Tag: Alleyn's School

Cous Cous Club Christmas Dinner At Souk, 17 December 2025

The Cous Cous Club is a gathering of Alleyn’s Old Boys from the mid to late 1970s – most of whom I have therefore known for over 50 years at the time of writing. In fact many of us have been gathering occasionally and informally in this way for decades.

It was one of Rohan Candappa’s ideas to name and brand a well established thing that previously had no sense of brand identity. Rohan used to be in advertising, but now does this sort of thing in his spare time.

I missed the inaugural meeting of the Cous Cous Club at Souk back in early autumn. I was in the USA, talking at the International Tennis Hall of Fame about events 150 years ago, at another of my clubs, that led to the codification of tennis into the modern game as we know it:

1875 And All That

Still, despite the fact that I might easily confuse CCC and MCC in future conversations, Rohan invited me to join the Cous Cous Club for its first Christmas dinner and naturally I said “yes please”.

I was the first to arrive at the restaurant. Most of the party had gathered at a nearby hostelry for a pre-dinner drink, whereas I was coming hot foot from a prior engagement.

My earlier appointment had been a meeting with Professor Tim Connell, to plan my slot at the Gresham Society soirée, which this time will be in mid January rather than during the pre Christmas mêlée. I usually grace the soirée with late medieval music…sometimes more genuine than other times:

Gresham Society Soirée, Including Þe Fair Weather Canticle, 12 December 2022

As the Cous Cous Club was on my mind, I teased Tim with the notion that I was planning, for Gresham Society, a sing-along of very, very old songs: Slade, Sweet, T-Rex, Rod…

But once I realised that Tim was close to tears and/or apoplexy at this thought, I showed him the early 17th century material, with a Gresham College connection, which I actually have in mind for the soirée sing-along. Tim then cheered up and calmed down.

Anyway, point is, as first to arrive at Souk, I got to chat with the charming and friendly waiter who was to be our main host for the evening. When I explained to him what the Cous Cous Club was, and the antiquity of our shared experience, the waiter was quite blown away. I suspect that young waiter has been on the planet for less half the time we Alleyn’s Old Boys have known each other.

No pressure…

…I said to the waiter, who just beamed, knowing that he and his colleagues would be able to cope with whatever collective curve balls our group of old boys might throw at them.

Then the main gang turned up from the pub, followed by a trickle of late-comers.

So who was there?…

…I hear multiple readers cry. Let’s call the register. This is school, after all, even if it is 50+ years on:

  • Nick Wahla
  • Rohan Candappa
  • Claire Brooke
  • Paul Driscoll
  • Simon Ryan
  • Andy Feeley
  • Dave Leach
  • Steve Butterworth
  • Perry Harley
  • John Eltham
  • Me (obvs).

Rohan provided each of us with a fez…apart from John Eltham who, always one of the keenest scouts, had brought his own. Rohan also awarded me my Cous Cous Club membership badge, which felt a bit like being inducted into The Tufty Club, but without first having to cross the road safely.

There were a couple of notable absences, not least Lisa Pavlovsky and Dave Wellbrook. That led, naturally, to those absent friends getting the hardest time of the evening. That might seem unfair, as they had no opportunity on the night to defend themselves, but life isn’t fair. The fact that life isn’t fair is a lesson you learn early at the very best schools. You also learn it at Alleyn’s. And you especially learn that lesson at the Cous Cous Club.

Claire Brooke had come all the way from Harrogate for the evening. Rohan felt, with some justification, that a wrong from the first gathering needed to be put right.

At the early Autumn inaugural Cous Cous Club gathering, Rohan had awarded Lisa Pavlovsky with a trophy recognising her as the first female House Captain at Alleyn’s School.

Lisa, awarded, beaming, early autumn 2025. Photo “borrowed” from Facebook.

But soon after that first event, it emerged that Claire Brooke had been the first female House Captain, albeit a joint one, the previous year. Rohan felt obliged to put matters right:

Claire, beaming, with her revenge trophy, awarded by Rohan, December 2025

Chat soon turned to sport and tales of derring-do gone by. As usual, John Eltham and Nigel Boatswain reminded me about my infeasibly successful/lucky stint in goal against them (Cribbs v Duttons) although the exact details of that story keep changing in people’s memories.

Exciting news, gang – I have actually found a diary reference to that glorious day on the football pitch, which might well be my only such diary entry in all the years I kept diaries. To be Ogblogged in the fullness of time – watch that space.

Then there was reference to the question “who was the youngest grandfather”, as Andy Feeley has recently become one of those. My arithmetical brain worked out that Dave Leach must have first become a grandfather when he was younger than Andy Feeley is now…which I think is right…but apparently that wasn’t the question. Andy Feeley was the youngest person in the room who is now a grandfather.

My confusion was deemed to be Wellbrookian, which turned the conversation to thoughts of Dave Wellbrook and why he wasn’t with us.

Has the lurgy…

…was as close to a polite answer as we got.

Dave Unwellbrook, then…

…I bet no-one had ever made that joke before.

Talk then naturally turned to Wellbrook’s recent treading of the boards, which several (braver than me) Cous Cous Club members had witnessed.

Wellbrook’s self-image, from Facebook. Is this acting, the method or something entirely other?

Nick Wahla’s review was an absolute classic. I paraphrase:

Wellbrook was very much himself in that performance, but he occasionally lapsed into real acting.

Praise indeed. Nick – you really should turn your hand to being a theatre critic.

Out of nowhere, Perry Harley related a story to me about him meeting Mungo Jerry while on holiday in Bournemouth. Perry wondered whether I remembered any Mungo Jerry songs other than “In the Summertime”.

Off the top of my head, I mentioned “Alright Alright Alright” and “Long Legged Woman Dressed In Black”, which raised much mirth and some scepticism too.

It was hard to disabuse Perry and friends of the scepticism, as neither Perry nor I could get our smartphones to connect to the outside world.

Strange how my memory instantly dredged up these tunes and lyrics from that era, way back when we all first met.

Rohan shot a short clip of video that evening, which I can share with you, dear, long-suffering readers:

I wondered, on seeing that clip, whether I might now, after all these years, be even more gobby than Nick Wahla. Now THERE’S a thought.

Yet, I was hugely honoured to read, on Facebook, that Rich Davies – who is hiding in Canada, blaming a little bit of slightly inclement weather for his absence from the evening – had awarded me the Golden Camel for looking the most Moroccan amongst us. That might have had something to do with the fact that I was the last to remove my fez hat.

Anyway, in case it isn’t clear by now, it was great to see everyone and I’m pretty sure we all had a great time.

Thanks, Rohan, for being such a stalwart organiser of great get-togethers. Much appreciated. And so well branded.

Merry Cousmas everybody.

Guest Piece By Andy Dwelly: Memories Of & Thoughts On Stephen Jenkins – Alleyn’s School Teacher Extraordinaire

Stephen Jenkins in Combined Cadet Force (CCF) garb, c1975

Andy Dwelly and I were both at Alleyn’s School between 1973 and 1980. We were in the same class for one year only, in 2AK, 1974/75. But both of us, separately, experienced the phenomenon that was the “teaching style” of Mr Jenkins. In Andy’s case, as a nipper in 1C. In my case, in the third, fourth and fifth years. I have written a little about Stephen Jenkins previously and will no doubt write more as my diary trawl 1975-1978 unfolds.

Meanwhile, Andy has written the following charming, informative and thoughtful essay about the man. I am honoured and delighted that Andy has asked me to publish this piece on Ogblog.

Mayan friezes at Xunantunich, Belize

Some memories of my life around 1973 recently resurfaced and I found myself curious about our most unusual teacher, Mr. Jenkins, or Mr. Murder as he introduced himself to class 1C in 1973. That research led to Ian’s blog and the fact that Mr Jenkin’s given name was Stephen. That was something that I’d either forgotten – or given the distance between masters and boys, never actually knew. That name turned out to be the key that reveals some things about this uncommon individual that are still available to us.

I’m older now than he was when he taught us, and although I’m sure he would have regarded it as gross impudence, I’m going to refer to him as Stephen from now on. I’m interested in the individual and I’m perfectly willing to speculate where actual facts are unavailable. There are known facts though.

Stephen was born in 1920 so he would have been in his early fifties when we first encountered him.

Given his birth year, he must have been involved in the 2nd World War in some kind of military capacity and presumably stayed in the army for some time after. He was in fact Lieutenant-Colonel Anthony Stephen Jenkins. In practical terms that means he probably would have been the commanding officer of a battalion – perhaps three to four hundred men.

If you needed to find him, to hand in some late homework for example, he could invariably be found in the CCF storage rooms in the basement level of the main school.

I was surprised when Ian pointed out that he was appointed head of the CCF in 1975, and was also in charge of a variety of other extra-curricular activities including fencing, wargames, photography, and he was house master of Brown’s as well. I wasn’t in Brown’s, so I don’t know how much of an active part he played in that area of the school, but I can report that in several years of war gaming including some rather good tank battles – I never saw him.

Eric Randall – most in our era would have associated Eric, rather than Mr Jenkins, as the CCF’s leader. Also to note, I (Ian) would have processed this picture through the Photographic Society, within which I was highly active for some years, but I don’t remember ever seeing Mr Jenkins there.

One notable characteristic of the man was that he could rhapsodise for hours on something that most reasonable people would regard as an insignificant detail. On one occasion he got started on the best way to take notes and he carefully went over his personal highly evolved system of note taking and notebooks. This included the one he carried around with him all the time, and the larger one where details got transferred to at appropriate moments. There might have been even more significant notebooks in a strict hierarchy that were used in special ways.

For some reason I have the impression that he used various coloured pens as well. Unfortunately I did not learn much more about the Fertile Crescent that I think was the actual subject of the lesson. I did learn that he had a great many notebooks and I developed a distinct impression that he would soon be checking up on us to make sure we were all carrying small notebooks as well. That last one must have struck a chord as inevitably I do happen to do that these days.

Editor’s notebook and editor’s note thereon: “I think I have spotted a pattern here, Andy”.

He was married in 1969 to a wholly remarkable woman, Thelma Hewitt. She died in 2019 and her obituary in The Times reveals perhaps more than Stephen would have liked about his own life. She certainly saw something special in him.

Stephen claimed a working knowledge of three oriental languages. Tibetan, Mongolian, and Manchu. He also had a personal interest in the Maya and said he was familiar enough with their hieroglyphs and dialects to be able to translate them. He once set me a “project” of finding out what I could about the Maya and marked me down when all I could actually locate were facts about the Aztecs. I’m inclined to take both these claims at face value.

Tikal in northern Guatemala – a magnificent Mayan site

He did in fact visit Mongolia and I suspect Tibet, around 1970 for an extended period. This was one of two claimed visits though I can find no record of the other one. Rowswell showed admirable independence of thought when he publicly doubted this story…

When Fellow Pupil Sandy Rowswell Challenged Our Alleyn’s Schoolmaster Stephen “Mr Murder” Jenkins On The Veracity Of His Tales Of Visiting Tibet, Possibly Spring 1976

Rowswell was however, completely wrong.

Stephen Jenkins went to Mongolia alone – ostensibly sent by the British Council. He returned several months later in very poor health and only able to walk slowly. He was nursed back to health by Thelma and he must have partly recovered by the time we knew him. Unfortunately the Gobi desert, a few hundred kilometres to the south was used throughout the 60s for above ground nuclear tests by China.

Project 596 Nuclear Test

His condition was poorly understood at the time but I speculate that at some point he may have been exposed to a significant amount of radioactive fallout. His death from bone cancer in the ’90s might have been caused by this. I don’t have an exact date although it was probably in or near Wisbech in Cambridgeshire.

I think some of these factors might explain both the slightly fierce personality that he displayed and his disinclination to actually teach. If he had been invalided out of some senior military position he would have effectively gone from a job with a great deal of responsibility and respect to trying to teach a class of thirty or so unruly south London boys in a subject that he had training in, but no very special interest. On top of this he was not entirely well. I have to acknowledge that in terms of actually teaching he was far from the most able. I suspect some very senior strings may have been pulled to get him the position. Of course that’s pure speculation on my part.

What he was interested in was a very esoteric form of Buddhism, UFOs, ley-lines, and ghosts.

Given the Christian-centric nature of Alleyn’s he certainly downplayed his own spiritual beliefs but as he claimed to have been instructed in both the theory and practice of Tantric rituals in Mongolia, I have no doubt that he was effectively a practising Buddhist. The other obsessions (they really were obsessions) seem to have gained their power from this.

These are bold claims. Where’s the evidence?

The first is from the relatively brief obit about Thelma, published here – just click.

Mostly about Thelma naturally but Stephen gets a look in.

The rest are from his book – The Undiscovered Country – which was recently reissued by somebody or other at around £17 on Amazon.

It’s very densely written but reading through it certainly gives you a flavour of the man and his era. It’s a reprographic copy of the 1982 edition I think. The pictures are very poor quality but it’s an interesting read. This reveals his age, his language abilities, his interests, and something of what he was doing while he was in Mongolia. He doesn’t give a lot of personal details but they are there. If you want to get it, don’t confuse him with the Cornish poet of the same name. Amazon certainly has.

If you cast your mind back to the actual cultural situation in 1973, ideas similar to his were having a rather public moment. Lyall Watson’s Supernature had just been published. Dr. Who in the form of the third Doctor had spent his final six episodes partly in a Buddhist monastery in Somerset. [Stephen was certainly aware of Dr. Who]. Uri Geller had bent spoons on Blue Peter. The Sunday Times had published a full colour story on Kirlian photography and auras in their Sunday Supplement. These were just the tip of the Age of Aquarius iceberg.

Samding Monastery, Yomdrok, Tibet. Editor’s note: Janie and I have been to Tibet. Really…honestly…

I can certainly forgive Stephen for his enthusiasms and he was working in a situation that surely wouldn’t have welcomed some of his more obscure views. Given the things he was prepared to talk about, it seems strange to claim that he was actually relatively reticent, but he was and we can hardly blame him.

Certainly one or two of the other staff must have been aware at some level of what an odd duck he actually was. I recall that we were occasionally asked by various incredulous staff members what outlandish tale he had come up with in the previous lesson. The one that actually sticks in my mind was his claim that he owned a cat that could talk. I was never able to tell if he was serious with that one or simply playing with our heads. I’m also very fond of his description of the instantly deep frozen mammoths around the size of Alsatian dogs that had been discovered in Siberia – were they actually mammoths?

Thanks Stephen. Godspeed.

Just a final editor’s note…or footnote. Stephen Jenkins clearly had a long association with Alleyn’s School, having been a pupil there and having taught there for many years before his Central Asian adventures/misadventures and his years teaching us.

This is a link to the above archive photograph from 1967, on Mirrorpix, where this image and others are licensable. It depicts Stephen Jenkins with singer/actor Gary Miller and his sons, ahead of a production of Hamlet at the school. Clearly Stephen Jenkins was properly active with the Drama Society at that time. And in the great Stephen Jenkins tradition of going off at a tangent – Gary Miller’s biggest hit was the theme music to the Adventures of Robin Hood. Try listening to the following YouTube and then getting that tune out of your head.

Once again, many thanks to Andy Dwelly for this corker of a guest piece.

God’s Gift, Pure Genius, Or Both? Annex To Alleyn’s School Class Of 1980 Virtual Buttery 3, 20 January 2021

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

I was reminded of all of this by a posting on Facebook in the Keele University alums area.

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.

With all due modesty…

But Me No Butteries, Virtual Buttery Gathering Of Alleyn’s Alums, 14 January 2021

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.

This “Virtual Buttery” session was the third such gathering of the Alleyn’s School “Class of 1980”. I wrote up the first of those gatherings in the autumn:

A Virtual Gathering Of People Who Left Alleyn’s School In 1980, 12 November 2020

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?

I chose to answer this question by Ogblogging about the day I left Alleyn’s School…

The Day I Left (Alleyn’s) School, 27 June 1980

…and confessing to the music I was putting onto my mix tapes at that time:

Mix Tapes From Around The Time That I Left Alleyn’s School, Late May To 28 June 1980

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),
  • Paul Deacon and Rich “The Rock” Davis claiming to be in Ontario’s freezing cold lockdown, although I have a sneaking suspicion that they might actually be sunning themselves in the Caribbean, as seems to be the Ontario way,
  • 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.

A Virtual Gathering Of People Who Left Alleyn’s School In 1980, 12 November 2020

Blame Rohan Candappa.

Rohan Candappa: “I have another idea…”

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”…

…and back then a Zoom was an ice lolly, not a meeting.

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…

Ghosts, ThreadZoomMash Performance Piece, Plus Reflections On The Evening, 21 October 2020

…or another…

An Award-Winning Evening During Which I Hung Out With The Alleyn’s Old Boys Crowd, Sripur Restaurant, 6 December 2018

…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.

I have to be honest about this; I really was not in the mood for a reunion come 19:30 on 12 November. I had received some horrible news just a couple of hours before the event; the sudden and totally unexpected death of a friend, Mike Smith:

A Personal Tribute To Professor Mike Smith, 12 November 2020

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!

When Worlds Collided And A Crazy Social Whirl Resulted: My Keele Friends Sim & Tim’s Weekend To The Alleyn’s & BBYO Version of London, 7 to 9 August 1981

Photo: PAUL FARMER / The Crown and Greyhound Dulwich Village (aka The Dog)

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.

I had been spending a fair amount of time with those two towards the end of that academic year, much of it in the Student’s Union snooker room:

Essaying With Exams, Girls & Snooker Towards The End Of My Foundation Year At Keele, 31 May to 8 June 1981

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

Fox On the Hill Jwslubbock, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0g

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.

I’m not even sure whether Mark joined us on our subsequent BBYO-alums crawl to visit Ivor [Heller, in Morden, where I had enjoyed warm hospitality for many years]…

Ivor Heller’s Fifteenth Birthday Party, 20 to 21 May 1978

…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.

Please help fill in the blanks.

Mix Tapes From Around The Time That I Left Alleyn’s School, Late May To 28 June 1980

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:

The Day I Left (Alleyn’s) School, 27 June 1980

One of those questions, around “what would you do differently?” might be answered in terms of the choice of music. Or would it?

I have recently (late 2020) enjoyed replicating and sharing the mix tapes I made in the autumn of 1980, around the time I started Keele University and the mix tape I made at the end of that first term at Keele:

Mix Tape Recorded Just After My First Term At Keele, c28 December 1980

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.

Anyway, here it is, as a playlist of YouTubes:

The Day I Left (Alleyn’s) School, 27 June 1980

Robert Cutts, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0

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.

Jwslubbock, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0g

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 my ire that last week was mainly directed at the unreasonable requirement for me to do ‘A’ Levels while all of this other stuff was going on. Needless to say my A Levels did not go well and it was only the good offices of Keele University via Simon Jacobs that helped me dodge the bullet of my resulting dodgy A Levels.

Getting In To & Starting At Keele University, 8 October 1980

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.”

Sunday School: Bernard Rothbart’s Funeral, 9 December 1979

With thanks to Mike Jones for this photograph of Bernard Rothbart nursing 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.

The matter was discussed at length on the Facebook Group for Alleyn’s School 1970s alums; members of that group can read that discussion by clicking here.

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 had a memory flash about Mr Rothbart’s funeral in 2017, when I had a different memory flash about a different funeral at that same cemetery:

Uncle Manny’s Funeral & The Hoover Factory, 15 May 1981

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.

Dad & Mum provided diverse funereal advice – this photo from a 1977 “summer break” in Greenwich

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.

“Borrowed” from Mike Jones’s Alleyn’s Group Facebook posting – thanks Mike
“Borrowed” from Mike Jones’s Alleyn’s Group Facebook posting – thanks Mike

Welcome To 3BJ, The First Three Weeks Of My Third Year At Alleyn’s, Ending With My First Sighting Of Fawlty Towers, 7 to 27 September 1975

Mike Jones ponders our imminent arrival in his class – thanks Mike for the photo

I’ve been finding it difficult to start writing up my third year at Alleyn’s; 1975/1976. My diary for the 1974/1975 academic year was full of juicy details of my activities.

But it seems, after all the excitement of my 1975 summer, I returned to school in September 1975 in a different mood – at least in the matter of keeping my diary. I’m needing to rely more on my fading memory for this period of my life and hope for some informed comment from readers.

For example, whereas I wrote down the “cast list” for my 1S and 2AK years, I had “grown out of” doing that by the 3BJ era – which is a blithering shame.

Also, I think I was under the parental…by which I mean maternal…cosh, having made a mess of my year end exams that summer and finding myself in a B stream class. “Get the back up to the A stream,” was the familial message, with some new rules at home to encourage homework and discourage loafing.

You wouldn’t have messed with my mum either. Cruel spectacles.

I’m not convinced that sparse diarising was entirely necessary in my mission to do better at school that year. But the diarising was more sparse and the school results were better.

Here are the first three weeks of September:

I realise that most of that is beyond legibility and/or interpretation, so here goes with my best efforts.

Sunday, 7 September 1975 – Rosh Hashanah [Jewish New Year, day two in this instance].

Monday, 8 September 1975 – uneventful day.

Tuesday, 9 September 1975 – last day [of school holidays. Not the end of the world.] Stuart and Andy [both from our street – Stuart Harris was not a relation and was a Whitgiftian, Andy Levinson was a fellow Alleyn’s pupil].

Wednesday, 10 September 1975 – first day [of school]. 3BJ. Mr Jones.

Thursday, 11 September 1975–1st proper day at school.

Friday, 12 September 1975 – school good. TV Dad’s Army, Liver Birds.

Saturday, 13 September 1975 – school morn. After library. TV Gambit, Dick Emery, Kojak.

Sunday, 14 September 1975 – Kol Nidre [evening prayers to herald the Day of Atonement] in evening.

Monday, 15 September 1975 – Yom Kippur [Day of Atonement].

Tuesday, 16 September 1975 – catching up only today.

Wednesday, 17 September 1975 – uneventful day. Good results school.

Thursday, 18 September 1975 – more good results. TV $6 million man, Two Ronnies, Man About The House.

Friday, 19 September 1975 – uneventful day. TV Dad’s Army, Liver Birds, Stanley Baxter III.

Saturday, 20 September 1975 – school morning. TV Generation Game.

Sunday, 21 September 1975 – no classes. Dined at Feld’s. TV Upstairs Downstairs.

Monday, 22 September 1975 – school OK. TV Goodies, Angels, Waltons etc.

Tuesday, 23 September 1975 – did swimming good. Telepathy. TV Pink Panther

Wednesday, 24 September 1975 – swimming. Went to Aviv meeting [one of mum’s charities. I cannot imagine why I went with her, unless dad had something on that evening and mum didn’t want to fork out for a sitter!].

Thursday, 25 September 1975. Got CCF [Combined Cadet Force] kit. TV Two Ronnies, Man About The House, Morecombe & Wise.

Friday 26 September 1975 – uneventful. TV Invisible Man, Dad’s Army, Liver Birds, Fosters Tower [sic – that can only be Fawlty Towers]

Saturday, 27 September 1975 – school morning. TV Dick Emery, Kojak.

Hard to believe that I didn’t even register the name Fawlty Towers correctly when I first saw it.

It was the episode about The Builders and I remember it tickling me no end. My parents didn’t like it much. Dad found Basil Fawlty irritating, reminding him of some of the twerps he had to deal with in running his business. You can decide for yourselves, if you hadn’t made up your minds already – see embed below.