The original of this 1934 Nelson House picture was a fairly poor quality photo so this is about the best possible.

The picture was supplied by the daughter of John P Bull who can be seen fourth from the left on the first row seated on chairs. E.C. Nicholson (Chemistry) still appears as House Master and A.C. ‘Chazzer’ Brown can be seen to his left.

1920

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1930

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1932

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1934

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1939

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1947

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1953

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1956

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1960

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1964

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In 1948 I was lucky enough to pass the 11-plus and win a place at Burton Boys’ Grammar School, becoming a “Grammar Grub” as such achievers were called. When I left Newhall School I still lived in Wood Lane but during the summer holidays we moved to High Street, Newhall. So new house, new school coincided. My parents were faced with a large bill to finance the purchase of all the accoutrements demanded by the school. I never did acquire all that was listed on the instruction sheet.

After the first year all my school needs were met by Harry Burnton, who had a stall on Swadlincote Market. My father bought my satchel from Mr Snow of Woodville. It was so well made that, when I left, it was still in perfect condition and was sold to another child starting secondary education.

My Grandfather Haywood presented me with a revolutionary new pen as a reward for passing the 11-plus. It was a ballpoint known as a Biro and was very expensive. In those days it cost £2 or £3. It was advertised as the pen that would write under water. Who would want this, a literary diver? I used it in the juniors but the grammar school refused to let boys use them as it was claimed that they would ruin handwriting.

Walking to school was now a thing of the past and so the Newhall boys made their way to Burton on the Midland Red, using a bus pass for free travel.

I remember being self conscious when I first put on the uniform. My cap was a bit too big. It lasted for five years! I had to walk with my head well down so that it perched on the back of my head without falling off.

The school building in Bond Street was opened in 1877 to accommodate 120 boys. In 1948 there were about 550 attending. The headmaster’s house and garden were taken over in 1929, the house being converted to a library and classrooms, and the garden filled with prefabricated buildings. The school has been demolished and is now a car park. When I visit Burton and pass Bond Street now, I am amazed that this small car park on the corner of Lichfield Street was the site of Burton Grammar School. Not only that, but the sports field that was to the west of Peel Croft has disappeared, swallowed up in road re-development and the Safeways supermarket complex.

It was from the pavilion on the sports field that my most disliked sporting activity, cross country running, started. Contemporaries will recall that after only about 50 yards the first obstacle was encountered. On the path to the main road the athletes had to pass close to a paint factory. Usually on our raceday the atmospheric conditions were such that we received the full blast of tremendously acrid fumes given off by the process. The health giving properties of the athletic activity were completely negated in the initial stage, the danger of choking being a more likely outcome.

I and a few more malingerers would proceed with the rest of the field to Stapenhill Pleasure Gardens where we would stop and wait for the competitors to return from the course which took them to Brizlincote, Winshill Water Tower, Elms Road and back to the Pleasure Gardens. We then rejoined the field ensuring that we finished low enough in the order to eliminate any chance of selection for a representative run on a Saturday morning. That would have been a disaster as I had my morning paper round to do, in addition to evening delivery of the Burton Mail. For these two rounds I was paid £2 5s (£2.25p) , a lot of money in those days, but both were large rounds.

I was very surprised on my initial entry to the school playground to notice that the surrounding walls were topped by an entanglement of barbed wire. Having suffered a few physics lessons from a certain Welsh master I realised the necessity for such an action.

It took me about three years to settle into this new environment and then I quite enjoyed myself. What could be more exciting than delving into the mysteries of quadratic equations or learning a geometric theorem. And what about that pre-calculator aid to mathematical logarithms. Remember your characteristics and mantissas?

School dinners were substantial and cheap but certainly not the delight of gourmets among us. My mother was quite shocked when the price per day was increased from 5d to 7d making the weekly cost almost 15p in present money.

The school hall was used for almost everything. It was a gymnasium, assembly room and, occasionally, a theatre. Most significantly for me though, it was used for dining purposes and there would be about 20 tables each seating 10 or 12 boys. It was the responsibility of two boys from each table to make sure that everything was in place for their fellow diners, such as the erection of the tables and placement of forms and chairs.

The food was provided by the School Meals Service and was delivered in metal canisters to the caretaker’s house some distance from the School Hall. Meals cost 5d a day when I first started but had shot up to 7d by the time I left. In current money this is 10p to 15p per week. You could, if you wished, take your own cold collation. At morning break a bun and a jam doughnut were on offer at the tuck shop on the opposite side of Bond Street. This was run by the Rawlings sisters, Lily and Gertie. The cost was 3d for two buns, 1d and 2d respectively; to buy them singly was a halypenny more each. The sisters were also unofficial school nurses, tending to minor injuries.

Boys staying for hot dinners had to take their turn to put up tables, take them down. The canisters had to be carried to the dining area and this was done in rotation by the occupants of each table. Taking the canisters to the hall was no problem as they were all clean. It was the return journey that was the nightmare. In dispensing the food, in particular custard and gravy, the outside of the canisters would be covered in drips and pieces of food which I always seemed to get on my blazer. I would sit in class during the afternoon with a crust developing on my clothing. Not a pretty sight.

A happier memory is of the Rawlings sisters dispensing buns and doughnuts to a long queue of boys at mid-morning break at the tuckshop across the way. They were also called on occasionally to minister to boys who had suffered minor abrasions.

It was on a school trip to the Town Hall that I was introduced to the delights of serious music, a lifelong pleasure, when we were taken to hear a concert by the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra specially for children. The programme contained Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf and Tchaikovski’s Nutcracker Suite, a very suitable selection for young people.

The same venue was used to hold the annual Speech Day, not the most popular day with most boys. One year a master came to our form and hoped that we would not be too disappointed.

There was insufficient room for the entire school and parents, so would we mind not attending. The same thing happened the next year and we got a day off and an apology and thanks for our selflessness!

My father transported me to school on one occasion. The bus failed to turn up and I was waiting at the stop when my father passed driving a Tunnicliffe’s bread van. He picked me up and I was transported to Bond Street in a commercial vehicle. Dear, oh dear!

Incidentally, Tunnicliffe’s of Newhall had a large grocery shop and baked their own bread The bread was delivered to each household by driving in a yellow battery powered van of which Tunnicliffe’s had a considerable fleet. They were a common sight on the streets of South Derbyshire and, to a lesser extent, Burton.

A month before the school photograph was taken the death occurred of King George VI, the present monarch’s father. Mr Pitchford, the headmaster, interrupted a double period of physics taken by Mr Smith and we all assemble in the hall. Mr Pitchford made an announcement that the King had died, ending with “The King is dead, long live the Queen”, and we were the sent home for a week’s mourning.

Mr Smith was popularly known as Brab because his ears protruded a little. Older people will recall that at the time Britain was developing a hugh aircraft called the Braberzon which had a considerable wing span. The plane was an expensive failure.

Mr Pitchford had been appointed two years previously in the most tragic of circumstances. Mr Moodey the previous Headmaster, had gone off sick just before Christmas, 1949, and was reported to be seriously ill. One morning in May, 1950, he went to Burton Railway Station and committed suicide by jumping in front of a moving train. When the police visited his Stapenhill home, they discovered the true extent of the tragedy. His wife and teenage son and daughter were all found dead as the resuly of head injuries.

Aside from being announced, strangely, this was never, ever mentioned at school. There was certainly no counselling as there would be today.

Notes on Masters

Mr Illingworth
‘Ronnie’ Illingworth was senior Geography master. He was known for being strict and no-one played him up. I used to marvel at his ability to write on the blackboard without leaving his chair. With his back to the board he could write complicated names such as Venezuela by reaching backwards over his head. He never failed.

Mr Wain
Mr Wain was a French teacher who joined the staff around 1950. In his first lesson he introduced our form to his “black book”. Anyone who misbehaved was noted in this book. He then distributed a short test paper so that he could judge who knew what. I was very bad at French and so I gave the paper a cursory glance before daydreaming. I was awoken from my reverie by a voice demanding “What’s your name boy?”. “Haywood, sir”, I replied. “You are the first person in my black book, Haywood”, he informed me “I caught you copying”. “But I have not written anything down yet sir”. “Don’t argue boy”. And that was that.

About two years later we were given the choice of taking either History or French. I hated French but loved History and so I would have no problem in selecting which one I would take. It was decided though, that the French students would be the boys who finished in the top half of the French exam and the remainder would take history. By some fluke I finished up in the top half in French and so I should have been in that group. However, when we split up into our separate groups for the first time I went with the History boys. No one ever questioned it and consequently, I took History and had some of my best moments in the class of Mr McEwan.

Mr Brown
‘Chasser’ Brown took us for both History and Geography. Often, he was absent minded and not really of this world. One day I was sitting next to Marshall my best friend and I accidentally knocked his pencil onto the floor. “Have you broken that pencil, Marshall”, Mr Brown asked. “Yes Sir”, he replied. “I will put you in detention for that”, Mr Brown said. He obviously noticed the surprise registered on the whole form. He explained, “Do you realise that there are lumberjacks in Canada having to risk life and limb just to produce timber for your pencil? You deserve your punishment”.

At the end of the week our form master Mr Corby reviewed the detention card as was his habit. “Why did Mr Brown put you in detention, Marshall?”, he asked. “Because I broke my pencil”, Marshall replied. “Don’t be silly”, Mr Corby growled, “no one would do that”. “Yes he did”, chorused the form. No more was said of it.

Mr Corby
An old naval man, Mr Corby took us for Maths. As a form master he kept his eye on the weekly ‘Good cause’ collection. When it was discussed where we would like to send the contributions at the end of the year, Mr Corby let us have a free choice as long as it was the Royal Lifeboat Society.

I recall him marking our latest end-of-term examination during a quiet period. He looked up when almost at the end and told us, “Haywood’s flagship at the moment”. He used to cycle to school from his home which I think was on Ashby Road. On wet days he wore waders and it was my job, usually, to pull them off his raised leg. My common ploy was to grasp his leg firmly and pull him, hopping, down the gap between the desks. It usually got a snigger from the rest of the form.

Mr Smith
‘Brab’ Smith had a very powerful voice and, should you provoke his displeasure, his voice would ring round
the school. He was a master who I liked. He took us for Physics and it was during a double period with Mr Smith on Feb 7th 1952 that the headmaster, Mr Pitchford, entered the lab, whispered something to Mr Smith and left. Mr Smith continued the lesson but at the end told us to go to the main hall where the entire school had gathered. Mr Pitchford then announced the death of King George VI and we then went home after a short service.

Mr Pitchford
He was my first form master and History master. It was he who fired my enthusiasm for history, particularly of the locality. I also thoroughly enjoyed a memorable talk given by Mr H J Wain on the history of Bretby. During my time as Mr Pitchford’s pupil I still marvel at the wonderful “Wulfric Spot”

Mr D M Davies T.D.
He was my form master for a year and also took Woodwork and P.T. Although I was useless at Woodwork, I found him an affable man. He was not very affable, however, when I knocked a bowl of stain over his meticulously kept mark book! Fortunately, I could back-pedal round the benches faster than Taffy could go forward.

Mr C F L Read
Mr Read was my Maths master for one year. He had the habit of going to the end of the gangway between the desks and as he walked towards the front of the class he flicked each boy’s ear with his ruler. Not the most endearing habit!

Mrs Lownds
She took Maths and I found her to be a good teacher although some of the boys played her up quite a lot when she became angry and raised her voice. Anyone sat near her would get a little damp with spittle, hence her nickname ‘Spitfire’. Regularly she would say to me when I was in the ‘B’ stream. “I don’t know what you are doing in this form”.

Mr Nicholson
Mr Nicholson was my Chemistry master. For 2 or 3 years, I was “Nick’s favourite”. When he arrived to take the class, he always asked for the detention card and put me in. When I protested, as I always did, his reply to me saying that I had done nothing was, “No, but you WILL”. Nick’s favourite!

Back Row: Peter Butlin, Don Elliot, Mick Darby, Stuart Haywood, Gordon Snell, Ian Miller, Alan Worthington
Middle Row: Trevor Botterill, Peter Bennett, Alan Marshall, Brian Giltrap, Barry Walton, Geoff Nicholson, Peter Jackson, Roy Fox
Front Row: Brian Hall, Gerald Huckerby, John Newton, Bernard Shaw, Mr D.M.Davies (Form Master), Colin Bunting, David Harper, George Row, Michael Fraser

Swimming was always a feature of the Burton Grammar School. In the very early days, the school used to have wooden huts next to the river Trent. They were situated on the Hay to the rear of where the Meadowside Leisure Centre is now situated and swimming classes were actually taken in the river. Use of the these continue for a while after the new, yellow-brick, indoor Swimming Baths on the Ox Hay, adjacent to the Trent Bridge, donated to the town by Richard and Robert Ratcliff in 1875.

The ‘new’ swimming baths (colour impression by me) were eventually used. Pupils had to walk to and fro from Bond Street. In Winshill Days, a double-decker bus used to take pupils down and they had to make their own way back to school up Bearwood Hill. Only the most affluent pupils paid the 3d to catch the bus although it was common practice for a while for groups of pupils to jump onto the open rear platform, clinging onto the pole, and jumping off as the top of the hill approached and before the bus could pick up any speed – until it announced it assembly that this practice should cease following complaint from the bus company.

The baths survived until the end of the Grammar School’s time and were eventually demolished in 1980 to be replaced by the nearby Meadowside Leisure Centre.

Life is punctuated by defining moments, how many defining moments we are allotted in life I have no idea, but do we recognise them when we experience them? Well, looking back on my life I can trace several, but at the time, they came and went without even registering a flicker on the Richter scale of defining moments. Apart from my birth being the first, the next must have been the year 1945, when as a 7 year old, the ending of the second world war was signalled by having a victory party held in the street where I lived, races were held, and during the 60 yard sprint I stumbled at a critical moment, it robbed me of victory my Uncle always told me. I only mention this, because 6 years of grinding war had passed me by almost unnoticed.

It was the following years of the late 1940’s, my education, such as it was, progressed to me winning a scholarship to the Grammar School, which in a way must have been another oblivious defining moment, because apart from my Mother announcing the fact, very little else in the memory department seems to have registered. Yes, there was one thing, to celebrate this result I was rewarded with a brand new gleaming Hercules single speed bicycle, with rod brakes. I well remember preening up and down on my new bike telling anyone who would stand still and listen, that I was going to the Grammar School, what a complete prig I must have been.

Another defining moment was ‘lost’ when; in the September of 1949 I started at Burton on Trent Grammar School. Try as I might, I can honestly say that I cannot recall a single happening of that day, so, it is to elsewhere that I must look for help. First, I would like to take a look at what the social conditions were like at that time, looking back, I was clearly aware that Victorian values were still in evidence, as the foundations of the Victorian era were still very much in place, like all institutions of the time, Burton Grammar School reflected and promoted the ethos and values of the Victorian age, it was a fact, anyone over the age of 50 was born a Victorian.

How hath the mighty fallen, from being a respected member of the hierarchy of Junior School I found myself catapulted into the abyss of the unworthy, mine was to obey, to be seen and not heard, to touch my forelock and passively submit, anyone older than me was god, and if I momentarily overlooked this fact, I was instantly reminded by a swift ‘kep’? around the ear. Beware of those clad in beribboned blazers for they were the High Priests and to be revered accordingly, for they were the police lieutenants of the Masters themselves.

When the grading of newcomers took place, each pupil was allocated to a Form, (class) in other words selected and streamed according to intellectual ability, the elite went into Form 1A, the midstream went into Form 1C and the also-rans went into Form 1B, the logic of A C B alludes me to this day, needless to say I was in 1B. In addition to being selected into a Form, every one was also allocated to a House. The House system comprised of Drake (blue), Nelson (black), Clive (green) and Wellington (maroon) we soon discovered the importance of the house system, which more will be said later. We had barely become accustomed to our new surroundings when 1B had its first incident, we were all waiting in the gym for the PE teacher to arrive and start our first PT lesson. Standing around, curious at the site of strange equipment two or three of the boys started messing about on the ropes, suddenly the cry went up, ‘somebody’s coming,’ by this time one of the climbers was at the top almost touching the ceiling, on hearing the warning from below, he slid down to the bottom like a fireman on a ‘shout’, the state of his hands and legs told their own story, as did the look on his face.

I was struck by the difference of the routine at my new school, laden with books in the ubiquitous satchel (leather bag) I navigated my way around my new surrounds, unlike my previous school, here, different classrooms were used for different subjects. Classrooms were positively Victorian in appearance (probably were) heavily constructed desks made of oak and wrought iron, complete with inkwells. On top of the thick, hinged lid of the desks, was generations of graffiti engraved by former occupants, what stories could they tell? Behind the master’s desk a huge blackboard was affixed to the wall, indispensable, for theses were the days of traditional blackboard teaching, nestling handily nearby, the blackboard rubber, which in experienced hands could be hurled with unerring accuracy at inattentive or fidgeting youth. The be-gowned eagle eyed master, would be perched in his eerie with a clear view of his charge and within handy distance would lurk the whip-like blackboard pointer, which doubled as a rapier when called upon to quell the unruly mob.

All work and no play made Jack a dull boy; cerebral exercise was generously alternated with exercise of the body in the shape of PT in the Gym or games on the playing fields. This is when I came to life, for sport of any kind was the elixer, inter house competition was promoted by the school, thereby inculcating ‘team spirit and what is known nowadays as bonding, victory was desirable but never paramount, modest in victory, magnanimous in defeat, win or lose, it was the taking part that counted. Rugby, cricket and athletics were all played on the schools sports ground, which was located off Branston Road next to the Peel Croft (Burtons RFC playing field) I had completely forgotten (until I recently read on BGS website) that we were also bussed to Shobnall fields for games afternoon. To be caught playing soccer with an oval ball was a cardinal sin and the assembled culprits would be bawled out. (Brab Smith?) Actually, many of the better Rugby players were in fact very good footballers, Gary Jordan (Burton Albion)- Dennis King (Gresley Rovers) – Keith Miller (Albion). I’m sure readers can name more. Obviously, Cross Country was different, an excellent account of the courses and wheezes are documented elsewhere on the website, my abiding recollection was, when on the return home, on the straight passing the Victolac (?) paint factory, the place was turned into a world war I battle scene, as skinny, singlet clad bodies, collapsed, clutching their throats and coughing blood, having inhaled the vitriolic fumes wafting across the fence. What price health and safety at work?

I became acquainted with discipline during my time there, both as a recipient and as an observer, I lived the other side of the river and travelled to school on my now, not quite so shiny Hercules, I had to use the Ferry Bridge and of course had to dismount and walk across the bridge, the penalty for being found guilty of riding was a Fixed £2.00 fine (not an inconsiderable amount) Well, you guessed it, one day I was caught riding by a member of the ‘allo, allo’ allo, who, decided to give me a good ‘wigging’ on the spot, just as this was taking place a Master from the school came walking by pushing his cycle, he strode over to join us, enquired my name and then carried on his way. He duly reported me to the Headmaster who, in due course, kindly invited me over to his study. He proceeded to read me the riot act about bringing the school into disrepute, after which, he picked up a whiplash cane and instructed me to ‘bend over’. In this undignified position he fine-tuned my posture for maximum effect, just like a golfer addressing his next shot, he calmly took aim and proceeded to thrash my backside. This is procedure is euphemistically called ‘six of the best’ or more commonly the ‘Whack.’ There was no emotion from either side, just “Now get back to your lesson” from the Headmaster. There is a sequel to this story, for not long afterwards, the Master who shopped me to the headmaster, was himself caught riding his bike and was fined £2.00.

On another occasion I witnessed a further example of how errant pupils were dealt with. A class was taking place and the master called for ‘quiet’ as some pupils (who were standing behind his desk) were talking. The master was examining a boy’s work and the talking continued. With no more ado, the master casually turned round and grabbed the nearest offending boy, got hold of his ear and proceeded to twist it, at the same time forcing the boy’s head slowly down on to his (Masters) desktop, the boy’s features were contorted and twisted as he was forced to look up at the ceiling to ease his pain, I wanted to shout out and stop it, but couldn’t, I did nothing, I just sat there I was impotent; we all were. This type of behaviour was by no means rare; in my time I saw numerous such incidents.

Mentioning the Ferry Bridge reminds me of a strange bird (of the feathered variety) which appeared around 1950, every day, this bird of swan proportions could be seen ‘swanning around’ on the water near to the ice factory end of the bridge, this unusual, nay, rare bird, was identified by one of the gang as a Canada goose. It was (to my mind) a handsome bird, yet solitary and lonely, where it had come from was a mystery, (please don’t say Canada) there were no signs of any of its brethren at all, even today I cannot recall seeing another. This bird must have been an advance goose-scout on reconnaissance for a resettlement programme, because as we all know, this area of the river is to-day, 50 years on, teeming with them, so much so, culling looks a possibility. Another memory of crossing the Ferry Bridge during this period was when the river was in full flood, each year without fail, the whole area was under water, often several feet deep, to be on the bridge surrounded by acres of deep water was thrilling for a boy on his way to school, I well remember on one occasion when the water was so deep you could touch the surface from the bridge itself.

On school days I used to cycle to my Grans for lunch, she lived nearby so it was handy to nip round on my bike. This meant going past the woodworks (Midland Joinery) and across the railway crossing at Bond End. I remember winters mostly, was it my imagination or were winters really so, so, cold? Fog seemed more frequent in those days too, I can recall many a journey on my bike in clinging freezing fog with visibility measured in feet, clad only in a light-weight school ‘mac’, on arrival at my Grans, the ice on the old, huge beer barrel water butt, would be several inches thick. I hated winters, I was always cold, there were no padded, rainproof winter coats with deep lined pockets or fur lined hoods to retreat into, no instant gas fires or central heating, the only concession to warmth was a few spluttering coals in a dusty grate, always provided there was coal to be had of course.

If my Gran’s house was still standing it would now qualify as a museum, in fact the whole street would, as it consisted wholly of terraced houses, built for the workers and was a monument to the Victorian way of life. On my bike, I would approach down the back way to the house, which was a long narrow alleyway with huge brick walls either side, these prison-like walls were at least ten feet high and stretched the whole length of the alley. Over the wall, was the site of the Burton Corporation waste disposal plant, which everyone referred to as the ‘Destructor, on this side, ancient gas lamps stood sentry at regular intervals down to alley’s abrupt end, which came in the form of large padlocked gates. On the right hand side, the walls of the backyards were punctuated with solid doorways set in the wall and as you entered, you brushed past the wall of the outside toilet. On the left, another high brick wall, which divided you from your neighbour. Equally high on the opposite wall was a substantial wooden lean to shed, which was dark and musty inside and contained a heap of dusty coal and old wheelbarrow, which was used for carrying produce from the allotment. Underneath the kitchen window stood the water butt. To complete the picture, under the left wall a token rockery where scraggy ferns struggled for survival. The backyard faced north and was forever in poor light, the only sign of hope being the beleaguered ferns, struggling for life in the permanent gloom.

The kitchen was built as an extension from the main building and protruded into the backyard, as did all the houses in the street for they were clones of each other. Inside the kitchen there was no direct light so it was as gloomy as ever, even on a sunny summers day, all the old technology of the day was present, in the corner there was a brick built copper hearth, this was integral to the kitchen, it was a brick structure for boiling water on wash or bath days, it had a huge vat shape and sat in the brick framework like a cradle, underneath was a fire grate to heat the water. Strategically placed would be odd looking contraptions to help my Gran to do her washing. Things like a large brass plunger on the end of broom handle, I remember such a tool quite well but hadn’t a clue what it was used for or it’s name, even to this day I had no idea, so to the internet I went, (wonderful thing the internet) apparently it was called a posser and was used to agitate the clothes in the water, all by hand of course, a sort of prototype automatic washer, another similar object called a ‘dolly’ was also used, it looked like a three legged milking stool attached to a long handle, the three legs facing downwards, the whole thing would be twisted left and right alternately by hand to agitate the clothes in the water, it must have been exhausting work. A mangle was a most important machine on washday, it was a heavy wrought iron contraption for wringing the clothes dry; the waterlogged washing was placed between the two sponge-like rollers which were located on the top of the frame, the rollers were powered by turning a huge iron wheel fitted with a wooden handle. When all the water had been squeezed out, the washing was then ready to hang up to dry. Where on earth did my Gran dry it? The only place was in a four by two backyard with little sun or wind, if it was raining or the wind was blowing in the wrong direction and blowing soot on to the nice clean washing, then the whole lot would have to be hauled down and hung inside the house from lines suspended from the ceiling. The combination of problems must have seemed endless. Then of course there was the ironing, the iron was, as it’s name implies, a solid moulded chunk of iron with a handle attached, this was placed on the black leaded grate, which was heated by a coal fire, when the iron was sufficiently hot, then it was then ready to do its job.

What did it all add up to? As I check and reread this script, I find it is impossible for me to convey the conditions and ambiance of those times long gone, to those readers of say under 50 years of age, the world as I have tried to describe must be almost impossible to grasp. Everything I was taught and brought up to believe, became part of me, indeed became me. In the course of my lifetime I have seen and continue to see a systematic dismantling and jettisoning of everything that I am and the values I hold. I think the generation to which I belong, must surely qualify for entry into the Guinness Book of Records, for seeing and experiencing the most dramatic changes (of all kinds) in the span of single lifetime. In the summer of 1952 I left BGS, my parents decided to move home and start a new life, taking me with them.

The Cadet Company was first recognised by the Staffordshire territorial army in December 1917, and continued doing drills and exercises until 1931 when the ministry of war discontinued it, ostensibly to replace it with a new organisation. This, however, did not materialise until 1942, when the ATC finally came into existence made up of sixty-nine boys who were a mixture of past and present members of the school.

In the following year, 1943, a Flight of the 351 Squadron was formed. Frank Read was CO of the 351 Squadron ATC which met in a building near to the Ferry Bridge off Bond Street throughout the war. He was assisted by Ron Illingworth.

This was to go on to gain more proficiency badges than any other squadron in the Midlands region with over two hundred in all.

The picture shows BGS Cadets engaged in rifle shooting at Lee-on-Solent camp in 1944. Jim Mayger is lying second from left, while Harry Rothera is standing at the far left.

Both shared their Headquarters down by the end of the Ferry Bridge but in 1944, the school pupil population had reached 381 and out of necessity, the HQ became used for other school activities. First year pupils used it for morning assembly, some used it for PE. Les Simpson, himself a cadet, also recalls music lessons being held there with Dickie Starling.

Ex-Grammar school pupil, D.A. Richards was awarded the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) in 1945. K. Rodbourne and C.B. Douglas later added to this role of honour. In 1946, the headmaster of the school at the time, Harold Moodey, recorded in his Speech Day Report “the heights reached by the 351 Squadron during the war deserve permanent commendation in the school annals“.

In 1949, a unit of the Combined Cadet Force was formed. Under the competent command of Major D. Davies assisted by Captain Harry Smith, two masters who were both to have long association with the school right through until the Winshill days, the fifty original ATC cadets was swelled to over one hundred cadets by 1953. When Peter Boulter joined the staff as an English teacher in the 1950s, he served as a Pilot Officer in the CCF.

Some may remember the Basic exam followed by the Army Proficiency Certificate which in turn led to Certificate ‘A’ Parts I and II. Successful completion allowed a badge to be worn on the sleeve with pride and many Certificates, such as Bob Fletcher’s shown here, survive to this day. This certificate was presumed to indicate that the cadet was ready for a ‘call to arms’ should World War III ever start, and assuming the Enfield .303 was still in use. In fact, Certificate A’s were important to the cadet force because financial support came from the War Department and the size of each school’s budget was calculated by the percentage of cadets who passed Certificate A, Parts I and II.

In the early 1950s, David Hopkinson was an NCO in the Army section and remembers stripping, cleaning and reassembling rifles and Bren guns in H.Q. and learning some of the theory that was involved in being a cadet.  The playground in the school was used for drill and there was a rifle range behind, at the side of the bike sheds.  A small hole appeared one day in the wall of one of the two classrooms down the passage from the bike sheds and, though it was ‘hushed up’  at the time, it was later revealed to have been caused  by a stray bullet!

The below photo taken in 1952 shows only arond a quarter of the cadet membership of the time. There was still seperate Army and smaller Air Force sections. Only two Air Cadets can be seen here, with a different uniform and, conspicuous by his absence, is Bill Read who was their CO.

Partial group photo (from around 100 members) 1952
Back Row: Ward, Owen, Allis, Brian Hall, Alan Marshall, Langstone, Askey, Tony Butlin, Booth
Middle Row: Norman Lord, Bill Vernon, Newton, Geoffrey Salt, David Kirk, David Harper, M07, Mick Jordan
Front Row: Shorthose, Cooper, Williams, Sinclair, Major ‘Taffy’ Davies, Captain ‘Brab’ Smith, *Ted Ufton, Bailey, Shaw

* Ted Ufton, who went on to be a Lieutenant in the Royal Marines, was tragically killed in action during the Suez Crisis in 1956. Ufton had been an outstanding and very popular member of the school.

He was buried with full honours at Clayhall Royal Naval Cemetery. The headmaster, Mr. Pitchford, and Major Davies represented Burton Grammar School at his funeral and a plaque to his memory was erected in the school foyer.

His grave remains visited, the below photo taken in 2010 by his classmate Tony Prevett.

In 1957, the now CCF (Combined Cadet Force), having received a substancial sum under the direction of Colonel Scaife of the Staffordshire Territorials, acquired a new purpose built premises within the new Winshill Grammar School grounds which now included a Rifle Range.

Moving into the new premises was postponed for a while, together with the transfer of the school from Bond Street to Winshill after the roof blew off before the school was completed. The new CCF quarters were officially opened in 1958.

At this time, Harry ‘Brab’ Smith was no longer at the school (although he was soon to return at the request of the new Headmaster, Bill Gillion), and Major Davies became seriously ill and was no longer able to continue. This left Flight-Lieutenant Frank Read and a few NCOs to continue on their own. Added to this, with WWII ending some 13 years ago, the force did not really have the same relevance. By 1963, the ranks of the CCF fell below the minimum number required by the War Office and was closed.

Group photo 1958
Back Row: John Gosling, D. Ball, John Slack, K. Redfern, Watson, Keith Humphries, Mellor, Dunn, T. Hill, T. Jones, Geoff Booth, T. Elks, John Cork
Middle Row: Quayle, D. Pritchard, D. Fletcher, R. Bucknall, Clowns, M. Tracey, M07, J. Birch, J. Buxton, Wadsworth, Rod Alexander, Graham Arnold, C. Freebury, S. Lawrie
Front Row: Smith, R. Hancey, A. Cloves, Yates, R. Fletcher, Flight-Lieutenant Frank Read, Major D.M. Davies, P. Boulter, Yarranton, M. Campbell, P. Rutland, Gilchrist, D. Shrubbs
Front: Woosnam-Savage, David Horsley, John Price, F04, E. Gillespie, A.D. Hughes

Group photo 1961
Back Row: B01, B02, Rod Moore, Griffin, B05, Terry Butler, B07, B08, Tim Hill, B10, Griffiths, B12, B13, B14, B15, B16
Third Row: T01, T02, T03, T04, T05, T06, T07, T08, T09, T10, T11, T12, T13, T14, T15, T16
Second Row: S01, S02, S03, David Liggins, Jim Roberts, S06, S07, S08, S09, S10, S11, S12, S13, S14, S15
Front Row: F01, F02, Bob Bucknall, F04, Howard Ratcliffe, Charles Freebury, Ian Quayle, Flight-Lieutenant Frank Read, Major D.M. Davies, L.C. Rees (English), F11, John Price, Noel Poxon, F14, Robin Langton, John Goodhead

The following year, in an attempt to keep some pupil activity going, a new detachment of the ACF (Army Cadet Force) was formed and affiliated to the Staffordshire Yeomanry.

Captain John (Jack) Playll, seen on the far left in the above photo, was soon to join the school as a History teacher and was persuaded to take over the running of the cadets which he did with some success from 1966 to 1970. Perhaps most notably, in 1967, Seargant F.M. Airey and Corporal John Clark were both awarded Gold in Duke of Edinburgh’s Awards.

In 1968, Seargant F.M. Airey and Lance-Corprol F.C. Burrows were selected to train with the 16th/5th Queen’s Royal Lancers Regiment stationed in Germany, visiting camps in Hamburg, Celle, Hanover, Belsen and Luneburg. Sgt. F.M. Airey is pictured here in the top of a scout vehicle.

Finally, Sergeant J.E. Simnett received the Charles Black Shooting Trophy on belhalf of Burton Grammar School Troop.

Captain Playll (far left) was followed by a succession of officers, some of whom took the post with some reluctance. Although offering the chance for pupils to engage in such activities as canoeing, camping, rifle shooting, drill, weapon training, and fieldcraft, never really reaching its earlier heights as the relevance of training young men for the eventuality of future combat grew thankfully weaker.

Remembered by T.H. Quayle L.VISc.

Two cadets, one from each section of the School C.C.F., were invited to attend the Cadet Royal Centenary Parade on the 22nd July, 1960. Corpral Price from the army section, and myself from the R.A.F. section, were the lucky ones.

We arrived, after an uneventful journey, at Woolwich Arsenal. We were immediately taken into a small room and our particulars were taken by several officers. I was handed a piece of paper with the mysterious formula “Con-naught, Room 38″ scrawled on it. This, I assumed, was my barrack block and room number. I was right ! I was separated from Cpl. Price, being an R.A.F. cadet, and taken to my room. Whilst I was settling in cadets from all over the country, from the Isle of Wight to Glasgow and from Bristol to London arrived one by one.

At about five o’clock we were told that it was time to go for tea, which was had in a Cookhouse about a quarter of a mile from our barracks. After tea we went to see a film show in the camp cinema.

The next morning we were allowed a lie in, and then, after breakfast, we were inspected by an R.A.F.V.R. officer, who told us that there would be two rehearsals, one in the afternoon and the other after tea.

The afternoon parade rehearsal was quite tiring because of the long waits while the organising officers discussed various points about the parade, and also whilst an officer directed us from a loudspeaker van. An army and a navy officer played the part of the Queen and Prince Philip in the rehearsals ; it was quite touching to see the short navy officer gallantly-helping the tall thin army man from the Land-Rover.

In the evening the barrack was a hive of activity. Never before had so many belts received such generous layers of bianco and boots so much “spit and polish.” Most people were in bed by nine-thirty as everyone knew that we should have to be up early for the great day.

After breakfast, all wearing our “best bib and tucker”, and knowing that we would not return to our barracks again, we packed our luggage and ourselves into our respective coaches and set off for Wellington Barracks. On the way we were put at our ease by the strains of “Housewives’ Choice” coming from the coach radio and also by chewing the barley sugars that we had been given. Arriving at Wellington Barracks we immediately fell in, and after a short pause marched off to Buckingham Palace to the accompaniment of the Band of the Junior Wing H.M. Royal Marines.

We entered the Palace through the back way, the highly-mysterious “Electricians’ Gate.” We had to wait about a quarter of an hour for the Queen to appear with Prince Phillip, and as she did so we were ordered to attention and then saluted. The Queen then inspected us, going round on a Land-Rover. When Her Majesty returned to the dais we were again called to attention while General Sir Oliver Leese presented the C.C.F. Commemoration Book. Three hearty cheers were given and then the banners moved forward to their positions near the Terrace Steps. Then we all took part in a march past the Queen to music appropriate to whichever section was passing the dais. We marched out of the main Palace gates and back to Wellington Barracks, where we had a packed lunch.

After lunch we marched to Westminster Abbey for a service, and then back to the barracks for tea. When tea was over we boarded buses for our respective stations.

At St. Pancras station I rejoined Cpl. Price and we entered our reserved compartment back to Burton. On the way we noticed several people reading newspaper articles of the parade of the “Soldiers who never go to war.”

As remembered by A.J. Williams, U.VISc

On November 1st, 1960, members of the Music Club accompanied by several members of staff visited the De Montfort Hall, Leicester, to hear a Beethoven Concert given by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Royalton Kisch.

The following works were played : Overture to “Egmont” ; Symphony No. 7 in A major ; Symphony No. 3 in E flat major (Eroica).

“Egmont” is a play by the German poet and philosopher Goethe, to which Beethoven composed incidental music. It tells the story of the struggle for freedom of the Dutch people against their Spanish oppressors. In gaining their liberty, however, the hero Egmont is killed.

All his life Beethoven was obsessed with this theme — the right of humanity to freedom and liberty, and it is to be found in many of his large scale works, notably the 3rd and 5th Symphonies. The overture is programmatic in design — the sombre opening bars which lead to a tense and agitated section portray the oppression of the Dutch and their struggle for freedom.

The final section depicts the death of Egmont in the battle, but liberty is gained and the overture ends on a triumphant note.

The Eroica symphony is closely allied in mood to the Egmont overture, but the issues involved are bigger and more universal. One can, I think, dispense with the many “programmes” that have been hoisted on to its shoulders, for the music speaks for itself. Suffice to say that in composing this gigantic symphony Beethoven opened the door to a completely new world of symphonic thought and expression. The movements are all longer, more complex in design, and structure and express more profound and lofty emotions than had hitherto been heard.

The first movement is intensely heroic and noble, and the second is a profoundly tragic funeral march. For the third movement Beethoven writes one of his “daemonic” scherzi. full of rough, buffeting good spirits and impulsive energy. The trio, with its wonderful parts for the horns, is more serene.

For the finale Beethoven wrote a series of variations, enclosing a fugue, on a theme from his “Prometheus” ballet, and the symphony is rounded off in the most noble manner.

The seventh symphony is characterised in all of its movements by a constant rhythmical drive, and of all Beethoven’s works it is the most vitally alive in its super-abundance of pure creative energy. The first movement is prefaced by a long introduction which sets a note of grandeur on the whole work. It leads into the vivace with its impulsive rhythms and brilliant orchestral colouring. The second movement in A minor is in no way tragic as is its counterpart in the Eroica, but moves thoughtfully and seriously forward under its rhythmic pulse. The scherzo is full of Beethovenish fun and high spirits, and after the trio, an Austrian pilgrims’ hymn, has been heard twice, threatens to repeat it yet a third time before it is rudely cut short — a typical Beethoven joke. The finale is supposed to have had its origins in a Cossack folk tune, but whatever the origins the energy and drive are terrific and one is borne forward on the crest of a continuous wave of sound to be precipitated headlong in the closing bars.

The orchestra, with the exception of the second trumpet, who seemed to be having an off night, played superbly throughout, handled with extreme precision by Royalton Kisch. His tempi were finely judged on the whole, although the first movement of the seventh symphony seemed a little lax, and the trios of the third movement would have been more impressive if taken a little more slowly. On the whole it was a most successful night.

Like many Grammar Schools, Burton followed the tradition of playing Rugby rather than football. The only winter alternative was cross-country. Whilst it is nice to now look back at this as a proud tradition of hard but fair play, I can’t remember being particularly enamored with either of these activities!