to be in order, was methodical, logical and reliable. I enjoyed, and was good at shelving the books in the library according to their Dewey numbers. Brian was aware of this and often requested that I be assigned to assisting him in the library. It was not long before he trusted me to classify and catalogue new additions. The other person who realised I could be of some use was the school matron, Rosamund 'Rozzy'. In the laundry room there were large cupboards which had been sectioned off into pigeon holes, each one labelled with a child's name. We could wash items of clothing ourselves but sheets, pillow cases, towels, shirts, handkerchiefs etc. were usually sent to a laundry in Thirsk. These items, which were returned in large basket hampers, then needed to be sorted and placed in the appropriate compartments. Rather like a post office mail sorting office. I was good at filing, so there began a bit of a tousle between Rosamund and Brian as to who was going to have me to work for them. It was really good to know that my skills were appreciated; but the down side was that I was never chosen to do proper outdoor work so missed the opportunity to go apple or strawberry picking, which would have been more fun.
For two years I was secretary to the Senate, the school council, which met once a fortnight, on a Wednesday evening. Each form sent two representatives. There were two staff reps., plus Kenneth and Frances. The main business of the meetings was to discuss and decide upon all aspects of the running of the school, from toilet rolls to bed times, suggested projects and fund raising activities. Reports and accounts were submitted by all committees such as the Insurance Committee, Tuckshop Committee, Dance Committee. Being secretary was a responsible appointment – accurate note taking, fortnightly minutes to compile. My mother's secretarial skills had rubbed off on me – be accurate, concise, cut out the waffle. Brian wrote, in one of my school reports, that I was the best secretary to the Senate the school had ever had.
Another contribution I made to school life was to manage the tuck-shop. I would place an order every half term for sweets – love hearts, liquorice sticks. Kendal mint cake being the favourites - drinks, toothpaste, postage stamps, and other small items within the pocket money budget; the order went to the bursar for authorisation of payment. On receipt of the order checks were made, accounts of sales and profits were kept. One order for coca cola caused Frances some consternation. “What do you think you're doing? You can't order that – it contains a drug – COCAINE”. So the order had to be deleted. Frances had some weird ideas about certain foods: Marmite contained vitamin B12 which was the reason for the youth of the day being “over sexed”.
Frances may have doubted my tuck-shop orders but she gave me the opportunity to assist her with doing the make-up for school plays, and responsibility for ordering stage make-up from Leichners.
I was happy at Wennington, but felt that I never really fitted in. Most of the children seemed to shine in some way or at least be positive and enthusiastic, whereas I merged into the background without any sense of purpose. Often, on Sunday mornings, when we had to be outside, everyone seemed to have a plan put into action : by the time I was ready most people had disappeared to I knew not where and couldn't be found. I always had the feeling that if I had started at Wennington at a younger age I might have been a 'real' Wenningtonian and benefited more from the experience. Would I have been more outgoing with aspirations and ambitions? Probably not.