| The School
where cows occupied the football pitch and the classrooms had secret
passageways Derby Evening Telegraph
09 April 2007
Having to shoo cows off the football pitch and locking a classmate in
a secret escape tunnel are just some of the fond memories that Dave
Thomson, of Littleover has of his days at Central School when
it was based in Darley Hall in the 1950s - as he describes here.
After I passed my 11-plus and was awarded a place at Central School, my
mother was pleased.
But when she received the list of clothes required - uniform, sports and
gym kit, as well as all the classroom requirements like protractors,
different pencils etc - she was worried about where the money was coming
from to buy such a list, as there were five others below me at home.
I did start with a full complement, but the blazer was an expense too
far, so I had a Post Office jacket dyed the required colour, navy blue,
with the school badge bearing the motto, "Celer et Certus" -
swift and
sure - sewn on to it.
On the walk down the drive to our school, the large house in Darley
Park, as a newcomer, "a fag", I was often piled high with school
satchels. If you happened to drop one, the older pupils who had placed
them there made sure you limped into school having given you a dead leg.
Early in our time there, the new lads were introduced to Bill Bailey, the
park keeper, who had a very large stomach. We used to gather round and
listen to him telling us how lucky we were to be in his park and not to
go near the flower beds and keep of the grass in the gardens.
There was a working farm next to the school and our football pitch was
where the farmer grazed his cows.
We used to have to get the cows off before the game could start and they
had usually left their mark. We won many of our home games because of
the reluctance of the opposition to plough through the cow deposits!
When I arrived home, the family always knew we'd had a match as there
were no showers and my boots were pretty high.
The canteen doubled up as the gym so the floor wasn't in prime condition
if you had a gym lesson immediately after dinner.
On occasions, Jimmy Lingard, the sports master, used to "toughen us up"
by having the lesson outside in the farmyard - usually when there was a
frost or it had snowed.
He soon stopped pupils using the excuse to miss the session by saying,
"I've forgotten my kit, sir", by replying, "Right then, you'll have to
do it in your birthday suit" - and he meant it!
Our chemistry, physics and woodwork lessons were conducted in Abbey
Street School where we spent a full day. As I recall, Mr Peake, Mr Evans
and Mr Legg were the teachers.
There was a fish and chip shop next door to the school which attracted a
long queue of school boys at dinner time.
We all used to have our fish and chips open with lots of salt and
vinegar on. There could be up to 60 pupils walking down Abbey Street
eating their fish and chips or pea mix.
A number of shop owners and residents wrote letters of complaint to the
headmaster, G B Swaine (George Bernard), saying they were not happy at
the number of Central School boys eating chips in the street as it was
degrading the area.
How times have changed! The upshot was that we could no longer eat in
the street and had to stop and eat them in the shop.
GB said he knew that the fish and chips tasted better out of the bag in
the fresh air, but we were disgracing the uniform of the school. He said
he would send someone to check up at dinner times and anyone caught
would be punished.
There were many tunnels that led down to the river from the house -
escape tunnels for the Evans family who lived in the house when times
were more dangerous. Some of the classrooms had trap doors in them which
led to the tunnels.
On one occasion, a lad in my class was dropped through the trap door and
then a portable blackboard was wheeled over it.
Minutes later, Mr Robinson, the English teacher, came in and the class
fell silent, as he was a hard man. All that could be heard was the
shouting of the lad in the hole.
Robbo's face was a picture but things got worse as the blackboard moved
when the lad in the hole tried to push the trap door open. The whole
class was put into detention as no-one would own up to putting him down
the hole.
The school used to put on a play once a year, usually a Shakespeare
play. The usual leading lights picked up the lead roles and some of the
boys had to play the women. But the bit parts were played by volunteers
who, when asked, couldn't refuse.
Mr Cook was the director. I can remember I was a sailor in The Tempest,
which wasn't too bad, but Terry McLeod, one of the maidens in a dance,
was taken ill on the second night and I had to stand in for him - much
to the amusement of my classmates in the audience that night.
Incidentally, Terry, who passed away a few years ago, became a celebrity
in the Derby area when he won the chance to become a singer on a
Midlands TV show. It may have been Thank Your Lucky Stars.
He was an apprentice at Rolls-Royce at the time and went from having
dark hair to being blond over night.
He later became David Whitfield's manager and remained in show business
the rest of his life. He was associated with Ricki Disoni and booked
acts for many Midlands clubs.
The tea rooms that are now in Central Park used to be the school's art
room and Joe Hawksby was our art teacher. It was rumoured that he used
to be a wrestler, which I don't doubt as when he gave you a "clip", it
was as though you had been hit by a lump of wood.
I have many fond memories of life in Central School and Darley Park,
along with many others, I imagine.
But there were also hard times and the cane and detention were in
constant use. I know "rose-tinted glasses" was a phrase used after a
reader read my previous article (February 19) about Nightingale School,
but did those years do us any harm?
I was there when the decision was made to close Central School in Darley
Park, transfer the pupils to Henry Cavendish and introduce girls into a
school that had been all boys for many years, which created another set
of memories.
It was a sad day when the house was demolished but I still go and visit
the park and remember the hundreds of boys panting up the hill from the
river on the cross-country runs and the dozens of lads attempting the
river swim from below the weir to the balustrade.
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