When I reviewed last week’s virtual gathering, I forgot to mention Paul Driscoll’s anecdote about the optional “prefect’s blazer” available to those of us who attained such giddy heights at Alleyn’s School. The blazer was emblazoned (pun intended) with the school crest and motto.
That motto was God’s Gift. Edward Alleyn no doubt meant that motto to symbolise education. But the phrase has a sarcastic meaning in modern parlance; e.g. “he think’s he’s God’s gift.” And as Rohan Candappa so ably puts it, “We are Alleyn’s. If you cut us we bleed sarcasm.”
Unsurprisingly, very few of us took up the offer of this optional, distinguishing garment. Beyond the sarcasm, such an emblem had every chance to land us in a heap near North Dulwich railway station, where the Billy Biros (pupils from William Penn School) needed little excuse to isolate an outlier from the Alleyn’s herd, taking severe retribution for invented sleights and offenses.
The main senior school uniform was a two-piece or three-piece suit. I have only one picture of myself wearing mine:
Me And Wendy Robbins, Autumn 1979, Westminster Bridge
In the late 1980s, just a few years after a left Keele, when Guinness had a particular advertising slogan on the go, some fine folk in the University of Keele Students’ Union produced the following tee-shirt.
It dawned on me that I am a very rare example of someone eligible to wear not only the Alleyn’s God’s Gift blazer but also the Keele Pure Genius tee-shirt underneath the blazer.
In the dying moments of the Trump US presidency, this suitably modest mental image should be shared with the world and saved for posterity.
It’s just a shame I was unable to model the two garments together back then. I would have looked magnificent; indeed it would have been the best look ever, anywhere, for anyone.
This lockdown business is nobody’s idea of fun, but Rohan Candappa has been putting in some hard yards in setting up some meaningful distractions and social interactions.
It wouldn’t be Alleyn’s School without homework. For this third session, Rohan (egged on by Nick Wahla) asked some exam questions:
Nick Wahla’s suggested a question to ponder: “What advice would you give to someone about to leave Alleyn’s?”
It’s a good question, and one which I am obviously going to claim credit for. But I’d also like to twist it around a bit. My question is: “What advice would you give yourself if you could go back and talk to yourself on the day you left Alleyn’s?
Anyway, loads of people turned up again…but not Nick Wahla – he of the exam question. Typical.
I took the headline screen grab more than an hour into the event, so several people had already come and gone by then.
Again we had participation from across the globe:
Neal “Mr” Townley in Sydney,
Andrew Sullivan in Phnom Penh,
Richard Hollingshead in Washington (desperately trying to convince us and himself that Washington State is a long, long way from security-alert-ridden Washington DC),
Mark Rathbone, claiming to be in Purley, then Purely and eventually confessing to living in Kenley, a totally different place noted for famous current and former residents such as Des O’Connor, Peter Cushing, Harry Worth, Karl Popper (ironically, given this empirical falsification of the “Mark Rathbone lives in Purley” theory) and Douglas Bader – all together now – Da, da-da, da-da-da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da…or do I mean da-da, da-da-da-da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da…?
…I digress.
It is hard to summarise the answers to the exam questions, not least because everyone had a slightly different take on them. One theme that ran through the answers is learning quickly post school how to be yourself and follow your heart/instincts in what you want to become. Many of us suspect that we had more freedom to “find our own way” back in 1980 than pupils finishing their ‘A’ levels have now – as the route from school to career via university seems to be a more defined path now.
Some raised the matter of careers advice (it’s lack or paucity), others the more informal aspects such as teachers instilling us with confidence, arrogance or in some cases diffidence.
Naturally this led the conversation on to discussion about memorable teachers, good, bad or indifferent. Mr Jones got off pretty lightly considering he wasn’t there…
…which is more than can be said for David Wellbrook, who should have known better than to defy the wishes of Rohan Candappa by going AWOL, if Rohan’s opening remarks were anything to go by. Rohan’s willingness to turn on a loyal follower for the slightest slight is almost Trumpian in its intensity.
But then, as Rohan pointed out when the conversation turned to the vexed question of teasing, banting or bullying, we weren’t saints back then and we are hopefully a bit more grown up about it now. Well it was easy for him to say that AFTER the invective of his opening remarks.
Heck, I’m kidding. It was fun again and it seemed astonishing when Rohan pointed out that those of us who were around for the whole event had been gassing and listening for two hours.
Actually this was a very good idea. The face-to-face “40 years on” reunion had to be cancelled this summer, so Rohan figured we should have a “40 years on” virtual reunion through the good offices of Zoom instead.
Of course, back in the day, nobody used the phrase “back in the day”…
I paraphrase Rohan’s remarks in the form of a quote.
37 of us gathered, from a cohort of some 120. That’s about a third of us, which, 40 years on and with some of our cohort no longer with us…is a mighty impressive haul.
People joined from places as far afield as Ontario (Paul Deacon & Rich “The Rock” Davis), New Zealand (The Right Reverend Sir Nigel Godfrey), Phnom Penh (Andrew Sullivan), Australia (Neal Townley), Barcelona (Duncan Foord), Crouch End (Rohan Candappa) and Penge (somebody, surely?).
It seemed like a recipe for chaos, yet somehow the mixture of untrammelled chat and a little bit of structured “go around the virtual room for a memory each” worked surprisingly well.
Some of the people are friends I have seen relatively recently, one way…
…but many of the people present I had only corresponded with on FaceBook or not at all in the last 40+ years.
The array of memories was varied and fascinating. A lot of stuff about teachers, good, bad and (in some violent cases) especially ugly.
Some observations especially resonated with me and stuck in my mind. Paul Romain illustrated through readings from his first and last school reports that he was a keen scout at first, but by the end at least metaphorically semi-detached from the school…if not detached and several acres from the metaphorical school. That resonated with my experience.
It also brought back to me my lingering grudge against my late mum for throwing out my old school reports (and indeed all my juvenilia from that period apart from my diaries) on the spurious grounds that “no-one would ever want to look at that sort of old rubbish again”. When I challenged this assumption, by letting mum know that I was REALLY REALLY upset that she had done this, she said, “how was I supposed to know that you cared for that stuff?”. To which my simple answer was, “if you had asked me BEFORE you threw my things away, you’d have known.” No, I’m still not over it.
“Renée is an enthusiastic, diligent lass, but she sometimes allows her natural exuberance to mar her judgement”
I think it was Jerry Moore who held up some editions of Scriblerus (the Alleyn’s School magazine), threatening to scan and circulate some elements of them. I do hope he does that. David Wellbrook mentioned his first toe-dip into performing Shakespeare and the rather damning review Chris Chivers gave of his performance.
That all brought back to my mind my own somewhat involuntary performance in Twelfth Night, I think the year after David Wellbrook’s debut. I remember Mr Chivers’ Scriblerus review of my performance as Antonio; in particular I recall pawing over it on a train with my friend Jilly Black, trying to work out whether he was praising me or damning me with faint praise. I suspect the latter, but I would love to see the review again now that I am older and…well, just older.
Indeed I considered sending my apologies to the virtual reunion and spending the evening wallowing instead. But I thought better of doing that and Janie encouraged me to give the virtual meeting a go…I could always switch off the Zoom early if I really didn’t feel up to the gathering…
…anyway, I’m so glad I did join the group, even if I wasn’t entirely myself throughout the evening. It was great to see everyone and I learn that there is every chance that many of us will be doing it again.
I guess I need to dig out those diaries again and see what else I can find!
My diary, from forty years ago as I write, tells me that this was one crazy weekend, during which I zig-zagged my visiting Keele friends, Sim & Tim (Simon Ascough & Tim Woolley), hither and yon across London for a couple of days.
Sim was from Doncaster and Tim was from Moseley, South Birmingham. I have an inkling that they had never been to London before…or at least “not visited a Londoner” before.
Reading my diary and assessing the activities I inflicted upon them, they might have formed a lifelong skewed opinion on what London life is like. I’m not sure I had a weekend quite like it before or since.
Friday 7 August 1981 – A Mini Pub Crawl Following In My Alleyn’s School Footsteps
7 August – Work OK – Sim & Tim arrived -> ate -> Fox -> Dog -> met Mark from Keele -> his place ’till late
Mum will have given us all a hearty family meal on the Friday evening ahead of the mini pub crawl. I cannot remember whether we did all of our dashing around London by car or by public transport. I think it must have been the former; if so it must have been Tim who had a car with him.
That first evening, I wanted to show Sim & Tim the places I used to drink with my friends before I went to Keele. The Fox On the Hill (aka The Fox) on Denmark Hill and The Crown & Greyhound (aka The Dog) in Dulwich Village. I thought we might bump in to a few old friends from Alleyn’s in at least one of those places, but that didn’t happen.
Indeed, my most vibrant memory from that whole visit was my embarrassment in The Fox when, for the first time ever, the barman questioned whether I was old enough to buy drinks in the pub.
I remember feeling like saying…
…but I’ve been buying drinks in this pub for years…since I was fifteen… and no-one has ever questioned it before…
…but I feared that such an admission might prevent me from being served or get me barred, so I simply asserted myself as a University student down after my first year at Uni and had my word accepted.
No ID cards for pub-going youngsters in those days. Why The Fox had started asking questions all of a sudden back then I have no idea – perhaps they had experienced some youngster trouble since my previous visit.
As for “Mark from Keele” whom we met in The Dog, I’m not sure which Mark this might have been. I don’t think it was Mark Bartholomew – perhaps it was a mate of either Sim or Tim’s who lived in or near Dulwich and was named Mark.
Diary says we didn’t return to my parents house until late – in fact I am trying to work out what the sleeping arrangements might have been. There was a studio couch in the small (fourth) bedroom which was ample for one sleeping visitor but would not have been comfortable for a couple, let alone two individual sleepers. Perhaps one of them slept on the floor in a sleeping bag.
Saturday 8 August 1981
The Saturday really was a crazy day of haring around town. Allow me to translate that diary note – I needed a bright light, a magnifier and a cold towel around my head to work it all out:
8 August – Earlyish start -> Knightsbridge -> Notting Hill -> Soho – met Mark Lewis -> Ivor’s -> eats -> Hendon -> Ivor’s -> home (knackered).
Frankly, I’m knackered just reading about that day.
I’m hoping that this article will help me to track down either Sim or Tim or both of them – perhaps their memories of this day will help me to unpick it.
I suspect that we went to Knightsbridge because one (or both) of them had a crazy craving to see that place, with its Harrods & Harvey Nicks reputation.
Possibly the same applied to Notting Hill and Soho. Possibly I encouraged the Notting Hill idea, as it was, even by then, a place with a hold on my heart, not least for the second hand record stores, which I had been visiting for a few years by then.
What we got up to in Soho I have no idea. Given that, whatever it was, we did it with my old BBYO friend and now media law supremo Mark Lewis, I suggest that readers keep their baseless allegations to themselves.
…then Hendon, where I imagine we visited Melina Goldberg, as I don’t recall staying in touch with anyone else from that BBYO group…
…then back to Ivor’s – why the diary doesn’t say – perhaps Ivor had organised a bit of a gathering of old friends from Streatham BBYO – it wouldn’t have been the first time nor the last.
Sunday 9 August 1981 – Lunch & Then Wendy’s Place Before Sim & Tim Left London
Took it easy in morning -> lunch -> Wendy’s -> Sim & Tim left, I returned home & slept a lot!
What a bunch of wimps. We’d hardly done anything the day before.
Anyway…
…I’m sure mum would have wanted the visitors to have another hearty, home-cooked meal before heading off – otherwise what might they think of us?
Eat, eat…
Then on to Wendy (Robbins)’s place, in Bromley, for a final visit of the weekend.
Not sure whether any of the other Streatham BBYO people were there. Andrea possibly, Ivor possibly…
…in any case, Bromley is probably not the ideal location out of all the places we visited that weekend from which to head back to Birmingham and Doncaster on a Sunday afternoon – but those logistical details matter a lot less to 18/19 year olds than they do to me, forty years on, re-treading the tangled maze of visits that was our London odyssey that weekend.
Goodness only knows what Sim & Tim made of it at the time, nor what they might make of it now, if they see this piece and are reminded of the weekend. I’d be delighted if others, e.g. Sim and/or Tim, got in touch with their memories to help me enhance this Ogblog piece. If they do, I’ll publish a postscript.
Possibly Christine by Siouxie & The Banshees is the pick of the mix
Ahead of a virtual gathering of the Alleyn’s “Class of 1980” in January 2021, I have decided to share the mix tapes I made right at the end of my time at Alleyn’s School.
Rohan Candappa and Nick Wahla have asked questions for that gathering, which I answered here:
Those have led to some debate. Perhaps my “end of school” mix tapes will similarly cause some discussion. At the very least, I imagine they’ll spark some memories. Chart music was part of the soundtrack of many of our lives back then.
Effectively I recorded two batches right at the end of my time at Alleyn’s. One batch around the Whitsun long weekend (end of May 1980) and then another batch right at the very end – late June – mostly the weekend after the ‘A’ levels I’d guess.
Here’s a list of the first batch – the May 1980 batch:
Messages, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark
Dance, The Lambrettas
Breathing, Kate Bush
I’m Alive, Electric Light Orchestra
Teenage, UK Subs
Let’s Go Round Again, The Average White Band
Over You, Roxy Music
The Bed’s Too Big Without You, The Police
Theme From M*A*S*H, M*A*S*H
We Are Glass, Gary Numan
Here is the list of the late June 1980 batch:
Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime, The Korgis
Christine, Siouxsie and the Banshees
The Scratch, Surface Noise
New Amsterdam, Elvis Costello
Who Wants the World, The Stranglers
Play the Game, Queen
Breaking the Law, Judas Priest
Let’s Get Serious, Jermaine Jackson
No Doubt About It, Hot Chocolate
Funky Town, Lipps Inc
Crying, Don McLean
Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps Please, Splodgenessabounds
Given the amount of time I spent in The Fox On The Hill in that last Alleyn’s week, the final recording on that list comes as no surprise. (Although for sure I’d have been drinking bitter, not lager). Anyway, I don’t think “Two Pints…” will make it onto my Desert Island Discs list. Frankly, I can’t see any of the above making that list. Christine’s a great track, as is New Amsterdam. There’s some good stuff, but it’s not my best mix tape, that’s for sure. I was kinda busy with other stuff at that time.
I am writing this up in January 2021, in part as a response to a couple of “exam questions” set by friends Nick Wahla & Rohan Candappa, ahead of a gathering of the Class of 1980 in the “Virtual Buttery”.
In Rohan’s words:
Nick Wahla’s suggested a question to ponder: “What advice would you give to someone about to leave Alleyn’s?”
It’s a good question, and one which I am obviously going to claim credit for. But I’d also like to twist it around a bit. My question is: “What advice would you give yourself if you could go back and talk to yourself on the day you left Alleyn’s?”
So, the day I left Alleyn’s was not, by my own account, a good day for me. That whole final week doesn’t read brilliantly in fact:
To transcribe that final day:
What a horrid day!!! Chem (I) -> In comm -> Econ II -> Fox after and got pissed.
I’m guessing that “in comm” means “held incommunicado”, presumably because I took the Chemistry exam before others had taken it…or others had taken the Economics exam before I took mine.
There are three mentions of going to “The Fox” that week, not just the “getting pissed” session after the exams.
The Fox On the Hill, Denmark Hill, was the hang out of choice for Alleyn’s boys like me and Anil Biltoo. I don’t think they had twigged that these fresh-faced besuited youngsters were often well below 18…or if they had twigged, at that time they didn’t care.
That “got pissed” session on my final day would doubtless have included Anil and I suspect a few others who finished their exams that day. Anyone out there remember?
The diary even for that final week of school is peppered with BBYO stuff. I was on a small National Executive with a large portfolio that year. A lot of difficult stuff had kicked off that spring, not least our sole full timer, Rebecca Lowi, was leaving on 30 June. I had agreed to run the office temporarily over the summer, while a successor was recruited, so started work on the Monday after leaving school to have a handover day with her.
It seems I spent the weekend in between leaving school and starting work with Ivor (Heller), Simon (Jacobs) and Caroline Freeman (now Curtis) on the Sunday.
But at the “day I left school” stage, that Keele element of my past was still in the future.
So, to answer Rohan’s question, “What advice would you give yourself if you could go back and talk to yourself on the day you left Alleyn’s?” I think the nub of my answer is that I would advise myself to be more reflective and thoughtful about the moment.
Yes, I had a lot going on at that time. Yes, I was psychologically in a rush to move on to fresh challenges. But I think I should have paid a little more heed at that time to the significance of the moment and reflected on that major, albeit natural, transition. And reflected on what those seven years at Alleyn’s had been about.
I have reflected on it since. Frankly, I’m not sure that reflection would have been all that profound at the time. I think it was much later that I started really to appreciate what that Alleyn’s education and those friendships, some enduring, others that resumed oh so easily, had done for me. Partly that appreciation came from growing up and partly from re-engaging with friends from school decades later. People like Rohan, Nick and many others.
But still I think that, at the time, I missed out on a “life moment” to which I can never return, by rushing away from the school that day and not looking back for years.
So, to answer Nick Wahla’s question, “What advice would you give to someone about to leave Alleyn’s?”, I’d simply say, “read this piece about the day I left Alleyn’s and try not to do it my way.”
With thanks to Mike Jones for this photograph of Bernard Rothbartnursing Mike Jones’s foot on a 1975 school field trip
In the first term of my last year at Alleyn’s School, one of our teachers, Bernard Rothbart, took his own life at the school. As I understand it, he had ingested cyanide and was discovered in his car in the school car park by some of my fellow pupils who got more than they might have bargained for when sky-larking around out of bounds. Mr Rothbart was a biology and chemistry teacher, so he must have known what he was doing in a scientific sense, but what the poor fellow’s state of mind must have been at the time is a matter for conjecture.
But the purpose of this piece is to get my personal recollections down. I remember nothing about learning of Mr Rothbart’s death, but I do clearly recall being asked to attend and then attending the funeral, at Bushey Jewish Cemetery.
I was reminded of my resolve to write up Mr Rothbart’s funeral when I received an e-mail, “out of the blue”, early summer 2020, from one of the scallywags who discovered poor Mr Rothbart, wondering whether I had got around to writing it up yet. I promised to do so, but it wasn’t until late September 2020 that I steeled myself to the task.
Sunday 9 December 1979: Went to school for rock practice and on to Mr Rothbart’s funeral. Easyish evening.
I’m struggling to recall what “rock practice” was about, but I do remember one occasion spending some weekend time in the old gym watching Mark Stevens, Neil Voce and some of their mates practicing in their nascent rock band. I’m guessing that this was that very visit and that I was taking the opportunity to see the lads rehearse as I needed to be at the school in order to join the school’s funeral party.
I’m hoping that Mark, Neil and possibly others can fill in the rock practice bit.
But a more important question in this context is, “why was I, one of Mr Rothbart’s least-distinguished chemistry students, asked…almost begged…to be one of the pupils to attend the funeral?”
The answer is almost solely based on ethnic profiling. I’m pretty sure it was John “Squeaky” Newton who asked me to attend and I’m pretty sure he fessed up to the fact that none of the teachers had the faintest idea what a Jewish funeral was about, so the brains trust had concluded that I might help them in that regard. They also thought that my presence might help put Bernard Rothbart’s poor grieving parents/family a little more at ease with the Alleyn’s School contingent.
There is an adage in the medical (surgical) world, “see one, do one, teach one”, encapsulating the need for (and sometimes disputed benefits of) trickling down experience and knowledge at high speed. Unfortunately, in this instance, by December 1979, I hadn’t yet been through the “see one” phase of attending a funeral. It is not the done thing in the Jewish tradition for minors (under 13s) to attend the funeral itself; in the four years after my 13th birthday, my family had, inconveniently, been bereavement free.
Having neither “seen one” nor “done one” before, my only available source of sage advice on such matters was my parents. Like most people in their 50s, they had experience of funerals which they were able to impart. Unfortunately,they had a significant difference of opinion as to the type of funeral I was about to experience.
Mum was adamant that, as Bernard Rothbart had committed suicide, that we would experience a much scaled down version of the funeral, as the burial of suicides in the orthodox tradition cannot take place on consecrated ground and are consequently minimal.
Dad was equally sure that there was no facility for such burials at Bushey. He suspected that the authorities in such situations often agree to a compassionate coroners’ verdict of “accidental death” in order to spare the bereaved loved ones of the further suffering resulting from a verdict, perceived to be shameful, of suicide.
Dad even consulted with his coroner friend & neighbour, Arnold Levene, who concurred with Dad’s view. They were right. Arnold was nearly always right.
Leatrice & Arnold Levene, 1975
These discussions led to several family conversations on the various ethical aspects of this matter. I’m not sure if we were philosophical/theological/logical or whatever, this was 1979 after all, the year of The Logical Song.
Anyway, it was my job on the day of the funeral to be acceptable, respectable, presentable, (but not) a vegetable. I did my best.
I was at least presentable in my Alleyn’s three-piece suit when I scrubbed up purposefully:
Me & Wendy Robbins On Westminster Bridge, Autumn 1979, the only photo I have of me in “that suit”
I remember briefing the Alleyn’s teachers and my fellow pupils as best I could. I have a feeling we went from the school by coach, but perhaps we assembled for a conversation before leaving the school and then went to the funeral in several teachers’ cars.
I don’t recall which of my fellow pupils attended. I think Chris Grant was there. I don’t know why but I can visualise Paul Driscoll being there. I suspect that this article will trigger some memories in other people who attended; I’ll amend this paragraph in due course if need be.
I do recall feeling quite numb and feeling that I didn’t really belong there. I felt a bit of a fraud, as the supposed fount of ethnic knowledge, for having had to mug up on the topic, about which I had been ignorant, in order to be that fount. A career in the professional advice business since has taught me to have no shame or fear of such situations, as long as you put the effort in to the mugging up on your subject in time.
I also felt a bit of a fraud in my capacity as one of Bernard Rothbart’s pupils. I knew I was pretty hopeless at the organic chemistry Mr Rothbart was supposed to be teaching me. Some of that hopelessness might be attributed to the teacher but most of it was down to my unwillingness to acquire the available knowledge from him.
Indeed, I remember the pangs of guilt from musing, I now realise foolishly, that it was possible that Bernard Rothbart had been driven to suicide by my utterly dismal organic chemistry mock exam paper that was (presumably) on Mr Rothbart’s desk when he died. “If I can’t even get any of this stuff across to a pupil like Harris…”
But of course I will have gone through the process of being a non-principal attendee at the Jewish funeral correctly, followed by other pupils and teachers “seeing one and then doing one” at each stage of the ceremony. Of course I will have said the right sort of thing to the principal mourners. I knew how to behave. Hopefully still do.
I know that Bernard Rothbart’s death weighs on many Alleyn’s alum’s minds. The self-violation of his mode of death. The fact that it was the first time in many of our juvenile/young adult lives that we encountered death. And that feeling of guilt, almost exclusively misguided, as Mr Rothbart had not been a popular teacher amongst the pupils. But of course we hardly knew him…or rather we only knew him in his capacity as a teacher, a career we have learnt subsequently did not please him at all. That is very sad.
I really like Mike Jones’s Lake District field trip photos from 1975. Bernard Rothbart has a smile on his face in one of them and is performing an act of kindness in the other.
DeepAI Imagines The 01 Once Daily Streatham Hill To London Bridge
We had our own special train that took us from Streatham Hill directly to North Dulwich (and then on to London Bridge). A great service for us Alleyn’s kids from Streatham Hill, not needing to change. It was even named/numbered the 01, perhaps in honour of its once a day status.
Of course it was not just for us Alleyn’s kids; there were kids from other schools – Tulse Hill Comp. and William Penn to name but two – on that train too. No self-respecting adults rode on that train as far as I can remember.
In the early days, there were very few of us from Alleyn’s who got on at the start of that run – possibly just me and Andy Levinson. We loved the fact that we could see the train in the siding and that it pulled into the station, seemingly for us.
Andy a couple of years later
Latterly for sure Rupert Jefferies, Justin Sutton and I think one or two others from Alleyn’s joined the train at Streatham Hill, but those guys I think started after the “mugging” described below.
Friday 21 February 1975 – “mugged” on train. TV Sportstown, Rhoda, Porridge and MASH v good.
I remember a fair bit about the incident, although I don’t think I could identify the brace of assailants now. In those days, British Rail had 10×10 person compartment carriages on those suburban trains. Andy and I usually had a compartment to ourselves, but on this occasion we were joined by two larger lads. They seemed well big to us, but we were 12; they might have been 15 or 16.
Hey boys, they shouted, have you got any money…and we said…
…very little. We had very little money. We were schoolboys who had no need for money on a regular school day, so I suspect we had a couple of bob between us. (That’s 10p if younger readers are unfamiliar with the terminology).
We gave them what little we had and then, I remember this so clearly, the assailants sort-of boxed…pretty much just slapped, our ears, perhaps in frustration at the paucity of their haul and/or possibly because our suits betrayed the fact that we were from a posh school.
Ultra-violence it wasn’t, which is why my diary entry used the term “mugged” rather than, for example, MUGGED.
Saturday 22 February 19 75 – TV Doctor Who, Walt Disney. David Aarons – Monopoly, I won. [He] taught me gin rummy.
Two Saturdays in a row my parents must have gone out, two Saturdays in a row David Aarons (one of Lionel & Dina Aarons’s children) came around. Mum and dad must have been fitting in a few socials ahead of mum going in for her hip replacement.
At age 12-and-a-half, I clearly didn’t have it in me to use the term “babysitting” in my diary, but that is what this would have been. David could have only just turned 16 by then. Prior to David, it was quite often one of his big sisters, Ruth or Judith, who would babysit for me. They had probably outgrown that role by then – indeed one of them at least was probably already at University by then. I don’t think the fourth Aarons “kid”, Robert, ever babysat for me.
I remember those sessions with David well. My perception was that he treated me more like a grown up than his sisters. Possibly I WAS quite a bit more grown up with him, or at least a fair bit closer to his age and stage of life. I do remember him teaching me games, although I had quite forgotten that he set me on the road to Gin Rummy. I remember him using some choice phrases that I liked and emulated for a while. I especially liked:
Expletive deleted…
…when indicated a desire to swear but the restraint to avoid doing so. I still use that one occasionally. I was saddened to learn that he died of brain cancer tragically young.
Sunday 23 February 1975 – classes good. Chinese good. Came home after lunch. TV The Great War, Who Do You Do.
Monday 24 February 1975 – went to visit mum in hospital. TV Goodies, Call My Bluff.
Tuesday 25 February 1975 – went to visit mum again. Rather uneventful day. Saw muggers in next door café.
Dad couldn’t cook to save his life, so while mum was in hospital having her hip replacement, we ate almost every night in restaurants and cafes – either in Streatham, Camberwell or somewhere inbetween.
I recall the fact that I spotted the previous week’s assailants in a cafe just a few days later and pointed the fact out to my dad. It was one of those moments when you realise that your dad is not the all-embracing protector that your childhood assumes him to be. I can’t remember exactly what dad said, but it would have been something along the lines of…
…put it out of your mind, son.
It’s possible that he didn’t believe that I had really spotted the right guys. After all, even the police had a lousy reputation for identifying and nailing the right young criminals in such circumstances.But I’m equally sure that dad would have, quite rightly, felt loathe to take on such a situation.
Wednesday 26 February 1975 – went into Uncle Cyril’s cos of operation, went to [Cyril’s] shop, masala yum yum, played chess and I won!
Uncle Cyril in this instance is our next door neighbour Cyril Barnett. This was probably the first time that Cyril and his wife Marion took me in the back of their van up to Chalk Farm to deliver stock to his shop and have a treat at Marine Ices as a reward for helping them.
What would “elf & safety” say about a 12 year old kid rattling around in the back of a van with a whole load of shutters on rails? We could probably have Cyril and Marion taken away in chains for that today, but back then we all rolled with such risks and I rather enjoyed the thrill of those van rides…
Cyril: proof positive that you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs
…and I absolutely loved Marine Ices masala-flavoured ice cream. I fear the place has now gone, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Thursday, 27 February 1975 – visited mummy after shop. Dinner, “Adam’s Ribs”. TV The Roman Way, Dave Allen At Large.
”Dinner Adam’s Ribs” is a reference to a segment in MASH, where one of the characters was dreaming about his favourite Chinese spare ribs restaurant, which was named Adam’s Ribs. After visiting mum in Kings College Hospital, Dad and I found a Chinese restaurant in Camberwell where we both thought the spare ribs especially fine, so we declared that they were Adam’s Ribs.
Friday 28 February 1975 – Went to shop. Visited mummy. TV Porridge and MASH..
Saturday 1 March 1975 – Went to Andrew after school. Played snooker. Visited mummy again.
Mum was in hospital for 10 days or so, I think, having her Stanmore inserted.
It is strange sitting writing this article in the clinic, almost 50 years to the day that mum had her hip replaced, having just yesterday had mine replaced. She got 40 years out of hers, I doubt if I’ll need or want 40 years out of mine!
Let’s be honest – my handwriting did not improve during my Alleyn’s years
Sunday 2 February 1975 – classes good. Grandma Anne for tea. TV Film: Bueno Sera, Mrs Campbell.
Monday 3 February 1975– Fives good. TV Likely Lads, Alias Smith and Jones v good.
Tuesday 4 February 1975 – classes good. Went to Uncle Arnold’s. Very interesting. TV The Mighty Continent.
“Uncle Arnold’s” means Arnold Levene‘s house. Arnold, Leatrice and their several children (some of whom, especially Rachel and Caroline, will crop up at times in my diaries) lived in Abbotswood Road, about five minutes walk from our place. Arnold & Leatrice were good friends with my parents.
“Uncle Arnold” was a consultant pathologist at the Royal Marsden and also had a side-line as a coroner’s pathologist.
I remember this visit incredibly clearly for the “interesting” episode to which i refer. Arnold had learnt that my mother was due to have total hip arthroplasty later in February.
Presumably, while undertaking a post mortem around that time, he uncovered a Stanmore prosthetic hip, the very type my mother was due to have. Arnold must have thought that it would “do the boy good” to see the exact type of hip joint that his mother was about to receive, so he presented me with that rather gory trophy on this visit, explaining in great detail how such prosthetics work.
Mum was more than a little horrified. Dad was more than a little amused. “What’s Ian supposed to do with that?”, asked mum, pointing at the prosthetic which still showed some visible signs of its recent physical location.
He should take it to school, to show his schoolmates, and thereafter use it as a doorstop…
…was Arnold’s typically blunt reply.
I took Arnold’s advice for many decades, although it also lived tucked away in drawers at times, when Resting from doorstop duties. But at some point a few years ago, Janie decided that the item spooked her, so I either deep filed it very deeply indeed (I cannot find it) or I agreed to part company with it.
Which is a shame, as, 50 years later, I am about to get a prosthetic hip joint of my own. And although mine will be all ceramic and quite possibly pink, I’d quite like to see “old, faithful Stan” again. Not sure I’d want to wear a second hand one, though.
Sounds as though “trying hockey” was a good idea for me
Wednesday 5 February 1975 – Hockey v good. 3-2 us, I scored two of the three. TV Anna and the King, Top Crown and Till Death Us Do Part.
Thursday 6 February 1975 – classes good. TV The Roman Way, After That…This, The Two Ronnies.
Friday 7 February 1975 – PE good. TV Sportstown. Chico and the Man, Nellie (not on your) and MASH.
Saturday, 8 February 1975 – got nasty cold. Went shopping. TV Doctor Who, Disney, Pot Black, Jane Eyre and Kojak v good.
Sunday 9 February 1975 – still bad cold. Missed classes. TV Who Do You Do!?!?!?
Monday 10 February 1975 – prepared for entrance exams. TV Likely Lads, Smith and Jones, Goodies, Call My Bluff.
Tuesday, 11 February 1975 – entrance exam – Tindale. V good. TV. MacMillan & Wife, Androcles & The Lion film.
I vaguely recall helping to supervise entrance exams and feeling very grown up that we second years were entrusted with the enormous responsibility of “sitting there”. Trevor Tindale no doubt made the role feel terribly important and will have marshalled us in his inimitable and positive manner, hence the name check.
Androcles and the Lion was one of those “of their time” 1950s epic movies, starring Jean Simmons & Victor Mature. My dad loved GB Shaw’s writing, which is probably why we watched it.
“Whatever you do, don’t mention the Roman-Parthian wars…”.
The so-called-AI app that I use to turn my dictation into text, named that film “Andrew Cleese & the Lion”, which I rather like as an alternative. John’s brother, presumably?
Wednesday 12 February 1975 – Chapel (no). TV Top Crown, Till Death Us Do Part.
Thursday 13 February 1975 – could learn viola. TV the Roman Way, The Two Ronnies.
To understand why “could learn viola” is a funny line, you need to understand how utterly awful I was at playing the violin. The noise was excruciating.
My mother wanted me to play, because I come from a long line of elite violinists…
That particular bit of the family talent gene pool didn’t make it to me. Nor did a switch to viola do anything other than lower the tone even further. [Did you see what I did there?]
Deeper doo-doo
Friday 14 February 1975 – field day. Kew Gardens. ‘Green grows my bogling fork”. Went to Paul’s after, great day. TV Sportstown, Paper Moon and MASH v good.
In truth I remember little about the field trip to Kew Gardens. I don’t think it was our first choice. Gardens have never really been my thing…neither have outdoor places when the weather is cold been my thing.
But I do remember Paul Deacon teaching me the “Green Grows My Bogling Fork” song…
…aka Green Grow My Nadgers Oh
Paul Deacon might choose to explain himself or comment further upon the inexplicable.
Saturday 15 February 1975 – half term, uneventful. TV Doctor Who, Walt Disney, David Aarons – Monopoly.
Sunday, 16 February 1975 – classes talk. Afternoon went with Ida Manny and Anthony. TV Who Do You Do? Kalooki.
Monday 17 February 1975 – uneventful. Played with games etc. TV Likely Lads, Alias Smith & Jones, Goodies and Call My Bluff.
Tuesday, 18 February 1975 – went shopping, classes good. TV McMillan and Wife, The Mighty Continent.
I’ll write up the David Aarons story next time, as he came around again the following Saturday.
I cannot get that wretched Green Grows My Bogling Fork song out of my head again now. Thank you, Paul Deacon!
I wonder whether one should use a Chamley or a Stanmore prosthetic hip as a bogling fork? Surely some medical people among my readership can advice.
Is that Chris Grant and others trying hockey in this 1975/76 picture?
This article is a sequel to my recent piece about the first half of January 1975 which involved what must surely be the worst defeat I ever suffered on a football pitch:
That article was enhanced by some timely correspondence from the antipodes, with Nigel Allott, who more-or-less confessed to being the goalie in that match. Whether his family’s flight to the antipodes a year or so later was connected with that humiliation is a matter purely for conjecture. I find it hard to imagine any other reason to emigrate to New Zealand in 1976. 🤪
But then, a few days after publication, in mid-January 2025, a coincidental encounter with another prominent Alleyn’s Old Boy Goalie, Simon Barton.
Finding Barton, Hidden In Plain Sight
For those of you who don’t follow Ogblog comprehensively, I should explain that my sports enthusiasm since school has focussed on cricket and tennis – latterly that most wonderful sport real tennis, which I took up in 2016.
I have even managed some modicum of success at real tennis, not least on the following occasion:
Real tennis is a friendly, welcoming game. Enthusiasts encourage new players, for whom our fiendishly complex game is always extremely difficult at first. We use handicapping, which helps us to play “mixed ability / mixed experience” games. At Lord’s, which is my home court, I curate club nights, which are convivial and friendly. The mini matches we play are competitive, but with a very small “c”.
Recently I have encountered a relative newbie – a chap named Simon Barton, whom I partnered in a friendly game of doubles the other other day. In the sort of locker room chat that goes on in places such as the MCC locker room, Simon mentioned that he was to play a golf match the following week against the Old Alleynians, to which I instinctively said:
ah, great, make sure you sock it to them!
When Simon wondered why I said that and I explained that I am an AOB, he exclaimed…
…so am I!…
…and of course we started swapping Alleyn’s stories.
The coincidence is all the more strange, because a quick trawl of the Scribblerus resources I have been mining for pictures of late, revealed Simon’s name underneath the “goalies eye view” picture I used in my early January 1975 piece, linked above:
Once Simon has gained a bit more experience at real tennis and once I have recovered from my impending hip replacement surgery, I hope we can represent the AOBs in The Cattermull Cup, which is THE handicap school alumni tournament for real tennis. Target – spring 2026.
Second Half Of January 1975 – When I Mercifully Switched Away From Footie
Sunday, 19 January 1975 – Classes morning. Afternoon [Grandma] Jenny and Doris [Marcus – widow of my mother’s cousin Harry]. Very nice change [from seeing my Harris grandma, Anne]. TV Planet of the Apes.
Monday, 20 January 1975 – Games choice – hockey. TV Likely Lads, Smith and Jones, Call My Bluff, Churchill’s People.
Tuesday 21 January 1975 – uneventful. Classes good. TV The Mighty continent on World War II – very interesting.
Wednesday, 22 January 1975 – Fives – great tuition from Mr Tindale. Evening went to Peacock club to arrange Bar mitzvah [party].
Thursday, 23 January 1975 – classes good. TV Roman Way, After That…This and The Two Ronnies- very good
Friday, 24 January 1975 – Biology – petri dishes. TV Sportstown, MASH.
Saturday 25 January 1975 – Exeat [i.e. no Saturday morning school]. Went to Shule. Afternoon uneventful. TV Doctor Who, Generation Game, Pot Black.
It’s interesting, to me, that I was noting the content of biology classes at that time. Chris Liffen was our 2AK biology teacher. I remember that he was strict and could be tetchy if he thought you were being lazy or lazy-minded, but he took great pains to try to make the lessons interesting, which clearly worked with me and inspired me to jot down a reminder of the content in my diary. Don’t try to quiz me on topics such as petri dishes, bacteria and/or milk.
Not quite this level of fives
Sunday, 26 January 1975 – Classes good. Kalloki 4p
Monday, 27 January 1975 – Tu BiShvat [a sort-of ecological Jewish festival – I had to Google it], so went to classes. TV Alias Smith Jones, Call My Bluff, Churchill’s People.
Tuesday, 28 January 1975 – No classes because of yesterday – otherwise uneventful. [I love the way the absence of an activity was the most…indeed the only…eventful thing I could mention that day]
Wednesday 29 January 1975 – Fives v good. Alan [Cooke] and I beat Tug & Athaide, and Barnett & Friersen. I beat Fred and Alan 15-10 TV Till Death Us Do Part
Thursday 30 January 1975 – Classes v good. TV After That…This and The Two Ronnies
Friday 31 January 1975 – Uneventful. Biology bacteria and milk. TV Sportstown and MASH and Rhoda v good.
Saturday 1 February 1975 – School morning. Afternoon played on my own. TV Doctor Who, Generation Game, Jane Eyre and Kojak.
More important questions than “who loves ya, baby?”:
Who was nicknamed Tug?
Who was nicknamed Fred?
Answers in the comments (or by private message if guesses).
Update On The Exam Questions
I really should read my own resources before asking questions. According to my 1974/75 class names list, “Pullinger” was known as “Tug”. I suspect also that “Fred” doesn’t read Fred at all, but reads “Brad” for Dave Bradshaw:
