From Duncan Merrin (G 53-57) - St Bees 50 years ago.

“It was not quite like Harry Potter but there were some similarities. Imagine if you will it is your first term as a 12 or 13 year old, being put on a train in Manchester by your loving parents and told that you will be met by a teacher at a place called St Bees, five hours away, and that they will see you again in three months. I had been at a boarding prep school so for me it was not too bad, but for many it was frightening. Although there were other boys on the platform in Manchester, the feeling of loneliness once the train puffed away from the station, with tear-filled parents waving goodbye, was overwhelming.

There was a hierarchy amongst the boys; those who were returning to St Bees, even if they had only been there one term, sneered at the new ones just as others had sneered at them on their first train journey to the unknown. They were confident, met up with old friends and laughed and joked. But for those who had been there many years and were seniors or even prefects there was no mixing with these noisy juniors, they could be victims of caning by the prefects in future months, the hierarchy was a fundamental necessity in the running of the school as you will see later

The train chugged round the Cumbrian coast: scenes of a cold sea, bleak  September skies and sparse population, nothing of comfort for the new boys, only that in the five hour train journey the more forthcoming had asked with  trepidation ‘are you a new boy’ of others who looked as anxious as they felt.

Some lifelong friendships were started on that train journey, the fear of the unknown and of what lay ahead became shared and gave some comfort to each.

Brakes squealing and engine hissing the train slowed to a stop as the station master shouted ‘St Bees’. Descending from the train under grey leaden skies the new boys were asked to identify themselves, ‘name?’ ‘Err Smith’. ‘Smith, Sir is how you answer’. ‘Sorry, Smith Sir.’ ‘Smith - Meadow House stand over there - your trunk will be taken to the house but you must bring your bicycle.’ 

Thus were the new boys allocated their first home in St Bees. As the day slowly moved into a chilly evening, seven forlorn tired and hungry boys pushed their bicycles up the hill to Meadow House, one of the feeder houses for new boys - the other being Eaglesfield close to the beach. A cheery elderly Scottish matron met them - ‘Come now boys - put your bikes there in the yard and come in for supper.’

Sharing a dorm with five complete strangers and miles from home, not knowing what the next day would bring was intimidating, but no one dared show a sign of weakness, although the belly quaked, and no sign of insecurity or fear was shown; the head of the dorm, a veteran of two terms, was quick to take advantage of the situation. Belittling those junior to you was a way of improving your own status. The particular head of dorm in Meadow House was a bit of a snob: anybody from Liverpool or Manchester or Newcastle was a pleb - of course he was from Harrogate, very upscale in his thirteen year old mind.

The matron had earlier shown the boys where their clothes were to be kept, the bathrooms and the day room and the boot room where the shoes and rugby boots were kept. Supper had been served and the housemaster gave his talk and then all were ushered to the dorm.

Sleep was hard to come by but sheer exhaustion after the long train journey and the demands of the day swept over the new boys who awaited the next day with trepidation.

The next morning blindly following orders to ‘get up - get washed - get dressed - get down for breakfast - get on your bikes and go to Grindal’ - the numb new comers charged down the road following ‘Harrogate’, not knowing where they were going. They sped past, although they did not know it at the time, Archbishop Grindal’s house on their left and as they approached the main road ‘Harrogate’ screamed at them to dismount. A school rule said that you cannot ride down the last hundred yards to the main road as you might not stop and thus career into traffic on the road. Grindal, one of the four houses of the school was on the main road opposite the station where they had arrived the evening before. They were then led through the side gate and towards the back of the building, and as they lent their bikes against the wall of the building shouts emanated from above them, ‘You can’t lean your bikes there until you have been here two years and don’t look up here you oafs this is senior dayroom and you NEVER look in here.’ These were the first signs of the ‘privilege culture’ and the recognition it had throughout the school.

The newcomers soon slipped into the pattern of school life - but it was far from easy. The rigors of biking down from Meadow House every day in all weathers - running between lessons from one classroom to another - back to Meadow in the evening - they were always exhausted, which I think was the plan of the masters. The boys slept like logs and caused no trouble. They were also exposed to the ‘privilege culture’. At every level in the school there were different privileges that boys were entitled to and they were protected with a vengeance. So school prefects could do just about anything: - they could beat boys at any level below them without any master’s permission, and they did. House prefects needed permission and could use a fag - personal servant basically - to clean their shoes or cook baked beans on toast at the weekend for them - all amazing when you look back. Senior day room boys had their privileges as did boys who won honours in sport - 1^st XV colours for example. Senior day room had the dubious job of protecting these various privileges by what was known as ‘testing’. Poor juniors were ordered to go to senior day room between preps, and while staring at the ceiling were shouted at by the seniors ‘testing’ their knowledge of the various privileges throughout the school. It was utterly scary and completely damaging to the educational ambitions of the school as boys were learning privileges during classes - in fear of being called during prep break - but what it achieved was a very strict discipline down through the school, which was not in the hands of the house masters or masters but the boys themselves. From the Head Master down they accepted it as it made life very much easier. It was stopped sometime in the early 60s - and low and behold the school’s academic results soared.

The new boys moved down from Meadow House after one term and found themselves in Baby Dayroom on Grindal and Baby Dorm. Again it is hard to believe that these descriptions were used but they were and the new boys knew their status - babies! Baby Dorm faced the road and had no curtains, much to the amusement of the local girls - curtains were eventually supplied to howls of disappointment from the road below. All fun, which in the years that followed and as the boys grew older and moved up the hierarchy of the school developed into some nice friends in the village.

It was not all gloom and doom - there were what were called three-quarter days in the summer where the boys had the whole day off and could go anywhere as long as they were back by 6pm. Mostly they rode their bikes to Ennerdale or often Eskdale, swam in the lakes, sneaked a beer in the pub and rode back. Looking at those roads now I realize how fit we all were.

There was a huge emphasis on sport. It was required that every day some form of sport was played. If there was no inter house rugby or cricket on a day, the sport for the day was set by the prefects. If they were in a bad mood they could set the Valley Run –which was up past Meadow House, right up the valley, around the top and back down the Whitehaven road. The boys were all very fit. St Bees had the best cross country teams by far (David Lyall was the trainer). When teams came to St Bees, they took one look at the steep hills up behind Foundation that were part of each race and were beaten there and then.

Grindal had its own ‘fives’ court so we were the best in the school and won all the cups.

When it became time to leave, it was a sobering thought to realise that those good friends made from the days of Meadow House and Baby Dayroom, who had been your constant companions for four or five years, were no longer going to be at your side. Thankfully the OSB Club has kept many in touch over the years.

The last memory many of the boys who were leaving had was of the Head Master wishing them well and telling them to uphold the values of the school. Although he said, ‘I notice many of you are already wearing the Old Boys’ tie – which you are no doubt thinking is a passport to all kinds of undesirable privileges.’ (by which he meant smoking , having a beer and talking to girls). Little did he realise that most of these now 17 or 18 year old boys didn’t see them as undesirable!

I hope this has given you some insights into days gone by.”

 

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