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Dedication
This magazine is dedicated
to C.C.C.P.H.W. without whose censoring of the OTHER edition, this would
never have come about.
Introduction
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.
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- - - - -
Joke
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!"
- - - - -
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.
- - - - -
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
Back
to Articles List
- - - - -
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
Eddy] and
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 [Riches] in
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.
Cupid
[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.]
Back to Articles List
- - - - -
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
Back to Articles List
- - - - -
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.
|
DAY |
MENU |
INDIFFERENT |
APPROVED |
DISAPPROVED |
|
THURSDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Cornflakes, Bacon and Pancakes. |
28.8% |
16.6% |
54.6% |
|
Dinner … |
Jacket Spuds, Grosvenor pie, Mix Veg Salad, Marshmallow & Rhubarb. |
41.1% |
33.3% |
25.6% |
|
Tea … |
Bubble & Squeak, Sausage & Onions, Swiss Roll. |
22.6% |
21.8% |
54.6% |
|
|
|
30.9 |
23.9 |
45.2 |
|
FRIDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Weetabix, Fried Eggs & Bacon. |
14.7% |
42.6% |
42.7% |
|
Dinner … |
Spuds, Mixed Veg, Cod, Lemon Sauce, Peaches & Cherries. |
21.2% |
36.4% |
42.4% |
|
Tea … |
Bacon & Egg Flan, Oranges. |
18.2% |
39.1% |
42.7% |
|
|
|
18 |
39.4 |
42.6 |
|
SATURDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Cornflakes, Ham & Tomatoes. |
20.8% |
19.4% |
59.8% |
|
Dinner … |
Liver, Bacon, Beans, Potatoes, Pineapple Jelly. |
6.4% |
89.0% |
4.6% |
|
Tea … |
Onion, Radish, Sausage Roll |
3.1% |
3.1% |
93.8% |
|
|
|
13.4 |
37.1 |
49.5 |
|
SUNDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Rice Krispies, Bacon & Potato Cake. |
28.3% |
35.0% |
36.6% |
|
Dinner … |
Braised Beef, Spuds, Cauliflower, Arctic Roll & Damsons |
22.8% |
62.1% |
15.1% |
|
Tea … |
Curried Eggs, Tomato, Banana & Coconut |
8.9% |
57.5% |
33.6% |
|
|
|
20.0 |
51.5 |
28.5 |
|
MONDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Cornflakes, Bacon & Eggs. |
25.5% |
31.8% |
42.7% |
|
Dinner … |
Roast Beef & Potatoes, Yorkshire Pud, Sprouts, Jelly & Custard. |
4.8% |
6.8% |
88.4% |
|
Tea … |
Sausage & Chips. |
20.8% |
24.6% |
54.6% |
|
|
|
17.0 |
21.1 |
61.9 |
|
TUESDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Weetabix, Bacon & Spaghetti. |
39.2% |
24.2% |
36.6% |
|
Dinner … |
Roly Poly Meat, Cabbage, Spuds, Rhubarb & Custard. |
30.4% |
53.0% |
16.6% |
|
Tea … |
Beans & Fish Cakes |
33.2% |
42.6% |
24.2% |
|
|
|
34.2 |
39.9 |
25.9 |
|
WEDNESDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Shredded Wheat, Bacon & Tinned Tomatoes. |
7.0% |
6.2% |
86.8% |
|
Dinner … |
Steak & Kidney Pud, Carrots, Spotted Dick & Custard. |
25.5% |
24.2% |
50.3% |
|
Tea … |
Grosvenor Pie, Lettuce, Tomato, Cucumber |
24.6% |
21.3% |
44.1% |
|
|
|
19.0 |
17.2 |
63.6 |
|
THURSDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Rice Krispies, Beans & Fish Fingers. |
31.8% |
54.4% |
13.8% |
|
Dinner … |
Salt Beef & Dumplings, Spuds, Jam Tart & Custard. |
24.6% |
24.6% |
50.8% |
|
Tea … |
Cheese & Tomato on Toast. |
37.8% |
35.0% |
27.2% |
|
|
|
34.7 |
38.0 |
27.3 |
|
FRIDAY |
|
|
|
|
|
Breakfast … |
Cornflakes, Scrambled Egg. |
3.1% |
6.2% |
90.7% |
|
Dinner … |
Salad, Corned Beef, Spud Cakes, Chocolate Stodge. |
1.6% |
93.8% |
4.6% |
|
Tea … |
Smoked Haddock. |
0.0% |
3.1% |
96.9% |
|
|
|
1.6 |
34.4 |
64.0 |
|
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. |
21.8 |
33.6 |
44.6 |
|
22.1 |
26.3 |
51.6 |
|
19.8 |
47.0 |
33.2 |
|
18.8 |
28.3 |
52.5 |
Back to Articles List
- - - - -
"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."
Anon.
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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.
Back to Articles List
- - - - -
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
Bibliography:
|
"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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- - - - -
APOLOGY CARD
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: |
|
Inebriation.
Excessive distribution of
furniture.
Talking:
Too much.
Too little.
Not at all.
|
Indiscreet petting.
Frequent absence from party.
Failure to button pants.
Failure to unbutton pants.
Belching.
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:
-
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.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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:
-
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).
-
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.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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!! |
Back to Articles List
- - - - -
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?
Top
Wymondham College Remembered
The Gallery
eche
