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Maurice Topley could hardly sleep From an email: November 29th, 2005 I've just spent a nearly sleepless night due to you!!! I have only just discovered your site and dipped into it for the first time yesterday evening. The memories came pouring back out of my subconscious when I viewed many of the photos and various snippets of information, and after only about three hours sleep I woke up and started to churn things over in my head. The photo of the snows of 1947 showing boys in short trousers brought back memories of coming of sleds and snow being funneled up my nether regions. I can remember trying to dry out round the fire in the entrance hall outside Boss Swaine’s office which was the warmest place in the school. This was generally unsuccessfully, though, and there was very little warmth in the Art room which was my classroom at the time. There wasn't a fireplace in that room if memory serves me right - only a large radiator in a housing at the rear of the room. Luckily my desk was almost next to it. Of course we were made of sterner stuff in those days; no central heating at home, no double glazing or insulation - so chapped knees and legs were an accepted hazard of being a schoolboy in those far off days. I was part of the first post-war intake of 90 boys in September ‘45 and cherish the memories of that first day arriving on the school special bus (which I had caught at the Cavendish after walking there from my home just off Stenson Road) then walking down the drive to that wonderful old house. Our first year was very fluid. A lot of the older masters who had stayed on past retirement age for the duration of the war retired, and many young masters who had served in the forces took their place, many of whom did not stay long. As a consequence 1B's first years schooling left something to be desired. Our French lessons hardly got off the ground suffering from a pleothera of different masters. All this changed in the second year when we were lumbered with Polly Wood. Aargh! Urgh! She made my life a misery. My hatred for French was only equaled by her contempt at my efforts to pronounce and write it, so consequently I couldn't wait until I got into the fourth form and was able to drop it. I think by then she had given up on me. It is only in the last fifteen years or so that I have started to enjoy France. I still live in Derby having spent all my working life in the town/city except for a couple of years National Service in the Royal Signals spending most of the time at Her Majesty's northern holiday camp, Catterick. I have three children who have not provided my wife of 48 years with any grandchildren to keep her occupied. I will go up into my loft and dig out some photos and other memorabilia which I am sure I can find, including my framed 1948 school picture. I have also got a very dog eared copy of the Centaur magazine for autumn term 1945 which I am sure will be of interest. (We await Maurice's School Mag. etc., with great eagerness - Ed) |