Back: Fred Peake, NK, Alf Joseph, Dennis Chapan, NK, Harold Simpson, Smith, Hanson, NK
Front: Legge, Topliss, Bill Grimley, Vic Morris, Boss Swaine, Ron Cooke, Eric Coates, Bert Fossey, Robbo

THE BEST DAYS OF OUR LIVES

Somerset’s Patrick Morley recaptures his time at Derby Central School during the Second World War when the boys were evacuated to the elegant surroundings of Darley Park mansion which, canings aside, was sheer delight for all concerned. 

Above: Derby Central schoolboys couldn’t believe their luck when they were evacuated to Darley Park mansion in 1939.	Patrick as a teenager (left) during the war with the family dog. The right hand picture may be contemporary.

I WAS FORTUNATE to be at Derby Central School from 1940 to 1946. Fortunate because the war provided me with a lucky escape. In peacetime, the school was housed in the centre of town, in Abbey Street. But as soon as the war began it was evacuated. Its home for the duration was Darley Park Mansion, an 18^th century house set in a big park on the outskirts of the town, with the River Derwent flowing through it. (See more stories from Patrick here, plus map of Derby from 1935! - Ed)

Right: Packing up for the magnificent move from Abbey Street to Darley Park. In my imagination it was Greyfriars from the school stories with Harry Wharton and Billy Bunter. The building even had ivy on the walls like Greyfriars and the headmaster, Mr. Hainsworth, was a severe man with a sharp face and rimless glasses, a perfect copy of Mr. Quelch, the Terror of the Remove! For a young boy, it was a fascinating building. There were dozens of rooms with huge gilt mirrors and marble fireplaces, rooms with tall windows, windows with shutters, and window places you could sit in. There were elegant rooms with chandeliers, gloomy rooms no one liked, little attic rooms, dusty empty rooms we never used, rooms in unexpected places. There was a great staircase leading up from a panelled hall, tiny back stairs, narrow corridors that seemed to go nowhere, landings everywhere, cupboards everywhere. There was a billiard room, a blue room, a conservatory, a smoking room [and] a library.

All the doors were of heavy polished oak, all the fittings were brass. There were even bell pulls once used to ring for servants.

The roof was a litter of tall chimneys. Meanwhile, down below, cellars stretched under the building. It was rumoured that a secret passage connected the hall with the old Darley Abbey in the nearby village but we never found it, though we searched often enough, even through cellars that were forbidden territory.

There was forbidden fruit too. In the greenhouse nearby was an ancient banana tree that grew the only bananas we ever saw in Britain throughout the war.

The Government stopped bringing them into the country to save precious space on ships carrying vital supplies. Yet here they were, growing green and tempting, ready to hand. We hatched all manner of plots for getting at them but the greenhouse was guarded by a brute of a gardener. He hated boys and swore at us if he even saw us.

We eyed those bananas with longing and often wondered if they ever really ripened and, if they did, who had the rare treat of eating them.

Because of the war, most of the teachers were getting on in age. But the men still outnumbered the women. The most colourful was “Froggy” Levy, who, as his nickname suggests, taught us French. He was a strange looking little man with an odd way of speaking. But oddest of all, he carried a small truncheon hidden up his sleeve. He would ask some boy who had been misbehaving: “What’s that in your hand?”

The unsuspecting victim would reply: “Nothing, sir,” and hold out his hand to prove it.

At this moment he would get a good swipe from the concealed truncheon. Of course, we soon got wise to the trick but it was amazing how often Froggy managed to catch someone out. After a few terms, he left to join the staff at Derby School. We wondered how his little game fared at that more prestigious place of learning.

Froggy apart, it’s the women who stand out in my memory. Miss Hepworth wasn’t glamorous but she was nice looking, had good legs and was warm-hearted. When I had to start wearing glasses – a blow both to my hopes of becoming an RAF pilot and of proving irresistible to girls – she was both understanding and sympathetic.

In total contrast was “Polly” Wood, a large grim lady who had the unfortunate habit of telling any boy who was misbehaving that if he wasn’t careful “you’ll feel me lad.”

To which, under our breath, we always responded: “Yes, please, miss.”

“Katy” Street took art. She was plump and vaguely pretty but hopeless at discipline. On one notable occasion, her class collapsed in total disorder and the poor lady was close to hysteria.

We liked teachers to show they were human without being too friendly and to keep order without being harsh. We expected them to be fair and we wanted top be able to respect them. Most could, but there was one notable exception, happily only with us for a couple of terms. She was young and good looking but extremely quick tempered. She used any excuse to wield the cane. The power of her arm was much feared. She wore a turban scarf like the factory workers; not at all what we expected from our teachers.

There was a fair amount of caning. Usually we accepted that we deserved it and rarely resented it. Most of the teachers, being experienced, were aware of all the tricks schoolboys get up to so it was dangerous to take liberties.

Even with short trousers we kept warm in the snow in Darley Park. The old Tuck Shop is in the background.

New boys, though, weren't caned as a rule and in my first year we traded on that. On one memorable occasion we came badly unstuck. The Derwent overflowed then froze. It made a perfect skating rink. But it was on land owned by the local farmer and so out of bounds. we were warned not to go on it. But the temptation was too much. Soon several score of us were skating happily on the ice. Suddenly, a posse of prefects, lead by the head, descended and rounded us all up. We were apprehensive but not all that worried. After all, the head couldn't cane us all, could he? It turned out he could - and he did. He caned every single one of us himself. I was half way down the queue and after two mighty whacks was heartily glad I hadn't been number one. Another much feared wielder of the cane was one history master, "Squeak" Weston, so called because he had a remarkably high pitched voice. He didn't cane very often but when he did the victim suffered severely from the tremendous swipes inflicted on him. In total contrast was the long-suffering Mr. Hanson who taught maths (he was known as Avro from the wartime plane, the Avro Anson).

His infrequent canings were a joke. You hardly noticed.

Another teacher I particularly recall was Mr. Poole, the physics master. He was tall and sharp featured with a dry way of speaking. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him and I can't recall him ever raising his voice. At a time when clothes were rationed he was always well turned out and it impressed me that the buttons on the cuffs of his elegant suit actually undid so he could tuck his handkerchief up his sleeve.

Stirrup pump (above) and search lights celebrate VE Day.

I envied the senior boys who took it in turns with the masters to do school fire watch duty at the height of the air raids. Each night they stayed there, watchful for incendiary bombs, with their buckets of sand and water and their stirrup pumps at the ready. From the chimney towers they could look out across the park to Derby where searchlights swept the sky, and soon the glow of fires by enemy raiders would light up the blacked out city.

The vigil proved unnecessary. The school survived the war unscathed. By an irony of fate it was in peacetime that disaster struck. One night the building caught fire and by the morning a large part of it was smoking rubble. Repairs were carried out but the building was eventually ruled unsafe and demolished. Today, sadly, there is [little] to indicate it ever existed.

Of all the boys I knew at school I only kept in touch with one, Dave Milner. Like me, he worked for a time on the Derby Evening Telegraph but has spent most of his working life in India before retiring to work in Lincolnshire. Where, I wonder, are the others? Freddie Buxton, "Fatty" Robinson, the Lakin brothers, "Bonny" Mason, Don Ackforth, "Blondie" Laker and a host of others who shared with me the best days of our lives.

[To the left of this article was a column by Old Centaur, Derek Bell, "Routes to your Roots - help advice and tips on how to research your family tree." At one time Derek was trying to produce a book about the school and its history. Can anyone supply details? - Ed.]