THE QUINTINIAN
The Magazine of the Polytechnic
Secondary School
EVACUATION
NUMBER
AUTUMN, 1939
Editor: C. E. ECKERSLEY
Assistant Editor: G. A. SAMBROOK
Advertisements Manager - - S. MERRILLS
A MESSAGE FROM THE CHAIRMAN OF THE MINEHEAD
URBAN DISTRICT COUNCIL.
IN this Christmas Edition of your School Magazine, issued under the present conditions of new surroundings, new associations, and new friends, let me express Christmas Greetings to the Head Master, the Masters, and all the Scholars, that it may be one of happiness both to yourselves and those who are looking after your comforts.
Even in the stress of War that great and understanding spirit of goodwill does, and can, accomplish much. Christmas radiates this, and may you all enjoy an atmosphere of affection and regard.
You Scholars have your part to play in this job of work that demands efforts from everyone. Your letters to your parents, your help and your consideration to your hosts, can both enrich your own and their pleasures.
May your experience and presence in our town prove a memory and an influence which will make your lives useful to yourselves and your Country.
(Signed) A. E. H. BERRY.
* * *
EVACUATION.
INTRODUCTION BY THE HEAD MASTER.
WHATEVER may be one's personal views on the general subject of Evacuation we are united in the belief that the School has "sprung to it" and is, as usual, in a position which is as good as the best. In work and in play we all propose wholeheartedly to endeavour to give continued proof that the Poly. will thrive, no matter what may come.
I intended to give some account of the evacuation of the School as an introductory article to this issue, but the indefatigable Mr. Eckersley, assisted by Mr. Sambrook, has edited hundreds of essays by the boys to give the story of our doings since the beginning of the first practice week in August, at the Poly., to the present time in this delightful corner of Somerset, so that we have in the boys' own words a series of snapshots of their activities. I only wish that the Magazine could be illustrated by pictures of the boys' own taking. Perhaps next time something might be done about it. In the meantime I hope that readers will be glad to have the photographs of the Minehead County School and the views of the district, kindly lent by the Minehead Publicity Association. I feel sure that the boys will welcome these permanent views of the beauty spots, including the sea front with shelters and the like!
In the next issue I hope to make my contribution a short account of the doings of the Masters and some aspects of the "official" side of the big trek, which I am sure will be of interest to parents and boys alike.
At the time of writing it is safe to say that at least 95 per cent. of the boys are in really good billets (as Mr. Dixon can testify). The hours of School work are from 20 to 30, according to the Form, as against 27½ in London. The football has never been better in many respects, the boys look healthy, and if we consider that they must be evacuated, I am sure we can safely say that they might easily have been under worse conditions but under very few better.
To the boys I say : "Keep up the good work; you've done splendidly and I'm proud of you. I know it's sometimes not too easy, but keep it up! Remember that you represent the School in your billet and in the town, and we are judged by you. When we return to London I hope that we shall leave such a record that the relief at the departure of the 'minor horrors of war' will be tempered by a feeling that 'after all they were a good lot of lads,' - just as it was after our three weeks at Wedmore, Blackford, Theale, and Weare."
To the parents I would like to say: "Don't worry - he's allright! I know, he's young, but he's become remarkably self-reliant of late and, after all, there's the Matron, the House Master, and a fairly complete organisation keeping an eye on him. Besides, most of the foster-parents are really interested in their charges, and the few misfits are being adjusted. In Minehead the Chairman of the Council, Mr. A. E. H. Berry, the Town Clerk, Mr. A. G. Mansfield, and the other citizens are doing whatever they can to make all feel at home: at Dunster the Vicar, the Rev. A. H. Balleine, is taking a most fatherly interest in the sixty in his parish. Yes, we have many good friends here, so don't worry."
To the Masters, too, I would like to say a public "Thank you," although I know that it is not really in place, as what they have done is regarded by them as a matter of course, but it is none the less appreciated by me.
Anyone connected with the "Poly." will not be surprised to learn that Sir Kynaston Studd visited us at Minehead in October. The 170 miles journey by car, the dangers of the black-out, and all the inconveniences of the times did not deter him. But I am sure that the spontaneous welcome he received from the School proved to him, better than anything that was said on the platform, the regard which all have for him. The School was most concerned at the account received of his misfortunes on the return journey. In addition to thanking him and the Governors for their help, I would like to say how much the School is indebted also to Mr. Humphrey for his work behind the scenes on our behalf. When he and Mrs. Humphrey visited our church parade at Wedmore, and again on two occasions at Minehead, we had real evidence of his interest. We were all pleased when Major Marchant found himself within 50 miles of the School and came over specially to see if we really were at Minehead!
But I do not wish to depart from my set design of leaving the history of the evacuation, from the official side, until next time: how we came to have an extra chemistry laboratory; physics lab.; who put the comic labels on the "apparatus" (was it Mr. Ashley?); these will find a place, as will the official welcome of Mr. Smith (vice Dr. Presswood); the prowess of our football teams under evacuation conditions; the christening in the "School Chapel"; the Rotary Club; the lantern lectures; and a host of other interesting activities of the Senior common room. You will also read in some detail the good work of Mr. Gibbs, the Head of the County School, who has from the very start been a real friend to the School. I hope in the days of peace we shall be able to welcome him at the Poly. in a manner which will prove our regard for him and his School.
But now the main talk is of House concerts, the School party, School concerts, football matches, &c., which will take place in Christmas week - except amongst the 22 boys, who are taking School Certificate on December 4th and subsequent days. As I write this I can see the box marked "University of London" containing the sealed packets of examination questions. It all seems like "business as usual," doesn't it?
Just before Easter we hope to arrange a special train to bring the O.Q.'s down for the O.Q. match. We shall be delighted to see parents, so that at a cheap day fare they can actually see the School and their boys in Somerset.
B.L.W.
* * *
THE SCHOOL EVACUATES.
ON Friday morning, September 1st, there came an event in the life of the School that none of us who took part in it, boys or staff, will ever forget. We all assembled in the familiar hall, sang, as we had done so often before, "Oh God, our help in ages past," and heard the voice of the Padre leading us in prayer. And yet how different it was. We listened, deeply moved to the quiet, kindly words of Sir Kynaston: " . . . You are going away; it may be only for a few days, it may be for a few months; it may be even longer. No-one can tell. The Polytechnic will seem very strange without you, but wherever you are our wishes, our thoughts, and our prayers will be with you . . . Good-bye."
A last look round, and in all our hearts the unspoken thought, "When shall I see all this again?" and then we braced ourselves, shouldered our kit, formed our squads, and waited for the word of command. Then off into the unknown - the School was on the move!
Since then we have had many new sights and new adventures, and we have tried in this issue of the Quintinian to record, while the impressions are still fresh, these experiences as the boys themselves saw and felt them. These accounts are written from various angles by boys of all ages and temperaments. The "essays" have been selected, not for any distinction of literary style or any loftiness of thought that they may possess, but simply because they light up one or other of the many facets of this great experience. So we see, in these little sketches and poems, boys recalling the feeling of that memorable Saturday, meeting Somerset villagers who were to be their "foster-mothers," entering into a life that many of them had never known before - milking cows, making hay, watching the cider press - making their homes in old-fashioned thatched cottages or farm houses, exploring Cheddar Gorge and caves, climbing the hills and moors of Minehead, interested in the old-world charm of Dunster and the long history of its Castle, working hard, playing hard, enjoying life here, enduring cheerfully hardships when they must come - and trying to forget the longing to be back in London.
C.E.E.
* * *
The first essay is by
D. H. GRANT, of U.5Aii.
IT was the late evening of a hot, sultry day in August, and as I walked homewards I was thinking of the prospects which the following week held, for it was one of the few remaining weeks of the summer holidays. This pleasant mode of thinking was rather incongruous with the atmosphere of the time, when everybody was weighing the question, "War or Peace?" in their minds. Although we, the younger generation, fully appreciated the results of another conflagration of the 1914-18 type, the time of crisis of last September made us more optimistic of the outcome than the circumstances warranted.
We had considered the question of evacuation as a reasonable precaution which was too inconceivable a happening really to trouble us. Little did we know how soon "the even tenour" of our ways was to be ruthlessly broken and the whole system of living disjointed. There were signs, yes; but signs had come before and gone with unfailing regularity. War we could not conceive. It was too impossible, in this enlightened age, that the great slaughter of 25 years ago could be repeated. So I walked home without any particular foreboding.
I was in time to hear in the "News Bulletin" the developments on the Polish border, and of the message of complete support sent by our Cabinet to the Polish people. Then came an announcement which brought home to us the nearness of warfare and the danger of world strife which loomed over us.
The announcer said in that entirely unmoved way which characterises B.B.C. announcers:
"All school-children wishing to be evacuated under the L.C.C. evacuation scheme must report at their respective Schools on Monday for a full-dress rehearsal."
It brought home unmistakably and unavoidably to us that we were nearer the catastrophe of war than ever during the last 25 years, but even then the assurance that no Schools would be evacuated on that Monday held a loophole for optimism.
The following Sunday was a day of preparation, the packing of necessary clothing in a kit-bag, and instructions from anxious parents to 'phone home as soon as definite news arrived at the School as to the time of evacuation, if it became necessary.
Monday morning saw a very depleted attendance of boys at the School in Regent Street. The general conversation circled around the questions "When?" "Where?" and more general comments on the results of last term, the presence of certain Masters, and the absence of others. Several minor things were attended to and squads and sections formed, but the most devastating announcement was the news that we must attend School every following day until it became imperative to evacuate us, or the situation improved sufficiently to allow us to return home.
The three following days passed rapidly, each being more monotonous than the preceding one, until Thursday, which we afterwards knew was zero hour, approached. Thursday lunch time brought no news, and we were speculating as to the probability of having School on the following week-end. At one o'clock we stood in a great store in Oxford Street and, amidst hushed silence, heard a special news bulletin over the radio - the great evacuation to the country was to commence on the morrow.
* * *
A. BARBIERI (L.5A) recalls the preparations at home for the move.
"PASS me my clean shirt, please, Mother." It is put into my hands, and I make it as compact as I can and place it neatly into my new rucksack, which is on the bed. I stand up and try to imagine what to-morrow will be like, for we have been told we are moving out of London to-morrow. Will we fight for trains, or will everything go off to time. Then no great muddle will occur, as there might have been last September. Then I think of our parting; it's a pity my sister can't come with me - it would be such fun. Then a hearty handshake for father, the supporter of the family, a tender kiss for mother, a cheery good-bye, and I'm off for better or for worse. I can see myself walking along the street, a conspicuous figure, with my rucksack on my back, my football boots dangling round my neck, and the ever-present gas-mask at my side. I pass a newsagent's. Shall I buy the "Wizard"? No, I won't have time to read it on the train. Oh, well, I can read it some other time; so I see myself going in the shop and, unable to procure the "Wizard," I come out with the "Rover." We know we are going by tube from Oxford Circus, and from there to Ealing Broadway, and thence to "somewhere in England." How will we live? I imagine a big camp, and us being awakened to the tune of Mr. Beadon's whistle; then a rush for the near-by river and an early morning swim. Or will we go to a big boarding school "somewhere in England"? I can see all the pranks of the boarding-school boys of school stories coming to life. But I am aroused from my day-dream by my mother's voice. "Where's your toothbrush?" - and I'm still in London.
* * *
R. F. PANNELL (L.5C) continues the story.
IN the squad-rooms after assembly there was a bustle of activity. Squads had to be checked up, newcomers put on the register, gas-masks were inspected, first-aid equipment examined. After the storm comes the quiet, and we were faced with about an hour with nothing to do. Someone brought out a pack of Lexicon cards and was immediately hailed as a hero.
* * *
R. H. McCULLOCH (L.5A) adds-
AT about 10.30 we had the order to get ready; then, a few minutes later, the order to GO. H82 had started on its journey. Everything went like clockwork. With Squad 1 leading, and the others up to 9 in double line, we marched out of that so familiar building, and the two police-constables outside stopped the traffic for us to cross over Regent Street and proceed to Oxford Street station. Many of us looked round to have one last look at the Poly., and in many of our hearts was the thought, "When shall we see it again?"
* * *
D. SPEAIGHT (U.5Ai) takes up the tale -
It was a pathetic but funny sight to see some of the smaller lads struggling along with their kit slung over their shoulders. But, small and big alike, from the moment we set off, had made up their minds to behave in a manner befitting our great School. The long line of boys wended its way through the population to the Oxford Circus tube station.
Here we re-assembled on the platform. The minutes ticked by. Trains kept on coming and going. "When would we be moving?" asked a few of the fellows. Then, at last, the train drew into the station. "O.K., lads, this is it," came the order and, within a short time, everybody was in that train waiting to go. Nobody could be accused of not obeying orders; all were playing their part to make the scheme go off without a hitch. The train pulled into the tunnel and we sped off on our way to Ealing Broadway. When we arrived here the job of re-assembling took place again. All along the line of boys, prefects could be heard calling the roll; Masters moved about here and there ascertaining the whereabouts of boys in their squad. Although a lot of orders had to be obeyed, no complaints were made, and everybody waited patiently and quietly for the next move. Different rumours were spread, and soon practically every place on the West Coast was mentioned as being our new home.
We started off from Ealing Broadway, after a long wait, still in doubt as to where we were going. It was not till we were about ten miles out of Paddington that the guard came along to tell us our destination was Cheddar. Great rejoicing, and eager searching for Cheddar on the map in the railway carriage.
* * *
G. DYER (L.5A) tells how we arrived at Cheddar and Weare.
By the time we reached Swindon we were getting rather tired, and by the time we reached Bristol many of us were asleep. After passing through a long tunnel our train puffed into a sleepy little station labelled "Cheddar." We gave a loud cheer, and we tumbled out in a mass of luggage and macs. on to the platform. We marched into Cheddar village, and rain began to drizzle. Kind-hearted villagers handed out jugs of cool, clear, and welcome water. Everyone was parched. We then lined up outside the Church and a coach came to transport us to our village, Weare, while other squads went to Blackford, Theale, or Wedmore. The coach was a racketty old thing, and it spat and coughed viciously. At last, when the engine burst into life, a voice from the back, in mock wonder, exclaimed: "Crikey, it goes." After about 20 minutes' journey we halted outside "Weare Memorial Hall, 1920," and then trooped inside to find tea and biscuits waiting for us. We drank and ate heartily, and then the Masters set about the task of alloting us to billets. A lady took Harry Eastwood and myself to a big, red house on the main road, where we were warmly welcomed. After a big supper we went to bed and reflected on our adventures of the day.
* * *
C. NABARRO (U.5Ai) arrives at Blackford.
AFTER having watched the train slowly puff out of Cheddar's small station, we remained for a time under its roof in order to shelter ourselves from the steady downpour of rain, which had persistently followed us from London. Fortunately, for us, in a short time the rain eased off considerably, and so we moved off in a long "caterpillar," headed and punctuated half-way by our large banners. The procession proceeded through Cheddar, and was watched by the entire awe-struck population. Without any incident of importance we arrived at the end of the town, and were all much cheered at the sight of a new cinema nearing completion! We then divided into our squads, and prepared to board the coaches which were waiting to take us to one of four small villages, all of about five miles distant. The task of boarding was by no means pleasant, as we had to enter with all our luggage, and by this time the rain had added to our difficulty by returning once more in far more ferocious mood. However, we eventually managed to get our squad on board the second coach, and, amid cheers, we made our way through avenues of less fortunate boys who were still waiting in the deluge. The coach was most definitely not a 1939 model, and it gave one a feeling of holding on to a road drill as it ploughed its way through the murk on its long journey to the little village of Blackford. The long, narrow, winding country road shone with rain as it stretched far off into the mist, and on each side for as far as the eye could see were the hills, assuming purple hue in the fading light. After about half-an-hour we drew up outside a small building which had the title of Blackford Council School. Then came the pleasant task of disembarking in the merciless rain. We slowly came out from under the barrage of cases, which we had placed on our knees, and slowly but surely reached the warmth of the quaint little school-rooms. Here we received a very warm welcome from the persons who were to attend to our future welfare, and their first job was to present us with our emergency rations. These were received with no little consternation, and it could be plainly seen that some doubted very much whether they could (should the emergency arise) last out on the contents of the parcel for two whole days. Then came the colossal job of the actual billeting, and much credit must be showered on the billeters for preventing a minor chaos when the question arose as to "Who goes with whom?" Several of the persons connected with the billeting possessed motor-cars, and this aided the job of distributing the boys very considerably, and in a time much shorter than all had anticipated we reached our billets. My "billet companion" and I were very lucky in being selected for what turned out to be the billet of the area, and we did not have long to wait at the School before being whisked away in a car to our new home. Here our hearts sank as the lady of the house assumed an expression of surprise and horror at the sight of us, dripping wet and laden with bags, as we presented ourselves at her doorstep! Her dismay, we learnt later, was due to the fact that we were supposed to be "children of 4 or 5." But she soon recovered, and we were welcomed with a huge meal which satisfied our hunger, which by now was telling us that it was a long time since lunch! Then, relaxing in a spacious arm-chair, I looked back over the eventful day of travel.
* * *
WEDMORE
THE School had reached its first resting place. The headquarters was at Wedmore, where Alfred made peace with the Danes and where, nearly a thousand years later, we (carrying our gas-masks) heard the Prime Minister telling us that England and Germany were at war. Wedmore is a pleasant spot, "The island valley of Avilion . . . deep meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns," with picturesque cream-washed cottages, in whose gardens the trees were bent under the weight of apples. Here the contented cows grazed in the richest pasturage in all England, where the fields stretched in green levels, intersected by "rhines," to the foot of the surrounding Mendips. Here the boys entered wholeheartedly into village life - but they will tell it in their own words.
C.E.E.
* * *
D. C. JONES (4A) gives his general impression of life in Blackford.
IT did not take us long to settle down in our new home, an old but very comfortable farmhouse, or to the strange surroundings. Everything was so different from London - no buses, trams, or motor-cars tearing to and fro, but just an occasional clip-clop and rattle of a horse and cart passing along the road, and the whirr of the reaping machine in the fields. Each morning, as you walked into town to report, everybody you passed said "Good morning," or passed some comment on the weather, whether they knew you or not. Most of us found a lot of things to do to help pass away the time, such as helping the farmers in the fields haymaking, and later still, just before we left, making cider.
* * *
A MARSHALL (4A) adds-
THE village of Blackford consisted of one main street, with about three side streets. There were four shops - a general stores, two sweet shops, and a butcher's - besides a public house. If anyone walked for five minutes in one direction they would come to country. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and the whole village seemed to share three names, notably Duckett, Starr, and Wall. When we arrived at Blackford we were just in time for the blackberry season, harvesting, and apple crop. Those boys who worked on a farm were lucky to be able to have as many apples as they wished. The others, however, had only to ask and could have as many apples as they wanted.
* * *
D. SELIGMAN (3B) gives a general idea of life there.
I WAS billeted on a farm and I think it was about the biggest farm in the district. Farm life I enjoyed a lot, and I was quite busy haymaking, driving the horse and cart, and nearly every evening I used to go round the various fields collecting the eggs, and that stretch was about 1½ miles. Driving the cows was another thing I enjoyed, but they certainly kept you on the run. I had also the regular job at the School of feeding the chickens for the Head Master, so, you see, I wasn't idle.
* * *
T. BAYNTON (U.5Ai) has adventures among the chickens.
ON returning we met the farmer's son, who was going out to feed the chickens, and we asked him if we could accompany him. He told us we could, and, if we learnt how to feed them, we could do it ourselves next time. He opened the gate of a field, and when we had all come through he told me to shut the gate again. While walking across the field we could see one hen pecking about near its coop, and it set up a terrific cry on seeing us, and ran and flew about. All the others heard this and came as well. Their meal was wheat, and it was thrown to the ground, and while they pecked at it we went off to collect the eggs. We went into the coop and climbed over their roosts to the nests and collected all the eggs, except for a few a hen was sitting on. Every time I tried to get the eggs away, she pecked at me, so I asked the farmer's boy to do it. He knew just how to deal with the hen. He threw a handkerchief over its head and held it there while he got the eggs, which amounted to 32 when we had finished. Tea was ready for us when we got back, and it consisted of two eggs each, bread and butter, and cake. We had two eggs for tea nearly every tea-time. We always found something of interest on that farm and were never idle until the day we left.
* * *
H. S. BROMBERG (L.5C) tries, not too successfully at first, to milk a cow.
ONE day, just before tea, the farmer asked me if I would like to see him milking cows. When we arrived at the ground where the cows were, we got out of the car, unloosened the churns, put them on the ground, and fixed a strainer on one of them. Then we said to Rover, the dog, "Up and get them, boy; hope, hope, hope." When all the cows were rounded up together I asked the farmer if I could milk one. So he selected the quietest cow he could find, put the span on her legs to hinder her from kicking. Then I put the bucket under her, sat on a stool, and tried to milk, but I couldn't get a drop out of her. So the farmer told me to wet my hands. I went across to the ditch and dipped my hands in and, to my surprise, they roared with laughter, because I was supposed to wet my hands with milk. When I had done this I started to milk the cow, but just when I was getting on nicely the cow calmly walked away, knocking the pail over in the process. Luckily there wasn't very much milk in it.
* * *
M. ROSEN (L.5C), at Theale, also went out milking, and had trouble with a bull.
ONE day George asked me to go milking. It turned out to be the funniest experience I've ever had. On arriving at the milking field the farmer proceeded to give the cows cakelite milk cubes. So I proceeded to do the same things. Suddenly, as I was giving the stuff to the cows, I found that I was giving it to the bull as well. I had a wholesome fear of bulls, and I started to back slowly, and as I did that the bull advanced, looking at me. I did not know that he wanted some cakelite. I was moving back and back, and getting faster and faster. And still the bull came on. Suddenly I dropped the cake stuff and the bull stopped, and I made my escape, and thanked my lucky stars.
* * *
ROSEN learned something, too, of horses and their peculiar ways.
ANOTHER little adventure occurred when I tried to harness up the horse. The farmer had just got the nervous horse between the shafts, and he said, "Git back." I, trying to be helpful, also said, "Git back," but the horse, not used to my voice, jumped forwards and the shafts fell down and the empty milk churns rolled all over the place and the horse jumped into the orchard. We had to catch the horse, and then, in silence this time, we got the horse properly harnessed. But George was a good sport, and he did not mind the bit of excitement. When the day came for departure I felt very fed up, for after making great friends with the people, and having a lovely time helping on the farm, we had to go back to a town. I remember all the little adventures I had there, and when the bus started I felt quite homesick to leave Theale.
* * *
V. STEEDON (L.5C) writes a thrilling narrative entitled
A COW WITH MILK FEVER.
WHEN I was at Blackford I was on a farm called Lime Kiln Farm, because on the land was a lime quarry which was used till 400 years ago. This is, however, sidetracking the real story. The farm was only a moderate sized one of about 24 acres. Fifty chickens, two large orchards, a herd of 10 black thoroughbred Dexters, two horses, and two calves comprised the whole.
About the second week Mr. Tinney, the farmer, had two cows, Sarah and Bertha, which calved. Sarah had calved at 3.15 p.m., and at about five o'clock Mr. Tinney began to get worried about her, for she began to wobble on her legs. He suspected milk fever, so he rang up the vet. Unfortunately, he was out, but he would be round as soon as possible.
Mr. Tinney had some sacks filled up with earth, the use of which I will relate later. Then he told me to keep an eye on Sarah while he went milking, as it was long over-due. The dog, Jeff, rounded up the other nine cows into the next field and Mr. Tinney began to milk. He had told me that if Sarah, who was lying down, attempted to get up I was to call him. She was all right for about ten minutes, then she managed to get up. Calling Mr. Tinney, for she looked as if she would roll into a ditch, I told the dog to go back to the farm as he was getting too curious. Mr. Tinney soon came, and when he did he held Sarah by the horns and pulled her about two feet. Then she flopped down. She went down as a camel would kneel, then she rolled on her side. Mr. Tinney had a long iron stake handy with a length of rope. He drove the stake into the ground and tied Sarah to it. He asked me to bring over the wheelbarrow with three sacks full of earth in it. I saw the use of them then. He put them under the cow so as to prop her up slightly. By now the cow was in a bad state. Mr. Tinney could do no more for her. As it was getting dark he went back to his milking. At about 7.15 he had finished and was filtering off the last bucket of milk when we heard the roar of a car's exhaust coming into the lane. It was the vet. Mr. Tinney told me to run and show him over. I went to him and I was surprised to see a young man. I thought he was too young. However, he asked if I could carry some equipment over for him. By now it was nearly dark, so we all had lanterns and torches. We got to the cow and he assembled all the gear. Whilst Mr. Tinney held the cow down, the vet. put a lanyard around Sarah's neck. He got out a sharp, pointed instrument, about 3½ins. long. It was barbed like a fish hook. At the end farthest from the point was saucer shape, about 3in. broad. All of this was hollow, like an injection needle. This instrument was stuck into the cow's jugular vein; at the same time the lanyard was pulled tight, very tight. A gush of dark blood spurted from the needle with a terrific force. It sprayed Mr. Tinney, who was holding down the cow, but luckily he had a smock on. The calf became very excited, so I had to hold him and shine a torch on the needle. The vet., after a minute of blood gushing, released the lanyard, and the blood stopped flowing. A large bottle of calcium water, with a rubber tube which was stuck in the needle, was held upside down, and the liquid flowed into the cow's veins. About three-quarters of the bottle was emptied into the cow. Then the needle was abstracted and the fluid was massaged down as it was a huge lump under the skin. The vet. massaged it with iodine. He said that he had done the best he could do, so we left the cow propped up with sacks and tied to the iron stake. We gathered up the vet's. equipment and walked back to the house. It was now about 9.30 p.m. The vet. stayed for a cup of tea, and he washed his hands. He said he didn't think the cow would turn worse, but if she did Mr. Tinney was to 'phone him up. The vet. then went off on another job. We all had our suppers and went to bed. But Mr. Tinney kept turning out at two-hour intervals to see if Sarah was all right. But she was quite fit the next day, and Mr. Tinney was milking her with all the other cows.
* * *
J. F. THOMPSON (4C) sees a pig killed.
ONE morning I was invited to see a pig slaughtered, so I went down to the slaughter-house. The pig was fixed to a pulley and dragged clear of the ground. It was then shot through the head with a R.S.P.C.A. humane killer. When this had been done its throat was cut and the blood allowed to run out. Then the bristles were burnt off with straw. While this was being done the slaughterer's assistant and I washed away the blood (an unpleasant task, I assure you). The pig, after this, was cut open and all its digestive system taken out. Some of this was thrown to a dog, but most of it was sold to a Bristol tripe firm. When it had been cleaned and scraped the pig was sponged down inside and out. All unwholesome pieces were taken out, e.g., the hard hoofs, the end of the snout, and the inside of the ears. The head was then sawn off and the pig was bisected and carried to the butcher's shop. Throughout the proceedings my thoughts had been of pity for the pig, and admiration for the clean and painless way in which the pig had been killed. After thanking the slaughterer and congratulating him on his fine piece of work, I left the slaughterhouse and went home.
* * *
R. ABSOLOM (4A) does some haymaking at Wedmore.
ONE of my friends was billeted at a farm. He obtained permission for himself and me to go and help his farmer with the haymaking. When you first enter the field you have to cut the grass, which is done with a mower. It is drawn by horses and consists of a row of knives. When the grass is cut it is gathered up by a horse rake, then the driver pulls a lever and the hay drops out into a heap. Next all the hay has to be turned and re-turned by a worker with a pitch-fork, which is usually two-pronged. Then the hay has to be gathered into "dabs." After that the bottom of a rick is formed, usually by building up a circle which consists of nettles and rushes, &c. When that has been done the elevator comes into use. It is driven by steam, or petrol. It is like a giant staircase, only in place of steps it has a bar across from which prongs stick up. It is a giant belt which goes round and round. The hay has to be collected on to the elevator, where it catches on to the prongs and drops off at the top, so building up the rick. Of course, there have to be one or two men on top to smooth it out.
* * *
E. HARRIS (L.6 Mod.) saw another method of "haymaking."
AS the weather was not very dry the farmer decided to make a silo. The orthodox way is to build up a wooden framework into which layers of hay and very diluted treacle are put. The treacle pickles the hay and retains in it the greenness, that is the Vitamin D, which is lost in ordinary hay. But our farmer had his own idea. The grass was cut and immediately taken by sweeps (big rakes without wheels), drawn by horses, and dragged to the silo, which is made into a rick, but plenty of water is poured on to neutralise the heat given off by the grass. To help this heat to escape a wooden chimney was put into the rick and a veritable cloud of steam could be seen coming from it.
* * *
At Blackford they make Cheddar Cheese, and G. LAKE (L.5A) saw this being done.
MY landlord down at Blackford was one day put to work at the cheese-room, and I was able to go in and see the process right through. The evening and morning milk would be put in a tank and heated to 101 degrees Centigrade. Rennet is added, causing the milk to turn into curds and whey. The curds and whey then separate and the curds are cut by sets of razor-sharp knives held in frames with handles. These are drawn through the curd until it looks like bread crumbs. A test is then taken, which is called the lactic acid test. If the test is correct the whey will be drawn off and the curd is then ready for use. The curd is then cut up (for by this time it has joined) and pressed three or four times, being cut in between each pressing. The curd is now a light brown colour. It is salted and put into vats the shape of the cheese to be, and then pressed for three days, and afterwards stored for a time until it matures. Some cheese, like Caerphilly, must be eaten within a month; Cheddar cheese will keep for years.
* * *
P. MANNERS (L.6 Modern) gives "Inside information" on work in
A MILK FACTORY.
VERY few Londoners ever bother to think of how their morning pint of milk really gets to their doorstep. Little do they realise, until they have lived in the country and seen it in action, the enormous organisation that is required to take their pint of milk from the cow to their doorstep. On being evacuated I was billeted with a dairy-man, and I was thus able to learn quite a lot about the milk industry, and was able to go over the Cheddar Valley Dairy Company's mills factory at Rooksbridge. Cows are milked at dawn, and also again at dusk. The milkers turn out in all weathers, with their dog in their carts, each carrying two churns, and sit on their peculiar stools milking. The cows become accustomed to milking and assemble in a corner of the field. Often nowadays the herds return to the farm-houses, where they are milked by electricity. The churns, each containing some 12 gallons of milk, are placed on wooden benches at the roadside, ready to be collected by vans. The next stage, the collection of the churns, is done by the factory itself. (A "factory" here is not a manufacturing workshop but a collecting centre). Vans are sent out to collect the churns from the neighbouring district. Each full churn is replaced by an empty, clean one. These vans rush the milk back to the factory - rush is the correct word, for one never sees a milk van going slow.
In the evening the milk is brought into the factory. The vans back against a raised platform and the full churns are unloaded and inverted over a large tank, into which the milk drains. This tank supplies the various plants of the factory. The churns themselves are placed on one side to be washed. This is accomplished by inverting them over a jet of steam and swilling them with a hose. The jet, rising from the floor, makes an almost unbearable noise. The churns are not allowed to dry before they are rushed out again, once more to be filled with milk. The whole cleaning process is only a matter of a few minutes.
The milk itself is fed to the pasteuriser. This machine brings the milk up to boiling points during its passage through it, thus destroying any disease. Now the milk is very hot. In this condition it is passed through the separator, the cream running out at one pipe and ordinary milk out at the other. No skimmed milk results; it comes when ordinary standard milk is separated to give cream for butter-making. To cool the milk it is dropped over a series of pipes about 2ins. in diameter, filled with freezing brine fed from a freezing plant. The milk is collected in another tank, from which it can be run into fresh churns or loaded directly into the railway containers to be sent to London. The churns pass out of the other side of the factory into vans to be carried to the neighbouring station, in my case Brent Knoll, from where it is sent to London to be bottled and delivered. The power for all these various plants comes from a huge boiler. This furnace is far away from the factory itself, for the resulting heat would not have a favourable effect on the milk in summer. The atmosphere in the factory is one of continuous hurry and bustle. Nobody seems short of some task or other. The noise is terrific. The machinery rattles continuously; the cooling plant pumps away methodically; whilst escaping steam from the pasteurising plant and the jet for cleaning the churns is sufficient to augment all the other noises into one big din. Another noticeable fact is the ease with which the churns are moved. The floor is made throughout of iron grating to facilitate their easy movement. The workmen, moreover, are extremely clever at rolling them, whether full or empty. This may look simple to townsfolk, but to roll a full churn is a very delicate job. The railway provides all transport to London, the chief consumer for all South England. Thus the milk is taken to the towns. Never is there a shortage; seldom is any wasted. The milk once bottled is delivered to the householders in the morning, the whole process taking place in less than 24 hours.
* * *
D. D. JONES (L.5A) watched butter being made and tells us how it is done.
BUTTER MAKING.
BUTTER is made from cream, which is obtained by mechanical separation of new milk. The cream is then pasteurised to a temperature of 180 degrees F. and then quickly cooled to 45 to 60 degrees F., which destroys all harmful bacteria. Churning is a process which turns the cream into butter. This is brought about by the revolving of the churn and so causing the small fat globules of the cream to form granules of butter. The cream is strained through a coarse cloth into the churn, which is made of wood. The cream is thoroughly scalded with boiling water and then cooled with cold water. The lid of the churn is now made secure and the churn revolved, either by hand or by machine, at about 60 revs. per minute. This process is carried on until the cream begins to turn into butter. Then a little cold water is added. At this stage the butter granules are the size of a mustard seed. The revolving of the churn is then resumed until the granules are the size of small pearls. The butter-milk is then drawn off through a small hole at the base of the churn. The coldest water possible is then added to the butter, and again the churn is revolved and the water drawn off. This is repeated until there is no trace of butter milk in the water; generally three washings are necessary. The butter is now ready for salting and working. It is transferred from the churn by a wooden scoop on to a kind of table with a grooved roller attached. The butter granules are now salted according to taste, and then the roller is passed gently over it to expel all surplus water. This rolling is repeated about six times, by which time the butter is sufficiently dried. It is then weighed and rolled, or blocked, papered, and packed ready for sale.
* * *
G. DYER (L.5A) watched cider making at Weare. Here is his account.
CIDER MAKING.
DIRECTLY opposite my billet in Weare was a big shed where cider was made for the Lamb Inn, a couple of doors away. My host took me over there to see the manufacture. This is what I saw. On the left was a small paraffin motor, which chugged away merrily. On one side of it was a small wheel to which an endless belt was attached to a bigger wheel on the grinder. Into the top of the grinder apples were poured in basketfuls. Inside this big, box-like holder was a grinder which ground the apples to pulp, and this fell out of a small slit in the bottom into a big container. On the right was a press and trough for the cider. Layers of pulp were laid on the bed of the press. On the top, sheaves of straw were evenly laid, and on the top another layer of pulp and some more sheaves, until the layers were about 8ft. high. Then on the top a board was laid, and a crossbeam was gradually screwed down so that the board crushed the cider pulp and straw until it was only about 2ft. high, and the "sweet cider" trickled out of an outlet and dropped into the trough. This was left for a day or two so that the cider was completely pressed out. The residue (the "cheese" they call it) was given to cows and pigs. Then the cider was carefully strained through a close-wire mesh sieve so that no bits of apple would get into the barrels. The sweet cider was then put into barrels and left for about four months to mature.
* * *
J. FOWLER (L.6 Mod.) gained a wide acquaintance with chicken farming. He tells about it here.
CHICKEN FARMING.
I WAS billeted with a chicken farmer, and from him I learnt a good deal about the business. When the farmer first started he used to hatch his eggs in incubators. They took about 22 days to hatch, and a flame had to be kept going all the time, but for some time before we arrived he had found that it was cheaper and more convenient to buy his chicks from the hatcheries. As soon as the chicks are hatched they are packed in boxes of 50 chicks each and are immediately despatched to their destination. They often have to travel over 100 miles (as in this case), and there is the problem of feeding. But this problem is settled by nature as the chick still has the yolk inside and can feed on that for a day.
There is not a lot of risk of death, but when our farmer bought his 100 at a time the hatcheries put in three or four chicks extra. Deaths might be caused by several things e.g., by cold on the journey. This is partly cured by padding the sides of the box with corrugated paper, dividing it into four parts and putting from about 12 to 15 chicks in each section. When they arrive the farmer must take great care of the chicks, and my landlord put his in a special house near the farm so that he could keep his eye constantly on them. He must keep a heating apparatus going for several days at about a temperature of 90 degrees Centigrade, as that is the temperature reached under a hen. He has to encourage them to eat, as they will not do it of their own accord. The way the hen does it is to peck among the food herself and the chicks follow her example, so the method the farmer uses is to tap among the food with a pencil or nail.
There are one or two interesting facts about the growth of a chick. For example, in the first week they double their size and after that grow at a decreasing rate. The wing feathers grow to about the length of 2ins. in three days, and at the end of a week the chicken had three or four layers of feathers on its wings. After a week or two they were taken out of this special house and put into a house out in a field, and the temperature was gradually decreased until they did without heat at all. When they are about 9-12 weeks old the hens are put in "batteries," or into big houses in the middle of the fields. The "batteries" consist of a number of cages on top of one another, and there is just enough room for the hen to stand up and turn round. The hen stands on some wire netting set at a slant so that when the hen lays an egg it rolls down into a sort of trough. Here it is out of the way of the hen and it is easy to collect. The object of keeping the hen away from the egg is because hens often eat the eggs.
The other hens in the big houses are allowed to run free, and nest boxes are provided for the laying of eggs. Sometimes the hens will go and make a nest in a hedge and lay eggs there; therefore you have to search the hedge for such eggs, but you must be careful to leave one egg or the hen will not lay there again. So when you find such a nest you take all the eggs out, but put in a china one that is exactly like the real thing.
Sometimes a hen may not have enough calcium in her body to make a complete shell, and she therefore lays an egg with a soft shell. It is difficult to sell these as people are very doubtful about them. When the battery hens go off laying regularly they are sold as boiling fowls. When a hen is at its best it lays six to eight eggs a week. The others are sold when they are about three months old. Some of the hens who are let free often get "broody," that is, they get a desire to sit on the eggs and hatch them. To cure this they are put into a box with slats on the bottom, and in this they can't sit down and get warm, as they want to. They are kept like this for about two days.
The cockerels are put into a run about 10ft. long, 2ft. high, and 3ft. to 4ft. wide. This is to stop them running about too much and making their muscles hard and wiry and not tasty to eat. They, are fattened up and sold as table birds for roasting.
There is one thing that astonished me; that is the surprising number of chickens that can be got into a comparatively small box. When our landlord was transferring some chicken from one house to another he put 103 birds, about the size of a rook, but a bit fatter, into a box a foot high at the most, about 2ft. 6in. long, and 1ft. 6in. wide.
* * *
R. SAVILLE (L.6 Mod.) gives valuable advice - gained from three weeks' experience at Theale.
THE best way to carry a bird is to hold it by its legs; even then you are not safe, for the bird rears itself up and pecks at the hands. People not used to chicken-pecks soon drop the bird and it won't be caught again till the evening when it goes into the hen-house.
* * *
R. CHATTERJEE (U.5A2) meditates on the characteristics of the people he met.
SOMERSET PEOPLE.
THOSE of us who have been evacuated to Somerset have had, and are still having, a great chance to study the lives of the Somerset people and see in what ways they differ from those of Londoners. The first thing we noticed when we arrived at Cheddar was, I think, the general hospitality of the villagers. An illustration of this was when we got off the train after that long and tiring journey. Most of us were very, very thirsty, and how gladly we welcomed the glass of water and cut-up pieces of apples and oranges which the villagers brought out to us. After we had been in our billet for a few days we began to find out another thing about village life and Somerset people. This is how everybody in the village knows everybody else's business, and how well they knew each other. One finds things absolutely different in London, or in any other town for that matter, for very often you do not know your next-door neighbour, let alone anything concerning him. Often, when we went to School to report and hear notices telling us what not to do, we knew what was to be said, for we had been told the night before by our landladies. Then, of course, we were struck by the Somerset dialect, but by now most of us are used to it. What we notice most, which differs from London life, is how everybody greets you with "Good-morning" or "Good-night," or whatever is appropriate to the hour. This was especially so in Wedmore. Whenever asked to be shown how some farm implement works, or how to catch rabbits, or milk cows we were always sure of a friendly and interesting reply. One notices, too, that the villagers' outlook on life has no great ideas in it. All he wants to do is eat well, sleep well, and enjoy life in general. Thus, generally, the labourers are very cheerful and contented. In a nutshell, the Somerset people are kindly, generous, hospitable, and cheerful.
* * *
We have heard very little in these articles of the activities of the Staff, but they, too, were taking an interest in the Somerset countryside, as the following little sketch shows.
STAFF NATURE STUDY GROUP.
IN the far-off days at the beginning of the War we lived in the country, and were still enjoying our holiday. One evening the Staff assembled at Wedmore for a Staff meeting, after a little light refreshment at a hostelry. At about 10 p.m. five well-fed Masters started on a lone tramp of two miles to their billets - and it seemed a long way. Two were walking in front at a cracking pace, hoping the three behind would keep up. About half-way home the leaders heard a sudden shout as from one in distress. Turning quickly, the leaders raced back to find their three colleagues on their hands and knees in the road, striking matches to examine a small spot under their three noses, which were about 6ins. from the ground. Figuerez-vous, mes amis - it was a gloworm.
J.B.L.
* * *
From Wedmore frequent visits were made to the surrounding places of interest. P. LATCHFORD (3B) tells of a run to Weston.
WESTON-SUPER-MARE.
ON the Wednesday of the first week I was in Wedmore I borrowed a bicycle and I thought I would go to Weston-super-Mare. After my landlady had so kindly packed some sandwiches I set off. I found it a very enjoyable journey there. I went through Blackford and Mark, two very nice and quiet country villages. At Mark I branched down a quiet lane beside the White Horse Hotel. Progress was very slow down this lane as a cart and horse were rumbling along in front of me, so, as the lane was narrow, I was not able to overtake. Anyhow, I thoroughly enjoyed hearing the birds singing and a cool summer breeze rustling through the branches of the trees by the side of the lane. At last I got on to the main road that leads to Weston. I travelled along this road for an hour, passing many villages and little groups of buildings. At last I reached the object of my journey - Weston-super-Mare - with the sea, the sand, the pier, theatres, and cinemas that make up this modern seaside resort. There I sat down on the promenade and ate my sandwiches. Many people came up and asked me why I was carrying my gas-mask, where I was billeted, and other questions. I also had a talk with an old gentleman about the War, and I found his views on the subject very interesting. After that I had a ride round the town and so back home.
* * *
A. COCKS (L.5C) visits Cheddar Gorge and Caves.
CHEDDAR.
WE arrived at Cheddar at about three o'clock, which meant that we had at least three hours before we had to think of returning to Wedmore. We had a short but very interesting walk to the Gorge. There was a swiftly-flowing stream passing parallel to the road, and it was fascinating to watch the water breaking over the rocks and the streaks of white foam racing against each other as if to see which would reach certain rocks first. It was then that I noticed the great height of the sides of the famous Cheddar Gorge and saw that the lower rocks were in ridge-like formation, similar to the famous Rift Valley, in Scotland. We had now got to the entrance of the cave, where we awaited the guide. There was a museum outside, and as there was no entrance fee to this we went in. The owners of the caves, while excavating, discovered two specimens of ancient human beings. There was not a lot of difference between the skeleton of a person to-day and that of one two thousand years ago. The greatest difference was in height, although the jaw and forehead had slightly altered. Inside the museum there were also some specimens of old axeheads and spearheads.
It is impossible to put into words the scenes of extreme beauty made by the stalagmites and stalactites. The vivid colours and clear crystal water all blended into a masterpiece of nature. The formations looked like pillars of solid stone when they were joined together, and we had the impression of being in a mighty cathedral. The guide pointed out a stalagmite and stalactite, which were about an inch apart, and told us that these two would meet in about two thousand years time. He also told us that the red formations were made by water on iron, and the green by water on copper. The whiteish-looking rock was limestone. Lights had been arranged behind a great number of red and green stalagmites so that they glowed when the electricity was on. The water in the caves was very deceptive for it looked about 6ins. deep, but we later learnt that it was about 3ft. After this we saw the "Speaker's Mace," which was a limestone formation. Looking like a great club on end, surrounded by water and fairly high, it left an outstanding impression on my mind.
Another pretty sight was that of the "Marble Curtain," which hung from the roof many feet above. It had been formed by the reaction of water on different metals, and this had even formed a pattern on the edge of the curtain, which made it look more realistic still.
The guide then asked us to look down into the water of a pool near-by. It was a most astonishing sight that we saw. The pool acted as a mirror, and we could see the reflection of the roof above. It looked exactly, like a small Swiss village. There were a large church, little houses, and right across the picture stretched a wall that immediately reminded me of the Great Wall of China. The party then resumed walking, and we went into the next cavern. The lighting here had been so arranged that it came on gradually, giving the effect of dawn. There were many more interesting and striking sights like these. The last outstanding formation was one that was similar to an angel, with out-spread wings. This again was a limestone formation.
As we went out the guide told us that the temperature was always the same in the caves, 52 degrees. He also stated that as we passed under the exit there were over one thousand tons of rock above us. A very unpleasant thought!
A notice a little way up the Gorge stated that no-one was to climb up on the right-hand side. We walked to a spot where the side did not appear too steep, and began the ascent. It was rather hard going, and the haversack added to the trouble. It was much steeper than it looked from the bottom, and we needed a rest half-way up.
Suddenly, from a little way off - or what seemed a little way - we heard three loud reports. At first we thought it was an air raid, but were told later that it was blasting in the quarries. When we arrived at the top, which was a small point, about 10ft. in radius, we set down our tea and ate it in record time, for we were very hungry.
While we were eating we gazed around us. We got a remarkable view from the top of the Gorge, for we could see for at least 20 miles. Cheddar was in the foreground, and a little way along the reservoir. Beyond that was Sedgemoor, where the last battle on English soil was fought. Far into the distance stretched the Mendip range, and we could dimly make out the sea. Down below us we could see people walking along, and they looked like Liliputians. Far away in the west the sun was beginning to set. The gorgeous red rays, tinted with yellow, made an orange lining to the clouds. This showed it was time to start again, so we set off on our return journey. We did not climb down the side of the Gorge, but made along the top of the "cliffs" back to Cheddar, and so home.
* * *
When the boys visited Cheddar Gorge and Caves Mr. H. B. SMITH gave them a talk on the subject. This is, more or less, what he said.
LIMESTONE SCENERY OF THE CHEDDAR DISTRICT.
FOUR-FIFTHS of the earth's crust is believed by geologists to be limestone. It was laid down as a deposit of the remains of thousands of marine creatures - some gigantic, others microscopic - at various times millions of years ago. Chalk is a particularly pure variety, probably built up on the bed of a very calm sea. Magnesian or mountain limestone is a second kind, and the one of which the Mendips and Cheddar are made; carboniferous limestone, is a third.
Before and since the time when the Cheddar district was being formed under the sea the shapes of the continents and oceans have changed dozens of times. Ages earlier the old red sandstones of Exmoor were deposited, perhaps as a delta of a mighty river. These sandstones also have had their ups and downs; and they can be found under the limestone of the Mendips as well as deep down below London. Later, after an upheaval, the land became thickly forested, and the coal measures were formed, perhaps in shallow water. Still more recently most of England was covered with chalk in a vast lake of calm salt water. You must remember, however, that between each period of deposition underwater there was a long era in which the land rose, and the various strata were worn away by the weather. That is why we find today old rocks in some parts, for example, in North Wales, Cumberland, and Devon, younger rocks in the Midlands, and recent rocks, such as chalk and more sands, in the East and South of England.
It will interest you to know that our land will not probably sink beneath the waves again for a few hundred thousand years. This, I'm afraid, applies to Germany, too.
When the limestone country was laid bare by the action of wind, by rain, rivers, ice, snow, and frost, owing to the fact that the limestone is particularly soluble in water when it is charged with carbon-di-oxide, great caves and holes and gorges were formed. The Cheddar and Wookey Caves were due to the action of the two rivers, the Yeo and the Axe. The Gorge itself is part of a mighty cavern that collapsed, leaving huge limestone stacks, jutting crags, joints and overhanging rocks; while in its walls were innumerable smaller caves, which have from times long before written history began been the homes of mammoths, sabre-toothed tigers, bears, hyenas, and that poor miserable, puny, tail-less animal - man.
This is no fairy story. Bones of these various creatures have been found in the caves. One of the finest collections of flint implements of early stone-age man was also made from Gough's and various other caves that are only accessible after perilous climbs along the cliff face.
The cave we visited (Gough's) is also noted for the beauty of its stalagmites and stalactites. The names are easy to remember. Stalactites hold tight, and hang from the roof. Stalagmites might meet them after a few hundred centuries, if the lime-charged waters continue to drip from the roof to splash undisturbed on the slowly growing points on the floor.
The beautiful colours are due to the presence of metals in solution; iron results in a browny-red colouration, greens and blues are copper, manganese and lead give a cloudy white effect. The big caves have in some cases been shaped by the swirling waters being forced up through holes in the ground after exceptional floods outside. Much more water than is at present evident probably seeped through solution holes and acted more violently in a period, only a few thousand years ago when England and Northern Europe were in the grip of the Ice Age. As you see, for these changes
"Time is no object."
H.B.S.
* * *
FAREWELL TO WEDMORE.
But though this country life was very pleasant, and though the boys profited a great deal by their experiences, it was quite apparent that the real work of the School could not be carried on there, and Dr. Worsnop began at once to explore other possibilities, and decided that Minehead, with its modern, well-equipped County School, its hills and sea, was the place he wanted. After he had overcome the numerous difficulties in the way, it was arranged that we should move there, and a small advance party (consisting of the Head Master, Dr. and Mrs. Haskey, Mr. Andrews, and Mr. Eckersley) went ahead to find billets. Here we had invaluable help from Mr. Gibbs, the Head of the County School, and Mr. Northover, a member of his staff. Three days later the School came to Minehead. There was mutual regret at leaving the villages.
C.E.E.
* * *
A. CONNIDIS (4A) writes
AT last, when we knew for certain when we were going to go, we were all sorry, for in Weare, from the first day until the last, we had received nothing but help, kindness, careful attention, and consideration. But, still, we packed again on a Monday night, and for our last dinner we had a nice chicken and stuffing and all the other things that go with it. The people of Weare were, I'm sure, very fond of all their "children," and they were as sorry that we were going as we were. They gave us three rousing cheers, and we answered back in the same manner. So, hoping for the best, we started on our journey.
* * *
MINEHEAD.
D. COLLINS (U.5Aii.) expresses something of the beauty of the place.
AN EVACUEE IN MINEHEAD
I SUPPOSE I am glad in a way that I have been evacuated in the autumn. I am glad because I realise that the beautiful country around me is at its loveliest. One has only to go a very little way from Minehead (or even a shorter distance from Dunster) to have one's eyes opened wide by the present extra beauty of the surrounding district. Everything seems to be painted green, russet brown, or gold; the, countryside looks, in fact, like a great patchwork quilt. A patch of gold (made by ferns) is sewn next to a patch of green (made by great fir forests). The hills and valleys are spread with these colours, and when the sun shines the whole scene is made even more indescribably beautiful.
On the narrow country lanes (which seem like long, wriggly snakes that start and end at nowhere) and on the country roads there is spread a carpet of leaves with colours far exceeding in beauty the most costly Turkish carpet. Here and there one discovers some old country cottage with low overhanging thatched roof and small, crooked doors and windows. Inside, one may see a roaring log fire in a great open hearth, and then one is reminded of olden days when people used to sit almost on top of the fire, and little boys used to climb up and clean those huge chimneys.
Suddenly the sound of hooves is heard, then out of the cover a stag comes running, running so that it may keep that precious gift called Life. The hounds soon follow, and the huntsman, too; they all go streaming over the brow of the bill. What a fine sight! Bright red coats, black hats, and galloping horses! Let's hope they have a good chase, but that the stag evades the kill!
What a difference there is between this quiet, soft country atmosphere and the depressing tension prevalent in London. How coloured, fresh, and happy everything and everyone looks here, and how empty and lonely the Metropolis looks. Yes, I am glad to be here!
* * *
S. PAYTON (L.5B) is moved to poetry.
THE SEA LOVER.
The sea which glitters in the sun
Surrounds our native shore,
And here in Minehead, when day's done
We go to gaze once more
Upon that sea where great ships ride,
Where sailors love to be,
That mighty ocean, Nature's pride,
That wild and tameless sea.
Great poets write of Britain's might,
Of "Hands across the Sea,"
But like a bell, thy silvery knell
A message gives to me.
Here as I stand upon the strand,
Thy song rings out to win me,
With crashing tones upon the stones,
And great thoughts stir within me.
* * *
And F. A. KEELING (L.6 Modern) to prose.
I PURPOSELY climbed North Hill from the south so that the view from the top would not slowly unfold, but would appear over the top in one burst of glory. I was not disappointed with what I saw, for, although the view extends for no more than ten miles, it had a beauty peculiar to this part of England. The tops of the Quantock Hills and the other hills which hem in the narrow coastal plain are not jagged like those found in more mountainous regions, but rounded and covered with purple heather and golden bracken which give them a soft and peaceful air. The evening sun, red, like a glowing ember amid the dusky ashes of a dying fire, melted into this scene and, as it slowly disappeared behind the silhouetted moors, sent dark-fingered shadows creeping across the coastal plain with ever-increasing speed until only the stars remained to be seen.
* * *
Most of the boys are billeted in private houses. E. DITCH (L.5A) tells how he arrived at his billet.
I ARRIVE AT MY NEW HOME.
MY first glimpse of my new home was a pleasant red roof just peeping above the high hedge which borders a little winding and seemingly endless country lane, of the kind which can only be found in rural England. I was escorted to a tree-bordered drive and shown into a small but pleasant porch, where an extremely nice lady greeted me. I was then taken by her along a highly-polished passage, on which my shoes squeaked alarmingly, and up a carpeted stairway which, to my relief, prevented me from making any further noise. After depositing my belongings in a large, nicely-furnished bedroom, with a pleasant outlook from some big, airy windows in one wall, I washed my hands in the bathroom and went downstairs again. On entering the kitchen I met for the first time three other boys, evacuees from East Ham. They were all the same age as me, and I immediately took a liking to them, as indeed I had to take the place of the friends I had in London. In about ten minutes I had my first meal in my new home.
That night I slept alone in the large bedroom which seemed, now night had come, to have lost something of its daytime cheeriness. I was alone in a room in a large house, a hundred and seventy miles from my home and relations, and, being unaccustomed to this, I did not feel too happy; nor, I thought gloomily, had I anything to look forward to. But the next morning I surveyed my new surroundings less dismally. I ate my breakfast that morning without that shy feeling I had had the day before.
At one o'clock I set out for my new School, and arrived there just in time for the daily parade in the School playground. After assembly I joined my old class again and had a lesson, my first for about 12 weeks, and, frankly, I quite enjoyed it. I arrived home after School at about 5.30. Later that night I went with the lady, who was to take the place of my mother, to the Queen's Hall, which is the town's theatre. We arrived home from here fairly late, and I went to bed that night feeling tired, but well satisfied with my first day's stay at Minehead.
* * *
About 25 of our Boys are at the Youth Hostel. Here is an account of life there by A. AARONSON (L.6 Arts) and S. PAYTON (L.5B)
LIFE AT THE YOUTH HOSTEL.
TO many, the mention of a Youth Hostel might suggest something of hardship, or even discomfort. Let me dispel that fallacy at once. The Hostel here is the home of 25 of us boys and Mr. Broodbank. We are all looked after by Mr. and Mrs. Heppell, and they and Mr. Broodbank have done wonders; I know that not one boy here has any complaints to make.
The great advantage of the Hostel over other billets is its communal life, and many methods of amusing the boys. Among the many games available there is a full-sized table-tennis table, a billiard room, darts, chess, draughts, cards, and many other games. These games are particularly appreciated on long, rainy evenings, of which we now have so many. One must not get the idea that these games are monopolised by the biggest boys. There is a Games Committee which has drawn up a set of rules, whereby any boy may have a turn at billiards or darts, and so on.
Our day begins at eight o'clock, when Mr. Heppell comes round and wakes us up with a friendly "Good-Morning," and we tumble out. We go to the wash basins, and when we hear the call, "Come and get it," we rush to the stairs and to our different tables. Any boy who exceeds the five minutes' grace given is fined a penny (this applies to all meals). The pennies collected go to the upkeep of our games. Each table has a set of washers-up, who take it in turns. This takes about four minutes for the lot. After breakfast time is devoted to homework, games, &c. Dinner is at 12.15 and is, like all meals, always on time. After dinner we wash up and go to School. We have a little time to get something or other done between the time we leave School and tea. Tea is always at six o'clock, and is in the form of a high tea. Two evenings a week, Tuesday and Friday, we are allowed late leave till ten o'clock to go to the cinema. Anyone who comes in at 10.5 is fined one penny. There are very few boys who take such mean advantage of these two nights as to be in later than the time fixed. Two other days, Wednesday and Sunday, we are allowed visitors, who may come in and play any games available, and there is very little to restrict them, save for the fact that no visitor is allowed upstairs in the dormitories, which are strictly private. The point which is outstanding here is the excellent spirit of camaraderie that exists between us all. There is no friendless person in our billet and, apart from little displays of temper, there is very little horseplay. Three boys are acting as Hostel prefects; these three see to general points of discipline and are on the same basis here as an ordinary prefect in School.
Another feature of the Hostel is the Sunday evening debates. At these debates there are usually five or six Sixth Formers who take the two sides of the meeting. The motions put forward are always interesting and debateable, such as "The Laboratory has done more for Civilisation than the Library." The chair is usually taken by Mr. Broodbank, Mr. Lightfoot, or Mr. Heppell, all of whom are regular attenders. These debates are so popular that there is a weekly report on them in the local paper, "The West Somerset Free Press."
The end of our day is 9.45, when we go to bed. We are all in bed by ten o'clock, and Mr. Broodbank comes up and we have a friendly talk. These talks are exceedingly popular. Mr. Broodbank's willingness to do his best for the boys, his inexhaustible supply of jokes, and his ability to keep a friendly atmosphere constantly going here, have earned him the affection and esteem of every boy in the Hostel. After the talk it is "lights out," and the Hostel settles down to sleep.
* * *
TO NORTH HILL.
Grand old lady with foot in sea,
Gazing for ever northward o'er the lea.
Thy grey veil hides thy smiling face
The while a fresh green mantle clothes thy rounded grace.
The ribbons of thy bonnet green streams are,
Thy plaided shawl are the fields and scar.
Thy reddenned shoes and hose of Devon sand,
Flash silvery buckles from thy sun-kissed strand.
Girdled with trees and ferns thy pathways lie,
Hiding from idle gaze of passer by,
The shy, wild things of forest and of brake,
Guarding these, thy children, that no harm o'ertake.
F.H. (L.5B).
* * *
Minehead is, of course, a great hunting district and J. BONE (L.6 Moderns), gives us some first-hand information.
HUNTING AS SEEN BY AN EVACUEE.
ON being evacuated to Minehead I was billeted with the first whip and kennel-huntsman of a famous West-Country pack of foxhounds, and so I have come to know something of the hunting which is carried on in the district. Hunting originated in France about the 14th century, and was introduced into England later. At first they used to hunt red deer and buck, and it was not until later that the hunting of foxes became popular. The deer are still hunted by staghounds, and foxes by foxhounds.
The deer are very harmful, as one would root up a field of turnips in a night, and so they must be kept down if possible, as no-one is prepared to pay for the damage that they do. To shoot a deer is a very difficult proposition, as you are lucky to get within 300 yards of one, unless you are a stalker, and then you must hit the side of the head or the heart, both of which are spots of about 1in. in diameter. The method is to use hounds, which chase the deer until it is tired of the game, and it then goes to water and then the huntsman goes to it and kills it with a humane killer. If the hounds were to go near the deer it would not be afraid, for the hounds would not come within 15 yards of its deadly horns.
With fox-hunting the opening meet is usually held about November the 1st, and it is the commencement of the foxhunting season. They meet at about eleven o'clock, and the hounds are then thrown into the first cover, which may be blank. They then move on to the second cover, which is probably gorse, and almost immediately we hear a hound speak, then another, and another, until they are all chiming. Then the whipper-in, who is at the end of the cover, shouts "Gone away," and the hounds are soon streaming after the fox. Physically the fox is about the equal of the hounds but he is much more cunning. Sometimes he will make for a wood and rouse another fox. Thus two scents result, and hounds will either divide or follow the fresh fox. Probably the fox will run to ground under a rock, and the hounds will bay, but will have to give up the chase; but sometimes they will run the fox into a corner, in which case the huntsman will kill it humanely, and then the mask, brush, and pads are usually given to those who care for them, and the hounds have the rest.
There are many societies of people who know little about hunting, and who are against it because they say it is cruel. I was inclined to sympathise with them until I saw for myself but I know now that I was wrong, as experience reveals the truth.
* * *
A COUNTRY RAMBLE.
Sing a song of Alcombe,
And Ellicombe as well,
Minehead with its Church Steps,
Dunster with its bell.
Trotting down to Timberscombe
By the woodland trail,
Back again o'er Grabhist
By the Aville Vale.
Westward bound to Porlock
By Selworthy's track,
Forward on through Allerford,
Famous for its "Pack."
Home again to Minehead,
Drawn as by a spell,
With Dunkery's Beacon
Standing sentinel.
F.H. (L.5B)
* * *
The Harbour is always a source of interest, especially when the Emma Louise is at the Quay, and here E. FARMER (3B) tells something about the Minehead Lifeboat, and H. D. WHITE about the Emma Louise.
THE MINEHEAD LIFEBOAT.
THE lifeboat itself is ultra modern, and it has a length of about 30ft. and a beam of approximately 10ft. It has dual control, and also a supreme improvement - it goes entirely without propellers. It is driven by water coming in through a small grating amidship and being forced out at the stern. That banishes all risk of the propellers being knocked off. It was presented in August, 1939, by Kate Greatorex, to the National Lifeboat Institution.
* * *
THE UNLOADING OF THE EMMA LOUISE.
As a word of introduction I would like to say that the Emma Louise is a two-masted, flat-bottomed, and rather ancient sailing boat that is used for transporting pit props to Barry and bringing back coal for the Minehead Gasworks. It has an auxiliary motor which enables it to be manoeuvred easily in harbour. The boat is beached as near the harbour side as possible. This enables the old crane to unload the boat more easily. Unloading is done when the tide is out, thus making it easier work for the crane. When the crane is working clouds of steam and rather ominous grinding noises emerge from its interior. But amidst all this the man who works the crane smokes his pipe with nonchalance. The buckets used hold half a ton each, and as the crane takes the load the crane can be seen to sway slightly. A lorry is used to take the coal to the gasworks, and as the coal is tipped into the lorry the lorry goes down about 6ins. on the back springs. There are men in the hold of the ship who fill the buckets. One is filled while another one is lifted up and emptied. The hold of the ship itself holds about 53 tons. The unloading takes nearly a day. The following day pit props are loaded and the ship sets sail for Barry.
* * *
One or two of the lucky ones were able to visit London. A. KIRBY (L.5C) tells of his visit.
I NEVER thought that one could miss one's home so much until this term. And so it was three weeks ago I waited impatiently for permission to go home for the week-end. At last, after much waiting, permission was granted. I dashed off to the Post Office and wired my parents: "Permission granted. Travelling to-night." That afternoon I left School at 3.15 and hurried to my billet, where I washed, changed, and had my tea. Full of excitement in case I should miss my train, I ran all the way to the station and arrived there with twenty minutes to spare. After buying my ticket I secured a seat and paced up and down the platform waiting for 4.50, when, according to the time-table, the train was due to leave. Exactly at 4.50 the train pulled out of Minehead. That journey to Taunton seemed terribly long; 80 minutes for about 25 miles; but, at last, with a screech of brakes, we drew into Taunton five minutes late.
At Taunton the platform was crowded; most of the people were in uniform of one of His Majesty's Services. When the Penzance train did pull in it was crowded with children. I thought I might have to stand part of the way, but I was lucky and obtained a seat. The dim blue light of the compartment gave the occupants a ghostly effect and, though one could see by it, reading was almost impossible. We rolled into Bristol 15 minutes late. At Bristol a few carriages were shunted on at the back, and after about a quarter of an hour of jolting and bumping we proceeded on our way. I found it very difficult to fix my attention on the book I was reading. After passing Swindon I suppose I must have fallen asleep, for I remember nothing until we stopped at Reading. As I neared London so my excitement grew, and when we arrived at Paddington at half-past eleven at night, exactly 30 minutes late, my excitement had reached its limit. There on the platform stood my parents, watching very expectantly. I was in London; home once more.
* * *
Some joined us here direct from their home. Thus A. E. ROBERTSON (U.5Ai) arrived here on November 5th. He writes:-
WHEN War was declared I was stranded somewhere in Scotland. During the first few weeks of the War we heard and saw nothing at all. Then we were awakened suddenly out of a dream into stark reality. In the first week in October we heard the gunfire from Edinburgh, and that same afternoon a plane flew overhead with the swastika and black crosses. It was forced down about 30 miles north of where we were staying.
I was at School at the local Academy, in the top class, the equivalent of our VI. Form. Then Dr. Worsnop wrote and asked me to go to Minehead, so packing my bags, I left Scotland and commenced one of the most wearisome journeys I have ever had. I left at twelve o'clock in the afternoon and arrived at 8.30, two hours longer than usual. All along the line troop trains were waiting to move off, many bearing inscriptions on the doors such as "Run, 'Itler, Run." Camps were being built at every big town, and in one place a football match was taking place, Soldiers v. Airmen, on an aerodrome. Spectators stood under the shadow of an A.A. gun or three or four bombers.
Every large bridge had soldiers guarding it, and at Carlisle three Spitfires were chasing after an enemy bomber. It was dark by seven o'clock, and I travelled for 1½ hours in what was almost like total blackness. London was dark and wet. I have lived there for nine years, and I still managed to get lost. The following day I set out for Minehead.
* * *
Many of our boys had invitations to re-visit Wedmore and the other villages, and here G. DENHAM (L.5A) describes how he cycled back.
BACK TO WEDMORE.
FRIDAY night was a very busy night for me because to-morrow I was going to 'cycle to Wedmore. Feverishly I tightened nuts, adjusted brakes, oiled in the required places, and pumped up tyres to the correct pressure. After this I had a good wash and went to bed. My landlady called me at 5.15 a.m. on a cold Saturday morning, and when I arrived downstairs it was pitch black outside. My brother and I ate a steaming plateful of porridge each, and this warmed the cockles of our hearts. After the usual good-byes and wishes we started off down the road to meet White (another companion). It was terrible. I couldn't see more than five yards ahead of me. We left Minehead at 6.15 a.m. and started on the 41¾ miles ride to Wedmore. As dawn was beginning to break it started to rain, and by the time Washford was reached the water was running off my bike. On we went past the great wireless masts towering above us until we reached Williton. Here we switched off our dynamos and began to plod up the 1½-mile hill to St. Audries, which is half-way up the western end of the Quantocks. Some string had managed to get wound round White's rear wheel, and we had to stop and undo the string by torchlight and in pelting rain. All the villagers who were awake stared at us as we charged down through Kilve and round the bend to Holford. At Nether Stowey we stopped to have some food, and in about five minutes we were on our way again.
Through Cannington and so to Bridgwater, which is 26 miles from Minehead. The road from the latter to Highbridge was very uninteresting, except for an occasional house, and, now and again, a car would whizz past us and be out of sight in no time. At last we passed an R.A.C. sign marked Highbridge, and here we turned right for Wells. Brent Knoll was on our left now, and I could just see Crook Peak, the highest point on the Mendips, straight ahead.
The next village was Mark, and here it was pelting, and the water was running along the side of the road, and the ditches were filling in a threatening manner. At Blackford many people said "Good-morning" as they recognised the School cap. One bright piece of humanity shouted in a loud voice, "Oi, mate, 'ows life at Minehead?" At last Wedmore was reached, and, as we rode into the farmyard, the church clock chimed ten o'clock. Jim, the shaggy farm dog, greeted us by barking, and Mrs. Ham, our landlady, when we were in Wedmore, gave us a hearty welcome, set us before a blazing fire, and gave us such a glorious breakfast that all the trials of the journey were forgotten.
* * *
About 60 of our boys are billeted in Dunster. Several members of Form 3B - R. GOODING, G. WATTS, J. MORRIS, P. RUDOLPH, C. DURHAM, and W. THIE have co-operated in the following description.
DUNSTER.
DUNSTER is one of the loveliest villages I have ever seen. It is built in the shadow of three big hills - Vinegar, Grabhist, and Conygar. Vinegar is noted for its Roman Camp on the top, Grabhist for climbing, Conygar for its tower.
It is full of quaint old buildings - the Yarn Market, the Nunnery, the Mill, the Castle, the Luttrell Arms - and even in the houses no two roofs are the same. The chief attraction of Dunster is the Yarn Market, built by the Luttrells about 1609. It is a reminder of the time when Dunster was famous for cloth manufacture, chiefly a cloth called "Kersey" - the manufacturers of Kersey being known as "Dunsters." Years ago merchants used to come over Packhorse Bridge with horses laden with wool and yarn and sell it to the wool merchants of Dunster in the Yarn Market. In the construction of the Yarn Market not a single nail was used; the beams were secured together by oak pegs, and even the slates on the roof were kept in position by wooden pegs. In one of the beams you can see the hole caused by a shot fired from a cannon in the Castle during the siege in 1646. Carved into the bricks supporting the middle of the Yarn Market are the figures one to eight in Roman numerals.
Dunster Church, dedicated to St. George of England, is about the finest in Somerset. It has a very handsome roof, a central tower about 90ft. high, built about 1440, and a clock and eight bells which chime daily at one, five, and nine o'clock. Stretching across the Church, separating the altar and the choir from the congregation, is a magnificently carved wooden screen.
Dunster Castle is very old and was besieged as early as 1138 by King Stephen. It was bought in 1376 by Lady Elizabeth Luttrell, a cousin of the Black Prince, and it has belonged to the Luttrell family ever since. They have still got the original receipt. It was held against the Royalists during the Civil War, but in 1643 it had to surrender, and then was held for the King till 1646. The Prince of Wales - afterwards Charles II.- stayed at Dunster Castle to avoid the plague.
Behind Dunster is Conygar Hill, crowned by a tower which can be seen all over the district. There is said to be a passage leading from the tower to a secret room in Dunster Castle, and it was here that Charles I. hid.
Another interesting place is the Tithe Barn; this was where the villagers used to pay their taxes. In the barn is the stage coach. This coach used to run once a week to London, nearly 200 miles away. In the barn, too, is the old harbour light.
Then there is the Luttrell Arms Hotel, once an ancient hostelry, but now a modern hotel. It is said to have been the residence of the Abbots of Cleeve.
Near by, is the Nunnery - originally called the High House. I think this is about the oldest place in Dunster. It was built in the 14th century, and that is a great age for a house, but it has no signs of falling down yet. The interior is very old - I don't mean the furniture. I mean the stone stairways and oak beams across the ceilings and down the walls. It certainly lives up to its name. of the High House for it is three storeys high.
The Dove Cot is another interesting place. Here the monks used to keep the pigeons, which they killed and ate.
Like most villages Dunster has its legends. One of these is that the devil sat on one of the nearby hills, called Grabhist, and washed his feet in the river Aville, which runs along at the foot of it. The place where the devil sat is called the Devil's Chair, and it is strange how the ground is shaped like a chair. Another legend is built around Tarr Steps. These are large stones placed across the river at equal intervals. The local people say the devil put them there so that he could cross the river. They were actually put there, though, by the Romans.
* * *
J. P. Walsh (L.5B) puts one of the legends of the district into verse.
HURLING STONES.
(A Legend of Porlock Hills).
The Devil and St. Peter once on a day
Were walking the hills around Selworthy way,
And as they walked gaily with laughter and song,
They picked up huge pebbles and threw them along.
"Hi, Saint!" said the Devil, as he threw some more stones,
"I'll beat you for distance, or curry my bones."
By this time they had come to the edge of the cliff,
And they picked up their stones with a sneer and a sniff.
They threw out to sea, then with might and with main
St. Peter threw first and the Devil again.
The Devil threw wide - Porlock spire he did hit,
But Saint Peter's white pebble on Porlock did sit.
And old folks around there this legend do tell
Of how HURLSTONE its name got and WHITESTONES as well.
* * *
We are very pleased to print this letter from an Old Friend of the Boys.
Polytechnic,
309, Regent Street,
London, W. 1.
December 4th, 1939.
MY DEAR BOYS, - I feel I must let you know how much I miss you all, and how I long for the time when we will be all together again. What a lot we shall have to tell one another; but, truly, boys, I think I would rather have all the mess to clear up after you than have you away from here. I do so miss you all, and the fun we used to have in chasing one or the other of you. I hear that you are having a great time at Minehead. What about making room for little me; and is there any mess to clear up after you and any milk bottles lying about? Well, boys, I have not worn out my feather flick so quickly as I did last term, and my apron strings get a rest now. And I think I could put up with all that, than have you all away from me. Well, boys, I want to say a lot more, but you know what it is to miss someone. Well, cheerio for now, and please give my love to all the Masters, and tell them I miss their cheery smile. God bless you all, dear boys, and I wish you a Merry Christmas, and hope you are all keeping well.
With lots of love from your dear old
POLLY.
P.S. - If any of you have time to write I should like to hear from you. - P.L.
* * *
The general welfare and happiness of the boys is the constant care of the Head Master, the House Masters, and Matrons (loyally assisted by the hosts and hostesses where the boys are billeted). The Quintinian, anxious to do its bit to help, has - regardless of expense - commissioned Aunt Katie to write a letter to you, and answer any letters you send to her every term. Here is her first letter:
* * *
AUNT KATIE'S KORNER.
DEAR BOYS, - It's so nice to see you all looking so well and happy, and how's the darning getting on? I found someone the other day nearly falling out of his trousers. But it was only a Master; so that's all right, my dears.
That reminds me. You know, you lads, in your usual care-free way, don't bother to think how the bottom has been knocked out of the lives of your beloved Masters! Behind those cheerful frowns you are so wont to see every day, week in, week out, AND Saturdays AND Sundays, Ugh! there are all sorts of worries. They have adopted the responsibilities of looking after you, poor dears. Oh! I'm so upset to think of them all; my heart goes bing-a-bong, dot and carry one, every day. They look with maternal care to see that you've washed behind the ears, they keep a Knightly eye on your sleeping by day and waking o' nights; on your little socksies and pyjams; and you, Oh! you thoughtless wretches, don't give a bother to think that their mothers, too, are far away and worrying about them. Now next time you see Mr - well, any one of them - looking sad, just say to yourself, "Poor old - (I leave that to you) - I bet he's missing his dad," then you must go on to say to yourself, "I'll really be a good boy to-day, 'cos old - (I'll leave that also to you) - has a fit of the jim-jams on account of mal de chez lui!" Do you like my French? That's what the Poly. does for you.
Now I want you boys to hear my little secret. I'm going to write to you every term - now, don't be rude! I'm your new Fairy Godmother! (regal music in the distance). Isn't that nice for all of us! Sometimes I shall write poetry for you:-
Ye Lytle briddes singe "Cheep Cheep"
Uponne Novembre's morne,
Oh, farre off is ye Springe "Chirrup,"
O would I wasn't born to be caught bending (over my work) in the back bedroom of this billet.
Pah! and Pshaw! that's nothing to what I can write. That poem by the way was after Chaucer (a long way after).
But I want you, dears, to write to me and tell me your troubles. Pour out your soul-yearnings to me - on paper in an envelope (1½d stamp); and I'll reply - on paper - in an envelope.
I've had some agonising letters already. One nice little boy in 4D has asked me if they can have just a little more homework; another says can't we have church parade three times on Sunday?
Well, good-bye, boys, keep yourselves fit. Don't forget the weekly dose. One little bit of algebraic chocolate. Oh! I nearly forgot my competition. Here it is:-
Who said this?
"Now my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Show us here the mettle of your pastures.
Is not this life much better than
Painted pomp down Vauxhall in the morning?"
Write your answers on a post-card and send them with a 2s. 6d. P.O., to me, C/o the Poly.
The first prize is a walk to Porlock, and the second a walk back.
Love, from your respectable Aunt
KATIE.
Cox, Sons & Co., Ltd., Printers, Minehead and Williton
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