(page idea by Philip Wade)

Contents The Gallery Underground Press WC Paper - Roll 1

Background (1)
Background (2)
Background (3)
Background (4)
The Articles

Background (1)

"A group of Gloucester sixth formers were sitting around one afternoon in the summer term (as you did) bewailing the impending arrival of the boring school magazine (for which you were expected to pay), and someone said "Why don't you produce your own?".

WC Paper was born!

Names escape me after 30 years, and anyway I wouldn't like to single anyone out, but various members of the upper sixth leavers from various houses were involved.  The girls typed the stencils and we printed it one halcyon hot July afternoon on the Reverend Buck's parish magazine Roneo machine.  The cover was printed in a side room of the Art Department one Sunday afternoon, when we should have been on walks, and Miss Colls nearly came in when we had several hundred copies hanging up to dry.

I can't say much about impact as everybody left before the shit hit the fan, but there was no editing - we simply printed all the material we got, and it turned out somewhere between a Sixth Form Review and a rag magazine.  In the end the upshot was that the following year all the leavers were sent home after exams.

My family did get a phone call from the school a month or two later - I think it may have been Muz, but Dad was very good about it.

There was just the one-off issue and we produced about 400 copies for the upper school.  I think we charged 4 pence in old money [less than 2p - Ed.] - enough to cover the Rev Buck's costs!"

Roger Hayward - Gloucester 1960-68


Background (2)

"What a publication that was!  I have just read it again and spoiled another pair of trousers! Steve Human was the main article writer.  He was a great jazz/blues fan and used Charlie 'The Bird' Parker as his pseudonym.  Roger Hayward was the art man; he created the excellent cover and then produced the copies.  I had a general role - encouraging people to write articles, contributing towards some of them, getting the girls to do the typing etc.  It was a hell of a logistic exercise for everybody, bearing in mind that we were all trying to produce our best A level results at the same time!  Crazy, wonderful times - I shall never forget them!

Roger, Steve and I were all Upper 6th formers in Gloucester House - we were all "angry young men" (although we didn't always know why!) - it was the age of rebellion - pirate radio, undergound magazines, protest songs, great music (Dylan, Cream, The Who, The Stones, Love, Zappa, - I could go on !) - and we had been accused by a certain teacher called Mr Fairhurst (Chemistry) that the 6th form lacked initiative - so we thought "right mate - we'll show you whether we've got initiative or not!"

It seemed to be what everyone had been waiting for, because as soon as we mentioned it to fellow 6th formers we were inundated with offers of help/contribution etc (not all of which materialise as you well know!!).  Nevertheless, all contributions were gratefully received and included - even one from a member of staff whom we took into our confidence - Mr "Spike" Millington - who was disenchanted with all the petty rules that existed.

My best recollection of the contributors is as follows [but see Background (4) - Ed.]:

Introduction Steve Human
Doncaster Bicalfe Steve and myself
Sunday Soccer Jerry Hood (can you believe this actually happened!) 
Alts Caned Steve (my favourite piece, and the placing of the punchline on the next page was a brilliant piece of editing!)
A Fairy Story Mr Millington
A Hawks Eye View Pat Elmsley (?) not sure - but it's about Hilda Hawkyard (Jack's sister) who used to teach needlework and was one-time housemistress of Worcester
Every Couple Jerry Hood
Sun Worship Barbara was her real first name but I can't remember her proper surname! 
WC Socialist Movement John Dunn (a "Yorker")
The Magnificent Chip Fight John Adams and friends.  This was about the annual "outing" to the Dereham School for Girls Disco (!) which immediately turned into a pub crawl round Dereham and consequently was later banned!  I remember this vividly as I was the passenger on the scooter referred to in the item.  Eric Gough secreted  his scooter (well we were all "mods" in those days weren't we!!) in what was the old gym nissen hut.  To be "cool" we decided to go by scooter instead of the regulatory bus.  We set off down Golf Links Road towards what was the old A11 - Eric opened her up and we were flat out in no time, but the brakes - rather like his memory -had faded, and we hurtled straight across both carriageways and into the ditch on the opposite side!!! (I still thank The Lord every night that nothing else was coming - what a headline that would have made!) 
The Green Death Steve again - obviously about Dibble "I'm not green you know" Herrington!
College Meals Steven Revell - who has since been prominent in local politics - obviously a man of the people even in those days - all the data is genuine - he produced and collated umpteen questionnaires!
Worse Verse Steve, myself and "others" (including John Dunn)!  Do you know who all the gaps are??!! 
The Great Rebellion Mark Dowding I believe - yes he is of the famous Dowding family - what a zany guy,  he was mad as a hatter like his relative the Air Chief Marshall.  (John Dunn believes he wrote this - I'll let you fight it out! - Ed)
A Guide to You Know What! Fred (Chapman ?)  - another York "inmate"
A Moralistic Story Sue Keeling and Sally Howell - I think
Organised Religion Steve, Mark Dowding, myself and others - this was a hoot with ideas being produced faster than we could write them down - could it be because we all hated that snob Worrall?!  I love the line (Steve's I think)  "On the back of the chair in front of me someone has scratched 'Biffo saps your strength', but I ignore the warning"! (Mr Bawden = 'Biffo' and 'Sap' - Ed.)
Dictatorial Power etc. John Dunn again - he was a bit of a "Lefty" to say the least!!
The College Song Steve - yet again! He really was brilliant at this stuff!!!

The pupils (and an elite group of a few young and trendy staff!)  lapped it up and we had absolutely no problem selling them!!  As Roger says, just the one issue and about 400 copies of it were produced - I wonder who else apart from me has kept a copy?  - it is my most treasured possession from my 8 years there!  I had forgotten about The Rev Buck's Roneo machine - I am not sure if he actually  knew about it anyway!

Quite rightly, in order to minimise the opportunity for retribution we held the bulk of the distribution back until the very last moment - the last morning of term I think - so not much happened, although I do recall that on that final morning Mr Goss - the then school secretary mentioned in the "Worse Verse" article, in a fit of rage grabbed someone by the lapels - (I thought it was Roger which might account for how his Dad later received the letter he refers to!) - and told them they would never be allowed back - which was a bit dumb because he had no intention of coming back anyway!

Phew!! That tested the old brain cells, but it was great to recall what was a triumph of  initiative, creativity, planning and above all teamwork - as you can probably tell, I will never forget it!"


Alan Bridges


Background (3)

It was given out in the last morning of term but the money was taken some weeks earlier. In the Every Couple Has Its Moments' section, 'Pubic' is Ronald 'pubic' Eyre, aka Little Fat pubic Eyre, a French-teaching idiot in Gloucester house.  'Wee Willie' Harris was in York, I think, and married Miss Rosemary Parr, who taught us maths.  'Biffo' Bawden of Salisbury (previously York - Ed.) was head of history and was reckoned to have gay designs on his charges, hence the 'saps your strength' and other comments.  Folklore had it he had a hole in his slipper to put his finger through.  Really!  Such scurrilous ideas!

In 'Spike' Millington's 'Fairy Story' the 'bow man' is of course Ken Bowman.  There is also a  reference to the Boston Strangler - Sister Pauley.  'Will you burn please'  is a reference to Ken saying at the end of assembly 'will you turn please.'

Apparently Miss Hawkyard (housemistress of Winchester, I think) was really upset by 'A Hawk's Eye View' and this was used as a good excuse by the staff to try to make everyone feel rotten and guilty about the mag - which of course no one was.

Ian Gomeche


Background (4)

Seeing this underground magazine after so long was amazing as I always regretted losing my copy.  I can remember the initial discussion over this idea and the secrecy involved. The most memorial point for me was taking orders for a copy from all the kids in the York House and then on the last night, going in the dorms after lights out and distributing the copy to all the excited kids, especially the 1st and 2nd formers. Those of this era will remember, it was traditional at the time, to spend the last night out, setting up all sorts of pranks for the morning and this mag was icing on the cake. The next morning, not only were there signs all over the school as the  upper sixth left "their mark" that day, but there was also a competitor to the official rag we were forced to buy with no real representation from us as pupils. Yes we were angry young men. 
However I must correct the background 2 article by Alan Bridges  Yes, you are right it was a couple of "Yorkers", but not the right ones
W.C. Socialist Moment was written by John Gant (hence,- Fidel Gint). John was hung up on that stuff at the time.
and A Guide to You Know What was written  by Andy Browne (Fred) (hence Sigmund Fred). moi

It seemed ludicrous at the time to be attending a co-ed College where there was little chance of mixing with the opposite sex. When it came to fraternisation it was laughable at the time. I can remember the couples at break time sitting on the heating pipes that ran in between the huts. and the extremely rare opportunities you had to take advantage of even to talk together.  At 16 -18 that was difficult. They was no mixing at break before 15, in cinema you sat separately, Sunday walks were separate, dances were equally farcical.  The whole episode turned into a game with the staff intent on stopping any kind of unofficial contact and the pupils  as usual trying to get round it and not get caught. We might as well have been two separate schools.
Port or Sherry by Anon was moi as well. (At the time it was new and funny)
Andrew Browne 1963 -1968

The Magazine Articles

Exclusive Interview with Doncaster Bicalfe
Sunday Soccer Match
Quote 1
Alts Caned
A Fairy Story
A Hawk's Eye View
In assessing a school, would a look at their magazine be a help?
Every Couple Has Its Moments
Sun Worship
Quote 2
W.C. Socialist Movement
Magnificent Chip Fight (Dereham Dance)
The Green Death
Comment on College Meals

"Worse Verse"
"Port" or "Sherry"?
Quote 3
The Great Rebellion
Quote 4
A guide to you know what at W.C.  (abridged)
A Moralistic Story
My Son Hates Games.  Why must he play them?
Organised Religion
Apology Card
Dictatorial Power & the need for a Students' Union
Know Your Road Signs
The College Song



This magazine is dedicated to C.C.C.P.H.W. without whose censoring of the OTHER edition, this would never have come about.


The appearance of this magazine is based upon the assumption that People Prefer soft W.C. paper - this W.C. paper is softer than most.

But seriously folks, we wish to destroy the monopoly of the School Mag by providing the kind of material which you want to read, and at the nominal price of a few coppers - undercutting our rival by about 1200%.  Our aim is to prove that you, the discerning reader, wishes to to nourish his mind with more palatable fare than the insignificant tripe of 'De Personis Rebusque Scholastis,' or the meat cobbler of games achievements, which are indiscriminately dished up every year.  Like Radio Caroline, we wish to prove  that there is a vast potential audience for the material that we provide.  The B.B.C. succumbed to the 'pirates' influence.  Why shouldn't the dull School Mag be enlightened by our comparatively shining example of brilliant wit and sparkling initiative?

We think that the School Mag should be more than a log-book.  Chapel Notes are just not where it's at.  There should be space for original contributions, for comic relief, to alleviate the boredom of Chess Club chatter and Girl Guide gossip.  Wymondham is an educational establishment (co-educational in fact, if you hadn't forgotten).  WE are scholars as well as sportsmen.  Why should our magazine concern itself with 11 year old rugby players?  We would prefer to have an 11 year old writing imaginatively about the game, rather than a mass of meaningless facts, figures and names.

The end of the school year is an appropriate time to re-examine the value of various aspects of school life.  Our magazine contains a fair proportion of criticisms of what we, the students, dislike.  We would like to stress however that all characters are entirely fictitious.  Any resemblance to persons living or leaving is entirely coincidental.

We hope that you enjoy reading this magazine as much as we enjoyed producing it.  We also hope that it is accepted as the harmless fun which we intended it to be.

Who said the Sixth Form lacked initiative.

Back to Articles List

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Did you hear the one about the policeman living in a small Welsh village? His favourite boast was that he had booked every local inhabitant - every one that is except the Methodist minister, and he vowed, that given time, he would catch him too.

The policeman, knowing that it was the parson's habit to shoot the traffic lights on his bicycle, decided to lie in wait. Sure enough the minister roared up, and screeched to a halt, his front wheel inches behind the white line.

"Nearly had you that time, Reverend!" exclaimed the constable.

"No my son, you'll never catch me. The Lord is with me on this bike."

"Right, that'll do for me. Two on a bike!"

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Exclusive Interview with Mr. Doncaster Bicalfe

I was very pleased when I was invered to the offices of Mr. Bicalfe for an exclusive interview for the 'W.C. Paper' because he was such an important person.

I arrived at Wycoll on a damp Monday morning, with my trousers tightly buttoned and my wallet in my inside pocket (I had heard rumours about the place).  I soon made my first contact with the staff and pupils; there was a tall master with a small moustache trying out a new hymn book over the head of a little girl.  "How sweet," I thought, "the staff find time to look after even the youngest pupils."

I made my way to the headmaster's office where I was welcomed by his attractive young secretary, who told me that Mr. Bicalfe was free (very).

I knocked, and entered just in time to catch him hiding a comic in his desk.

"Yes well, what's your problem? ..... sit down .... yes."

I explained that I was from the 'W.C. Paper' and that he had invited me to ask a few questions.  He quickly replied in his calm, unruffled, manner, absent-mindedly mopping his brow with a pair of pink panties.

"Yes ... well yes ... sit down ... oh you have ... well, fire away."

I ignored him and started to ask questions.

"What do you think of co-educational schools?"

"What?" he replied.

"You know, schools with boys and girls."

"Oh ... well ... as you know, at this school we have boys and girls of both sexes, and we don't have much trouble."

"None at all?" I asked, disbelieving him.

"Well, I have caught one or two boys saying 'good morning' to girls ... everybody knows that there's never been a good morning at Wymondham College."

"Well, don't the boys and girls ever have a chance to speak to one another?"

"As a matter of fact, er, no."

"Nothing at all?"

"Well there used to be a dance every fortnight but I stopped that.  It had become too immoral.  I've seen dancing on television you know and it's nothing like that, no, nothing like that!"

"What, on Ready Steady Go!?"

"Good Heavens, no.  I don't like athletics.  I mean 'Come Dancing.'"

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Sunday Soccer Match

'Walks' are unpopular.  So how does one explain the fact that 11 Upper Sixth were seen leaving for walks 30 minutes early?  It was one of those attempts to flout school rules, where there is spontaneous coordination.  We all had one desire in mind - to play football, that game of which we had been deprived for so long at W.C.

So, at 1.30 p.m. we set out on our bikes, bulky trousers and jackets concealing shorts and jerseys, boots carefully hidden in our saddle bags.  The day was warm and sunny, the journey passed quickly.  We soon reached our destination - the football pitch on Deopham 'Rec.'  Here we were greeted by 11 stalwarts of the Deopham Demons.  They were waiting to begin the game, in accordance with a friendly arrangement of the previous week.  We soon changed, and the game began.

Our able opponents ranged in age from 15 to 50, but all 22 players were united in their enjoyment of this wholesome sport.  We saw fair play, and there was a gratifying feeling of good sportsmanship throughout.  The final result- a 7-all draw - reflected justice uopn the afternoon's play.  We left for W.C. on the best of terms and it was unfortunate that we could not play again - the subsequent Sundays were either wet, or our players were obliged to play in House rugby matches (this all happened in the Autumn).

It had been a triumph of 'entente cordiale' between the 'college snobs' and the 'village yokels' - the arbitrary distinctions which are hopelessly inaccurate.  We did far more good to college-village relations then, than everyone else has done during the whole year; the village would prefer us to be football players rather than apple stealers or rowdy agitators.  We were amused to read a brief report of the match in a local paper that week; the journalist had fortunately heeded our plea and had suppressed our names, and that of our manager!  And so ended an enjoyable Sunday Walks.

A participant

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Quote (1):

This year Mrs Hague has been a very good form master.

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Alts Caned

Pandemonium pounds my ears.  Two arms clutch me, stifling, suffocating.  I look round fearfully.  Sullen faces stare at me from all sides of what seems a white-painted tube station.  The grip tightens, the din increases.  And now people begin to close in on me, people in strange clothes, slowly, shuffling, staring blindly at me.  I cast my eyes down to the floor to avoid their hollow gaze.  They move closer.  Clouds of white dust envelop my feet, conceal gaping chasms in the concrete floor.  Screeching becomes louder, unbearable, must put hands over ears, grip tightens, relentless; dull aching pain, shuffling zombies within inches, noise, cries, confusion, a searing flash of yellow light, and suddenly .....

The Hell Din stops abruptly.  The grip relaxes.  My tortured mind becomes numb.  A piercing voice breathes forth, Satan from the depths of the tube station:

"That was the last dance.  Shut the windows and goodnight."

Charlie Parker

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A Fairy Story

Long ago in Topsy-Turvy land there ruled a mighty king, who governed his people in many strange ways.  It was rumoured that he could not speak the language of his people at all and certainly all they ever heard him say were set phrases which he would repeat parrot-fashion in the thick accents of those men from the North Country, who incidentally always took the positions of high favour at court.

Indeed, after five years had gone by without the king being heard to utter a single original word to anyone, the rumour spread that he was dead, and that a block of concrete containing tape-recordings of his voice had been substituted for him.  But this theory has never been proved.

In his prime the king enjoyed playing practical jokes on his people and they loved their merry monarch for his fun.  Once he ordered six huge mansions to be built across the land for his people to live in, and he caused many doors to be put in the mansions for the people to enter and leave by.  Imagine the happy laughter then, when the king passed a new law forbidding the use of all the doors except the most inconvenient one of all.  The people could hardly control their hysterical giggles as they trudged off to work each day by the longest possible route, and they blessed their king for his goodness to them.

But many say that the king's greatest and funniest prank was the one in which, having installed up to eighty of his subjects in each mansion, he passed a law insisting that they should all study hard for one or two hours in the evening, after their day's work.  Then, with what can only be termed a stroke of comic genius, he ordered that all study, except that of certain high ranking noblemen, should be done in the large room next to the kitchen in each mansion so that as they wrote and read and mentally laboured, his people should be constantly interrupted by the clatter of pans and vats and cutlery and the oaths of the kitchen workers.  Sides still split all over the land at the memory of this.

Sometimes, however, the king's games did not quite succeed but his ingenuity never flagged, no matter how tough the challenge.  When the mansions were built, it was found that the king had cleverly omitted to give the people any facilities at all for washing their clothes.  Not a washing machine in any of the buildings, nor even space to put one (some say the main reason for this was that the king never washed his own clothes and therefore never thought that anyone else would want to wash theirs!).  But while he and the people were still happily laughing at hilariously expensive laundry bills every week, a new easy-to-wash fibre was invented, called nylon, which made it possible to wash one's clothes out overnight and wear them again the next day.  What a saving this might have been for the people, but what a wet blanket it would have thrown over the king's merry jokes!  But his majesty was equal to the challenge, and jovially casting aside the minor matter of expense (the people's, not his own), he chucklingly banned the wearing of nylon garments throughout the land.

But sadly the king could not live for ever and one day while out hunting the white-furred deer which roamed through the king's park, he was struck in the middle of the forehead by an arrow from the bow of a treacherous nobleman, who was famed throughout the land as a skillful bowman.  The wounded king was tended by skillful nurses, one of whom was brought all the way from Boston to treat him.  But he expired despite all efforts of the nurses (some say because of the efforts of the nurses).  A funeral pyre was built by his loving subjects who danced sadly around its flames, singing in the immortal words of their fallen monarch:
"Will you burn, please?"

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A Hawk's Eye View

All day long she rants and raves
But we all know for what she craves.
Her inner motives are disguised
'Tis plain she yearns to be a bride.
Over the years her lily she's gilded
'Tis plain to see that someone's killed it.

The only joy that she has left
is picking crumbs up off her chest
A nimble finger mops the table
Darting tongue licks out the ladle.

She always scrapes the veg bowl bare
Her arms and legs wrapped round the chair.
She masticates with obvious relish
And all food near her hand doth perish.

She clearly yearns to plight her troth
But is obviously more at home in trough.
What is it it then that she will censor?
Criticism of Marks and Spencer.

'Their underwear's so well designed'
For droopy boobs and big behind.
Her grating groan bids 'Goodnight Ladies'
And all 'cept her have had their heydays.

Her nightly exploits, surreptitious,
Her morning mood is oft malicious.
A Godly woman, and so just,
Our Sunday prayers (they) are a must.

In Chapel she will take the lead,
And on her head, a hat of weed.
In warbling tones she doth shriek forth,
Oh, how we wish she'd go back North.

Her youthful days are clearly spent,
Her mind is warped, her face is bent.
There is no phrase that sums her up,
We too have filled our brimming cup.

Before we leave you ... one last word,
At heart she's just a raving bird

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In assessing a School, would a look at their magazine be a help?

Yes, and particularly nowadays.  During the last few years there has been something of a change in school publishing as newly organised schools have tried to find a real use for this traditional feature - usually free of having to pass on news of old pupils, and spurred on by changes in subject teaching.

The best of recent school publications are more than mere graphic re-jigs of the old.  Instead of the glorified diary cum overblown fixture list, they really work for the school, encouraging the pupils to observe more closely, write more accurately, illustrate more vividly.

The visual impact is perhaps the most striking.  Tattered notices, blank corridors, and barren playgrounds - the depressing visual slums of education - were faithfully caught by the old stodgy greyness of print, mean margins, and poor paper.  New modern typefaces give headings and titles force, and layout is varied to suit the material.  Occasionally the effort proves painful, but often the success has been startling.

In many magazines of the past the pupils' own writing huddled sheepishly in a cramped corner labelled Original Contributions - only 7 pages out of 70 in one I counted, 4 out of 60 in another - thus just pushing to one side what should be one of the strongest educational drives in the school.  It also suggests that when imagination is allowed to surface it is immediately made self-concious.  Worse, this horrible division suggests that the school sees imaginative writing as apart from 'normal writing.'

For 12- and 13-year-olds the different time-tabled 'subjects' are difficult to relate one to the other; for teachers the cross connections are difficult to make.  When they succeed, you will find evidence in their magazines.  Some of the poems may be inspired by sculpture or painting; statistics will support social studies; pupils' poems will be set to music; a biology field trip will be described with accuracy and vividness.

School publishing is one way (tape-recorders are another) in which the school can look out into the community, and bring its experiences and problems back into class for discussion and study.  In a number of magazines you will find detailed studies of aspects of society prepared by a group of pupils.  Abbey Wood's SCOPE, for instance, had an eight-page section on THE ELDERLY AND THE COMMUNITY.  Other schools have published reports on local housing problems, the treatment of criminals, immigration, and local leisure facilities.

Prestige seeking still sends some editors in the wrong direction (one well-known school printed a photograph of the mayor looking at a boy's sculpture rather than the sculpture itself!) but the accent is on the pupils' inventions for their peer's enjoyment  One school even serialised weekly a novel by a 13-year-old girl.

From the outside you can never be certain.  A school publication may not give a fully rounded picture of the school: dullness may indicate only that it has fallen into the hands of one person; its poor appearance that frequency of publication has been achieved at the expense of decent presentation.  But a successful magazine will show that enthusiasm, energy, and invention are being fostered.  And that's something.

(Taken from The Observer)

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Every Couple Has Its Moments

[Many thanks to Steve Human and Alan Bridges for identifying the names behind the nicknames.  There are still quite a few to identify - can you help?]

As every mathematician knows, every couple has its moments, and for those who don't take Maths the moment of a couple is the product of the force on one end of the couple and the perpendicular distance between.  W.C. couples are no exception to this law of maths - they take their moments about the points all over the college.  The only trouble being that King Ray [Metcalfe] is likely to appear at any moment and flush them out.

But, of course, the couples don't only come from the more responsible element of W.C. - the staff are at it as well. Pubic [Mr Ronald Eyre, a member of staff attached to Gloucester] for instance got in well with Miss ---- but when she found that she couldn't fit in his Mini at the same time as him she soon chucked him over.  But she didn't need to pine long, for Mr X [Mike Brand] came galloping over.  Actually, I believe they're very happy together and they're going to spend the rest of their lives weeding ponds all over the county.

At the beginning of the year, Wee Willie [Harris - music teacher] began feeling under parr [Miss Rosemary Parr - maths (?) teacher] - but then Rosie can't think too badly of it because she's always nipping round to take him out in her car.

Tiddles didn't take long to get into the W.C. way either, and with Blob has been having quite a few late nights.

And last but not least, I think Ernie [Physics teacher in Canterbury?] deserves a mention for sheer tenacity.  After trying hard for an awful long time (or so it seems to him) Miggy [Margaret Amberton] mysteriously left.  But Canterbury's answer to Charlie Chaplin turned his attentions to Aggie [Carolyn Anderson?] who also paid little attention.  Finally, however, he succeeded and after a short engagement married his car.

And so to the elits; but where can we start?  First, I suppose we ought to give a few long service medals: these will be given out by King Ray at the first possible opportunity to Chris [Ralls] & Lou [Linda Pocock], Noel & Teresa, Rubbit [Steve Revell?] & Gwenda, Olly [Steve Oliver] & Pickles [Sarah Coggles] and last (and probably least) Tim [Fitt] & Ali [Alison Catley].  May I give my heartiest congratulations to all of these for putting up with each other for so long - such tenacity I never had, myself.

As for the rest - a lightning tour of the boys' houses might prove revealing. Starting with Yogi's you've got Noel & Teresa, Tim and Ali (just mentioned); and Dewy [Adrian Dubock] & Stella [Dyer] to add to the pile. Even Blobwell [Pete Blackwell] got 30 letters in 19 days from Mary [Howell?].

Next door there isn't a lot once you've counted Caesar [Clive Crouch?] & Mary [Metson?]. I suppose there's Pod [Ian Cockburn] and Greg [Powell] who seem to have moved about a bit, and Paul [Hayden?] who's even worse. Maybe a few rumours about Graham [High] & Madge [Margaret Barclay] that came to nowt - hard luck, Graham.

In the house of the vicious budgie [Salisbury - John Worley?] there are quite a few romances, i.e. Jammy [Jamie Green?] was all-wright at the beginning of the year but later had his legg [Helen Legg] pulled. Then Kev [Kevin Ireland] tried to carry on from Jammy and was soon dis-missed. He then turned his sights elsewhere, however, and decided that the girl for him was Bra'bra [Howe?]. Olly & Pickles, Rubbit & Gwenda have got their medals, Tony [Belisario?]has been okai [Kay Handoll] but might run into some dyer [Brian Dyer - her bloke who left the previous year!] trouble. Then there's Hercules Gaff [Eric Gough] & Lulu [Louise Oxley]. As for Stibbo [Theo Stibbons] he's been after Ping's dog for months!

Across the partition again there are hundreds of couples but most of them are Watty [Iain Watling] & Joan [Worby]. Batch [David Batchelor] & Annie [Anne Rutter] have been getting on like a house on fire all year and we mustn't forget Simp and Jane. And then how many of you heard about Hoss [David Eddyand Al's [Alan George] duel over Christine? [Brown] Ernie had a good stir too! A mention for Walt [Warren?] - don't despair Walt, rumour has it that the money from the walk is going towards buying you a girlfriend.

Finally in the last block Chris & Lou got medals. Ivor's [Richesin love with his cricket bat and balls and Fred [Brown] makes eyes at packets of 10 (can't afford 20).

At the last stop there are renowned couples like Bas [Brian Anthony Storey] & Aggie [Carolyn Anderson?], Jad [John Adams& Chris, and I think we're allowed to mention them - Bengo [Paul Moore] & Susie [Keeling?].

 To all W.C. couples, then, I wish the best of luck - and may you all keep it up for a long time.


[I found the reference to Noel and Teresa very poignant.  They were a couple who had been going out for years and used to meet illicitly on the Sunday afternoon walks.  They drove a bubble car and were in a fatal accident shortly after leaving the College.  David Batchelor -- Canterbury House left in 1968.]

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Sun Worship

The ancient religion of worshipping the Sun has sustained an overwhelming come-back during the last fifty years.  And it is the painful duty of the vigilant observer to point out and condemn this pagan revival.

The sinful adherents collect together in their thousands for the ritual and seem to prefer Latin beaches, and the season when the Sun-god is at his most powerful.  Their fanaticism can be calculated by the masochistic burning of their skin - of which they boast unceasingly.

The ceremony is crude in the extreme.  The supplicant strips himself to the bare necessities, anoints himself with oil and finally proffers himself as a burnt offering; lying sensually, on his stomach or his back, in a state of religious ecstasy, before the Sun.

Although he shamelessly performs the rites, he disguises himself from his more respectable neighbours by donning black glasses.

In this, as in any other popular religion, there are the hypocrites and the half-hearted, who are outwardly believers, with the help of lamps and bottles but inwardly cold.

Here a distinction must be made between the pre-destined and the average (I hope you all know this Calvinistic doctrine).  The pre-destined or naturally sunburnt people, are a happy race who take their god for granted and whose faith never wavers.  The average, or naturally un-burnt people, are usually to be found nearer the poles than the equator, and their religious fervour reaches its peak usually during one or two weeks in the summer when they go on a pilgrimage to some well-known place of worship.  During the winter their enthusiasm wanes, shown by their sickly white pallor.

Wherever the god is, people worship him, alone or in groups.  Their Church is a vast and lucrative organisation, their faith appealing to the vain, indolent and gullible.  Are we going to let this dastardly cult continue?  If our deprived climate cannot stem it, who can?

Barbara Castle

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Quote (2):

From a cricket coach to his team (advice about fielding in cold weather):

"When it's cold, you may put your hands in your pockets whilst waiting for the next batsman."

"When it's very cold, you may put your hands in your pockets between the overs."

"When it's extremely cold, you may put your hands in your pockets between the balls."

E.W. Swanton

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W.C. Socialist Movement

The time is ripe for revolution!  No longer must the apathetic students of Wymondham College submit to the iron heel of the jackboot of Imperialism, it is time for the pond to run red with the blood of the running dogs of that Fascist hyena Metheuselah Musgrave.  Do not be deceived by reports that he swam the pond! It was just his head on a pole.  Students!  Hoist the red flag above 34, tear down fences erected by imperialist lackey workers to separate the sexes.  Let co-education march forward on a glorious tide of revolution!!

Long live Marcuse, Red Danny, Red Rudi and Red Jam.

Fidel Grunt

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The Magnificent Chip Fight (Dereham Dance)

One Friday night towards the end of the Autumn Term, two coaches and a scooter left the college to take E. Dereham by storm. On entering the metropolis we were to debus (or get out of de bus) at Dereham High School. Some gained the dubious honour of leaving the dance before the second bus arrived. Meanwhile the college was being run by a skeleton staff of gated upper sixth formers. The scooter was still in transit. A few moments later only two people from WC were left at the dance. With detailed pub maps, WC 'hit' the town on the pretence of going home to their parents or to the WC. The 'Crown' had its busiest night this decade. After 20 fluid ounces of inebriating liquor a certain sixth former from Durham House returned it promptly to the floor.
Meanwhile, at the chip shop, an artistic colleague was not content with 9 pence worth of chips - he wanted a carrier bag full. Later these came in useful as projectiles. One unsuspecting sixth former in his diluted state could not fathom out how the salt cellar worked; assistants sprang to his aid and deposited half a pound of salt on 3 chips.

At the public bar in the 'George,' the darts players were experiencing difficulty in striking the board. Woodworm was later diagnosed for the condition of the wood surround.

By this time the chip eaters were zig-zagging back to the high school. En route, at a dimly-lit railway crossing, two mutually entwined figures were observed - these were the final two to leave the dance. Instead of taking avoiding action they harassed the writhing couple with volleys of heavily salted chips. The attraction of the missiles to the couple was on a par with the mutual attraction of the duo. After several direct hits, cease fire was sounded, and the zig-zagging course resumed.

At about 10 o'clock, most people had returned to the dance and the scooter had arrived. Soon, our freedom was once more about to end as we enbused (or got in dem bus) for return to the smokeless zone-cum-dry cell.

The evening's activities were recalled by the rowing fog horn who, when asked if he had enjoyed himself, let forth a resounding "Hic," explaining that coca-cola always did that to him.

Cessile King and Lord Thomas of Fleet

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The Green Death

As prophesied by seer and sybil
"Plague shall fall upon your school!"
Thus it came, we call it Dibble [Mr Herrington],
The virile, hockey-playing fool.

"Clad in purple, plague will come!"
So the prophets then revealed,
And, coloured like a rotting plum,
He tiptoes round the hockey field.

"His plague will do its worst we fear,
To groups of people at a time."
Their warning soon became quite clear,
Assembly Duty!  What a slime!

"This knotty plague, with drill and saw,
Runs on, and never ever stops,"
For Dibble is a weary bore,
Like woodworm in the woodwork shops.

"The plague has come, but soon shall hence,"
A fact which must bring partial cheer,
To those of you with little sense
Who come back here again next year.

Charlie Parker

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Comment on College Meals

These figures [below - Ed.] give a good picture of overall feelings towards Wymondham College food. The most striking conclusion is the latent disapproval of the food although this is contrary to the normal reaction of the majority of pupils.

It is, however, very noticeable that several meals are totally inadequate or very unpopular. Examples include the utter farce of a tea that consisted of one minute radish, one small spring onion, one piece of lettuce and a small sausage roll.- it wasn't worth the effort of going in- its a surprise that no-one starved. Unpopular meals include Scrambled Egg- when its poorly cooked (which is more often than not), smoke haddock- it's noticeable that no-one approved, and the infamous "Sunday Dinner"- that is, the roast meal which is poorly received and which often contains foul meat and yet is insistently dished up. What is the point of planning a balanced diet when nobody takes any notice of it?

Yet it also a fact that the popular meals, notably 'mixed grill' and a decent salad are rarely served. What is needed is more notice to be taken of what pupils think of the meals. Also, it would help if the kitchens tried to serve up less of the grease covered, uncooked food and concentrate on producing better quality food. It's surprising how first formers manage to become Sixth Formers, they way they are weaned on a diet of the worst of a bad lot - at the present rate of decrease in standard several will undoubtedly fall by the wayside or be caught going into Wymondham to buy a decent meal of Egg & Chips - well we are all English.

Fanny Cradock.











Breakfast …

Cornflakes, Bacon and Pancakes.




Dinner …

Jacket Spuds, Grosvenor pie, Mix Veg Salad, Marshmallow & Rhubarb.




Tea …

Bubble & Squeak, Sausage & Onions, Swiss Roll.














Breakfast …

Weetabix, Fried Eggs & Bacon.




Dinner …

Spuds, Mixed Veg, Cod, Lemon Sauce, Peaches & Cherries.




Tea …

Bacon & Egg Flan, Oranges.














Breakfast …

Cornflakes, Ham & Tomatoes.




Dinner …

Liver, Bacon, Beans, Potatoes, Pineapple Jelly.




Tea …

Onion, Radish, Sausage Roll














Breakfast …

Rice Krispies, Bacon & Potato Cake.




Dinner …

Braised Beef, Spuds, Cauliflower, Arctic Roll & Damsons




Tea …

Curried Eggs, Tomato, Banana & Coconut














Breakfast …

Cornflakes, Bacon & Eggs.




Dinner …

Roast Beef & Potatoes, Yorkshire Pud, Sprouts, Jelly & Custard.




Tea …

Sausage & Chips.














Breakfast …

Weetabix, Bacon & Spaghetti.




Dinner …

Roly Poly Meat, Cabbage, Spuds, Rhubarb & Custard.




Tea …

Beans & Fish Cakes














Breakfast …

Shredded Wheat, Bacon & Tinned Tomatoes.




Dinner …

Steak & Kidney Pud, Carrots, Spotted Dick & Custard.




Tea …

Grosvenor Pie, Lettuce, Tomato, Cucumber














Breakfast …

Rice Krispies, Beans & Fish Fingers.




Dinner …

Salt Beef & Dumplings, Spuds, Jam Tart & Custard.




Tea …

Cheese & Tomato on Toast.














Breakfast …

Cornflakes, Scrambled Egg.




Dinner …

Salad, Corned Beef, Spud Cakes, Chocolate Stodge.




Tea …

Smoked Haddock.









There is no explanation for these 4 sets of figures, so the guess is that they were averages for a further 4 days of the survey - WCR Ed.













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"Worse Verse"

Upright with his finger,
German is his game.
'Please' is his motto,
- - - - - is his name! [Bowman]

Vulgar is her manner
Especially with the plebs.
She's a mean old woman
She's old - - -  - - - - - [Mrs Tebbs]

Smoking French tobacco,
Always saying Orme,
Giving out the prizes,
- - - - - est son nom! [Maurice (Tate)]

Boobing in assembly
Every bleeding day,
And the man who does it
Is senile, mad old - - - [Ray (Metcalfe)]

Military bearing
Discipline is stiff!
History's his subject,
Yes, you've guessed it's - - - - [Biff (Biffo Bawden)]

Although he's a secretary
We know he's really boss.
He's the man who runs the place,
It's bald old Mr. - - - - [Goss]

He's the arch-housemaster
And he's everybody's bogey.
Write the next line yourself! [Yogi - Mr Worrall]

William Snakespeare

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"Port" or "Sherry?"

A wealthy young playboy out for a night picked up a beautiful young girl in an hotel and invited her up to his apartment.

Instead of being a vamp, the girl was well-groomed, chic and seemingly intellectual. Thinking he would have to impress her to get anywhere, he showed her his original etchings and paintings, and finally offered her some wine.

He asked her whether she preferred port or sherry.

"Oh! Sherry by all means," she replied, "Sherry to me is the nectar of the Gods. Just looking at it here in the crystal-clear decanter fills me with anticipation of heavenly thrill, and when the stopper is removed and its gorgeous liquid is poured out into the delicate slender glasses, I inhale the delicious heady fumes and am lifted on the wings of ecstasy. It seems that I taste the magic potion and my whole being seems to glow and a thousand violins throb in my ears and I drift off into another world."

"On the other hand," she said, "Port makes me fart."


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Quote (3):

"I should like to congratulate all those who took part in Iolanthe."

Unfortunately, they've all left; that was two years ago.

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The Great Rebellion

It all started in prep one night in Salisbury House. The well-known student agitator S. Rebel finally blew his top, and, pulling out a weapon, shot Mr. R. Boarding through the heart (we never knew he had one). This was because he had been breathing heavily on the stairs and had apparently disturbed the aforementioned R. Boarding. This initial act was rapidly followed by the detention of Mr. Warlock in his study by a Student Committee. Mr. Warlock, on being subjected to a noise level of 80 decibels, finally expired.

Spurred on by this event, a party of celebration was held that night in Winchester House, when S. Rebel called for 'more blood.' In the small hours an expeditionary force to Lincoln Hall met with little resistance. Both Houses joined the rebel cause and impounded all members of staff. A court on which the culprits' crimes could be exposed was set up in the dining room of Salisbury House.

All these proceedings were carried out in the utmost secrecy and assembly the next day started off as usual. At the shout of 'Three cheers for the Headmaster and Staff' all the pupils quickly evacuated the hall and locked most of the staff in. Those who escaped were quickly rounded up and placed in the Chapel (which had been converted into a penitentiary) together with other prisoners. As it was a Thursday the staff leader R.V. Smith was not present but second-in-command, K. Archer was. The fate of those impounded in Butler was debated and it was finally decided to use nerve-gas. Some was quickly prepared by M. Clouding and J. Sun in the Chemi. Labs.

Wielded by Fidel Grunt, a radical student, the gas proved remarkably effective. About this time, two members of staff, Mr. Arsons and Sam Skin, both joined the students' cause. Smith was intercepted after C.G.S. assembly, and detained under armed guard in the study, all telephone and intercom wires having been cut. The students were now 'I.C.'

After a brief one-day's campaign, the Red Flag was hoisted from the water-tower and the corpse of R. Boarding exhibited in a cage nearby. The site was re-named Morley Palace and a Republic was set up. On the Central Committee were:

S. Rebel (president), Fidel Grunt (chairman), M. Clouding (warfare minister), E. Gout, J. Sun, R. Hayfever, A. Midges and S. Glueman.

Reorganisation was now begun. All the Library notices saying 'Silence' were removed and loudspeakers fitted. The Metalwork Shop was made into a Munitions Centre, and the Chapel Penitentiary housed many criminals who had been held over for trial. The Rec Room was leased to Steward & Pattersons and was mockingly re-named 'The Fat Calf.'

Trials were now begun by the Chief Justice Mr. Tony Grandpiano (of Salisbury House - one of the original agitators). Most culprits were imprisoned in the Chapel - Ted Dribble, one of the most hated, was made to stand at the front of Butler staring at a purple sheet for a week. The fate of R.V. Smith was hotly debated, and various intriguing punishments were proposed, but finally he was chained without food to a tree on the Park, where he was reportedly eaten by moles. His house was converted into a museum, where mementoes of the old days (hymn books, exeat slips, uniforms, samples of original meals etc.) were exhibited in a Chamber of Horrors.

George Oilwell

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Quote (4):

Mr Woodbridge has lost his trousers. Anyone who finds them should please return them either to me or to Miss Bird.

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A Guide to you know what at W.C. (abridged)

This is a statement taken from an interview with one of our greatest psychologists, who spent his early years at W.C.; the basic theory is as follows:

"You are out to get theirs, and they know that you are after theirs, but they are out to get yours. Fortunately, you know that they are after yours, so you must go out and try and get theirs first, But watch out for THEM, because THEM are out to stop you getting theirs, and theirs, yours, and if THEM succeed in catching you in the act of getting theirs, or they getting yours, THEM will send you to HIM."

Sigmund Fred


"Passion on the Pipes"

"Sex at the Social"

"Love in the Library"

"Recognising THEM"

"Rape in the Rec Room"

"Confusing HIM"

"Dirt in the Dance"

"More about YOURS and THEIRS"

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A Moralistic Story

One evening while St. Paul was disciple in charge of the Eng. Sci. bus he committed the sin of burning tobacco instead of incense in praise of his Lord and Master and was, unfortunately, discovered to have been encouraging his fellow novices to do the same, by Brother Dickie. Some time later he was brought before the Father Guardian and was made to relinquish his halos and was, unfortunately, excommunicated.

The moral to this story is 'Eat Polos and stay Holy.'

Sisters Dancella and Du Maurier

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My Son Hates Games. Why must he play them?

Although the 1944 Act requires schools to provide an education appropriate to the age, aptitude and ability of their pupils, there is no explicit legal obligation to include games in the curriculum. In practice, their omission would require the concerted support of an articulate group of parents.

Games as such are, it seems, only slightly controversial. They are played with gusto at Summerhill as well as Sherborne. It is the style of games playing that varies according to the particular ethos a school seeks to engender. In the public schools their function is to reinforce the values and goals of the school at large: self-discipline, corporateness, loyal and authority. They also fill in time, particularly during long weekends. They may even have a cathartic effect. One headmaster's 'prophylactic against certain unclean microbes was to send the boys to bed dead tired.'

Although Graham Kalton's survey for the Head Masters' Conference revealed that in no public school are games voluntary, there are some signs of amelioration. Sixth-formers are often excused, and sometimes activities such as estate work or voluntary service are available as alternatives. The emphasis upon competitiveness is lessening too, with increasing opportunities for the personal challenge of activities like climbing, hiking or orienteering.
Although the games policy of the state system does tend to be more liberal, there are still sectors faithfully modelled on the public school ideal. To the extent that games provide opportunities for methodical physical exercise and the attainment of status and distinction, they constitute a valuable alternative to the rigours of scholarship. In day schools, however, it is more difficult to organise, so that there is the frequent problem of 'games dodging,' with all its attendant disciplinary tensions (!!!).

Of course, games often satisfy the child's need for sheer fun, but to the extent that they deny the 'play principle' and become irksomely obligatory, they lose their most important justification: to provide the child with an opportunity to mature at a number of levels simultaneously.

(From the Observer)

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Organised Religion

All the usual delaying tactics have failed, and we crocodile into Chapel. A kindly-looking, grey-haired gentleman takes our tickets at the door. "Thank you leds," he murmurs (with an Oxbridge accent). We shuffle into the auditorium and note with horror that we are first in. "Anyway," consoles my neighbour, "we'll be able to watch the staff, and that's always funny." The crocodile then makes the amazing transformation into a sardine, as we squeeze into the narrow rows of hard wooden chairs. In the back of the chair in front of me, someone has scratched "Biffo saps your strength," but I ignore the warning.

Mr. Snobrock is on duty today. He conscientiously patrols the No Man's Land between "the boys and girls of the opposite sex" (he always says That Word with hesitant confusion). Mr. Snobrock suddenly becomes aware of the immense heat. He turns around and marches with a stiff upper lip towards the back of the room; his head is spinning, but somewhere in the dim pit of consciousness a voice is saying "For God's sake, man, do it! Think of your wife, of your Good Name as the Haircut King!" At the back of the room he turns round and blindly thrashes his way, through the crocodiles and sardines, towards his goal. In one trembling movement he reaches up and opens the top window, whispering "By God, you've done it!" He strokes his chin in snobbish satisfaction, and slumps senseless onto the floor. O, untimely fate! He has missed his chance to say "Good evening!" to the headmaster's wife - it would have been the 57th time he had spoken to her this week and he did want to make a good impression.

Meanwhile, back at the front, but mostly at the sides, a great number of staff have arrived - not just because they get in free, but because Lincoln Ralphs is appearing to deliver the lecher. From where I am sitting I can mentally divide the staff into three groups; there are:

  • The hard core of religious regulars.

  • The bunch of housemasters and mistresses, who are obliged to put in a weekly showing, and;

  • The other staff who have never been before, but hope to make a good impression on Lincoln-Ralphs.

All are sitting in their usual seats, dressed in their Sunday Best, with hair neatly oiled and combed where possible. On the other hand, the organist wears a red and yellow striped jacket, a green and purple flower shirt, pink trousers and a lisp. He was playing a syncopated version of "Turn Back Old Man, Foreswear Thy Foolish Ways," and a few ravers in the congregation are moved to click their fingers and utter a cool "Yeah!" "If no-one appears soon," whispers my neighbour, "they'll all be frigging in the aisles."

Good Heavens, Christ Almighty! In walks Jesus with L-R and the whole congregation rises spontaneously to give them a standing ovation. With eyes closed, Jesus walks straight to the pulpit and the service begins. We mechanically recite prayers and sing hymns, sit for readings like good dogs, and sing more hymns. Now we reach the momentous part of the service - it's the only bit that changes from week to week - the address. Jesus automatically steps up and announces absent-mindedly "Dr. Ralphs from Lincoln will now undress." The shouts of laughter are quickly silenced by Mr. Snobrock, who walks to the front to receive a pat on the head.

Order is restored, L.R. proceeds to moralise although most people are now asleep. Suddenly a crash! A dozing member of staff on the front row has dropped a hymn-book. He leans forward to pick it up, ignored by all but the smiling face of Biffo on the row behind.

The heat has now reached unbearable proportions. L.R. finally finishes his sermon and there is a groan of relief from the cheap seats. Mr. Snobrock once again takes control, commands silence, and walks forward to receive another pat on the head.

We stand and groan the final hymn, stretching our aching limbs and rubbing our eyes. Soon it is over, we are suitably blessed, and flop back onto our hard chairs. There are several spontaneous whispers of "Oh, my aching bum!" but these are ignored. The organist plays a solemn march until the staff have left whereupon he breaks into "The Exodus," followed by "633 Squadron" and "A Whiter Shade of Pale." We lustfully eye the senior girls as they walk out, and it is soon our turn. The sardines become crocodiles once more as we file past the kindly-looking grey-haired gentleman. "Thank you," he murmurs with an Oxfam accent. "Can you come back next week?"

Dodo/Charlie Parker

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MR. ..................

Would like to apologise for his deplorable conduct while a guest at your house on


for committing the breaches of etiquette ticked on the reverse hereof:




Excessive distribution of furniture.
  Too much.
  Too little.
  Not at all.


Indiscreet petting.
Frequent absence from party.
Failure to button pants.
Failure to unbutton pants.
Watering Garden

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Dictatorial Power and the need for a Students' Union

If Adolf Hitler could visit Wymondham College, he would be pleasantly surprised at the resemblance to his regime in Germany between 1933 and 1945. At the apex of the power pyramid is a dictator served by able lieutenants, who in some cases carry out their "specifically told" duties more ably than the Gestapo ever did. Nothing but complete obedience to the Fuhrer was allowed - how similar this position is at Wymondham College. The Gestapo would have ensured you depart from this earth; Wymondham College merely allows you the privilege of departing from it - some people consider this the best moment of their lives so far.

This power can be summarised under the following points:

  1. Certain staff consider themselves too almighty. What is more, these few staff exceed their required duty. They try to stick their nose into everything catching people for offences either in obscure places of obscure nature.

  2. Housemasters do not have enough power. They should be able to make the majority of decisions independent of other housemasters - all housemasters being on an equal basis; and should then discuss the matter with the Warden who should say whether he disagrees. But the housemaster should have the final say in all matters concerning the house. Different rules in different houses are undoubtedly essential.

  3. The Warden has too much power. He should have less 'final say;' he should be more of an administrator of school policy and a co-ordinator of house policy; he should be younger. The latter is essential; he must need to be able to understand young people before he can hope to obtain success with them.

  4. Certain staff undo the good work of others, notably the younger staff. There is too much of this attitude: if a person disagrees on one occasion with some archaic rule of this institution, he is automatically a "trouble maker" and must therefore be carefully watched.

Things must be improved, and this would require 'give and take' on the part of the pupils and the staff. However, a Students Union could solve this problem. It would be:

  1. A Union of all members of the 4th. forms and upwards; being compulsory, its membership fee would be anywhere between 10/- and 20/- a year. For this, members would receive free admission to all societies (where it was felt necessary owing to heavy expenditure, a small fee could be charged).

  2. The governing body of the Union would be a General Council, composed of 26 members. These would consist of the Head Boy and Head Girl, the 12 House Captains, and 12 members elected by each of the 12 houses, 4th. formers and upwards - no more than one being from each of the 12 houses.

  3. There should be a President of the Student's Union, elected each year by the General Council. He should only be answerable to the Warden and need only undertake to explain actions of policy to individual members of staff at the Warden's request.

  4. The Students' Union should be able to set up smoking rooms for all people eligible to smoke i.e. those 16+. Smoking should be allowed only in these rooms - anyone found breaking this rule should be suspended from the Students' Union for as long as the General Council deem necessary.

  5. A Bar should be set up at the school dance. All individuals over 18 should be allocated 3 tickets per dance - they could buy one drink per ticket. A list of all students "18+" should be kept, and the names of the users written on the ticket, so that it can be checked to ensure that no-one abuses this privilege. Anyone illegally caught, forfeits the right of this privilege.

  6. There could be greater co-ordination in the running of the school. Greater responsibility could be placed with the prefects. Notable examples include the school dance, which could be far more effectively run by the Students' Union, who could replace the supervisory member of staff.

  7. Greater responsibility for running of houses could be given to house prefects. The staff need not do duty; they need only be at their flat during a specified period, in case their help is needed in a situation the 6th. form cannot deal with. This would create more house spirit - the absence of it is very noticeable in houses where the staff feel they run the house.

  8. If the prefects had more responsibility it would improve staff/prefect relationships. In one house this relationship is so poor, that a change will only occur when the troublesome member of staff leaves it. It is through improved relations, through the staff taking more consideration of pupils grievances, that the Students' Union would be most beneficial. It would be able to add more weight to each case, and, if it felt it necessary, it would have a course of action open to it, ranging from the boycott of duties to demonstrations as a last resort. The Students' Union would give the student more freedom of expression; it would ensure that he could not be suspended from the school for petty matters, such as smoking or talking to girls in form rooms.

It is up to you, the pupils of the College to try and do something about this relationship. You should press your claims now. Many of you are going to be at the age of majority before you leave this penitentiary - are you so gutless that you are willing to move around like a herd of sheep? There is strength in numbers; strength in the form of a Students' Union. If you want freedom, and a happier life here, then act now! One person achieves nothing by sacrificing himself. We must all act for one, and one for all!

Fight, I say, fight for the right to have a Students' Union and let Democracy replace Dictatorship.

Karl Marx

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Know Your Road Signs

Pubs for Half a Mile

You have just missed the ferry

Collect your transistors here

Nudist Colony

You are driving down no. 1 runway Heathrow

Bloody Elephants!!

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The College Song

Throughout the College history
Remains an unsung mystery,
That monster of iniquity,
The psychedelic College Song.
And every Speech Day that comes round
We all must make this boring sound,
To please the staff, all robed and gowned
And suffer bravely all this wrong.
This exhibition, sad we blame,
"Our College Song is, all the same,
Infernal Rubbish!" we exclaim.
Floreat Sapientia etc.

Let Wymondham College students see
That they reject pomposity
By trampling on this tripe we see;
Floreat Sapientia.
Let common sense and modesty
Our double inspiration be,
That we may laugh with constancy
At Floreat Sapientia.
And when this stupid song is sung,
We may proclaim with honest tongue
Our final judgement "Load of dung!"
At Floreat Sapientia etc.

Charlie Parker

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Well! What more did you expect for four pence?









Wymondham College Remembered