The author of the article that appears below, who may or may not be Andrew Mactavish, has gained permission to publish from all the characters who appear in the story.

Summer 1956. The Signals Platoon of the Royal Grammar School C.C.F. was 40 strong, and we six NCO's were having our weekly debrief after the Thursday afternoon training.  Cpl. Moore was unhappy.  He had been in charge of a telephone line laying exercise in the Green Hill woods.  He had had two teams of four laying parallel lines by way of a competition.  They had had to carry the wires over an imaginary road, bury them under a footpath, and leave twenty yards of slack, all in the approved military fashion.  But Cpl. Moore was not happy.  “There was no drive," he complained.  "I told them they were in a war zone.  I was trying to get real.  I blew a whistle to warn them of an air attack and some of them didn't even take cover.”

LCpl Willatts, who had been with him and who was the smallest of those present, was not entirely sympathetic.  "You were daft making them carry rifles.  Have you tried running through the wood?  With a full drum of cable?  And a rifle?  Baigent fell flat on his face three times!  Then when you blew the whistle, he was up a tree.  For heaven's sake! Up a tree, with a drum of cable and a rifle.  And you yell that he's got to take cover!"

Moore sulked.  "Look, I'm trying to make it exciting and realistic.  And you can't do that except at camp when you can make bangs.  And you don't get bombs on Green Hill".  Bombs on Green Hill?  Cpl Hall and I caught each other's eye.  That was it!  We'd make it realistic. We'd make them dive for cover. We'd have a bomb!  Willatts got excited   "You can't blow them up!  You'll have complaints.  And you'll break windows.  Or wake babies or something".

"We're not going to blow anyone up.  It'll go bang - quietly - and throw earth everywhere."  Willatts was not convinced, and LCpl Small had to beat him with a Signals pamphlet to quieten him down.  Cpl Malin was more concerned.  "Hang on!  It's m-m-my lot who are line laying n-n-next week.  I'm n-not into being blown up."

"I said no one is going to get blown up.  It won't be a bomb. It will be a small pyrotechnic device to give them a sense of realism.  The pamphlet on 'How to instruct' says we ought to make it real and exciting, and we're going to do just that."   "I'm sure M-m-major Pattinson won't like it".

"So we won't bother him.  We'll keep it secret.  And it'll be a surprise for the cadets.  We'll just show our initiative, as we're always being told to.  So you run the exercise, and when they're in a suitable place, I'll shout there's an air attack.  When they're all under cover, 'Kerblam!”   "K-k-kerblam?

"Sorry.  I didn't mean that.  I meant, "Quiet bang!"  Lots of earth. Lots of excitement."

The next day, we lurked off on a reconnaissance.  Hall and I decided to re-route the exercise to cross a long bank about six feet high between two gullies.  If we buried the bomb on the top, it would blow upwards and the signallers would be quite safe as they dived into the gullies. We dug about with the point of the mattock.  There were some huge beech roots on the top of the bank. It would take dynamite and a lot of it to move roots like that.  We could put our bomb about a foot down between two roots and it would blow upwards.  We could put about an eggcupful of gunpowder in a cardboard casing, tamp it down with chalk and it would be dramatic and safe.  As we got down to the fine details, Malin became more nervous: “How are you g-g-going to fuse it? I'm not going to s-s-supervise this if there's a h-h-hissing fuse?"

We quietened him by promising electric fusing.  "It'll go when we want it to. And we'll make absolutely sure by using one of the big 75 ampere hour accumulators."

On the next Thursday, we prepared things at the beginning of lunchtime.  Our bomb was about as large as the business part of an army thunderflash with two wires poking out.  We dug a neat small shaft a foot deep at the join of two large roots.  We laid the bomb in the bottom and buried the wires for some thirty yards to a point behind a tree.  We filled the hole over the bomb with lumps of dry earth and chalk.  We scuffed over the soil and the beech mast was perfectly concealed.  Malin found a tree some fifty yards away and practised standing behind it.

The Signals paraded at 2.40 at the end of first lesson.  There was the usual inspection. Moore went off with his squad to practise with the No 18 wireless sets.  Willatts was in the Signals Hut with the senior cadets.  Small was teaching theory in a classroom.  The line layers were in denims.  A somewhat twitchy Malin checked them off.  Hall and I told the squad we were going to observe the exercise.  They drew their equipment - cable drums, cable layers, mattocks, telephones Mark D, ........ a 75 ampere hour accumulator? .... There was a sudden touch of rebellion.

“What the hell do we want an accumulator for?" said an awkward line layer who had been detailed as one of the two people to carry it to the woods.  "It weighs a ton. This is for the 19 wireless set? It's stupid".

"Just pick it up. All will be revealed in the fulness of time"

"Well, I think it's daft. About as daft as the other lot climbing trees with rifles last week. If you think I'm climbing a tree with this..."

The squad moved over the field.  Hall and I followed.  They seemed to have no idea of the special effects that were waiting.  We arrived at the start point.  There were two teams of four each with their equipment.  The accumulator was put behind the tree and Hall casually sat by it and found the end of the firing wires in the loose earth.  As Malin started to brief the line layers, Moore arrived with the radio squad.  I shot over.  "What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be on the school field".  "It's a lovely afternoon so I thought we'd practise our netting here".  "You just want to see if it works".

"Well?"  "OK. OK. Send your outstations right down the wood.  You can set up the control station here under that rhododendron.  Then you can see.  But keep out of the way.  This is a serious military exercise, not a public spectacle. Good grief!"

 Cpl Small had arrived with his Theory class.  'What are you doing here?" The wood was filling up with cadets and signals equipment.  "I've decided to do the theory lesson in the open air.  It's such a nice day", said Small airily, and added rather more quietly: "You don't think I'm going to miss this, do you?"

"For heaven's sake, go into the field fifty yards over there. Sit them down with their backs to us. And don't come any nearer.”

I was hardly surprised when I turned and found I was looking at LCpl Willatts and the remaining senior cadets. "We're supposed to be tuning into the national cadet radio net," he beamed.  "But you've got the only charged accumulator.  We need it for the 19 set.")

"Why not use the No 12 transmitter?  It's sitting on the bench wired up to the mains.  It's far more powerful than the 19 set."  "Anyone can use the 12 set.  That's easy," said Willatts.  "Now the 19 set. That's real skill.  When are you going to blow up Malin?"  "Shut up! Just sit your people over there and wait.  The entire Signal Platoon was now in the woods.  Moore's control radio operators were thrashing about in the bushes some thirty yards down the wood. Cpl. Small was lecturing far too loudly to his squad at the edge of the field to the side.  Willatts had sat his squad down on the higher ground above the area.  There was an air of anticipation among the NCOs, which was being picked up by the rest.  Malin was struggling to complete his briefing.  His squad were very conscious that they were the centre of attention.  More to the point, it was clear that word about the bomb was now getting around.  "Any questions?" said Malin.

"What's all this about air attacks?" said Awkward.  "I said that an a-a-air a-a-attack would be s-s-signalled by a s-s-series of blasts on a w-w-whistle".  Malin was feeling the pressure."So what's all this about us going to be blown up then?  I stepped forward."  If an air attack is signalled, then you take cover in the normal way."

"Dying for your country is one thing but s*d being blown up on a line laying exercise just because last week's lot couldn't take cover properly.  Go on, blow them up!  They're laughing at us.  It's their fault.  And I know why you told us to lug that accumulator over here 'cos I can see two wires in the ground next to it.  If you think I'm going to lay a line over there, then you've got another think coming." Mutiny was in the air. At least they were taking matters seriously. It was clear they had a pretty good picture of what was planned. Moore's squad were now facing us, agog with interest. From the depths of the rhododendron the control radio operator could be heard: "Hello all stations no explosion yet. I say again, no explosion yet.  Over” 

There was no point in trying any other approach.  “OK.  OK.  There is a small pyrotechnic device buried on top of that bank.  During your exercise, an air attack will be sounded, you will take cover and it will be fired.  The device will blow upwards”.  "It's all very well for you. You're going to be over there behind a tree. Small devices can blow bloody big craters".For a time there was a hiatus.  Various people from different squads volunteered to take Awkward's place, saying they'd always wanted to be blown up and if he was that wet "he ought to join the Navy section" and similar ripostes. Awkward finally agreed to stay with his group.

At last the line parties were ready to start.  "G-g-go!" shouted Malin.  The two parties ran down the wood with the cable drums spinning in the cable layers.  They arrived at the imaginary road and looked for suitable branches to give themselves a twenty-foot clearance.  Behind his tree, Hall put one wire onto the battery terminal and gave me a thumbs up sign.  I moved up to where I could see the whole area.  Line-laying party Number I was arguing.  "I'm not climbing that tree if he's going to set off a bomb. He said it would blow upwards.  Climbing trees is upwards, innit?"   This was getting pathetic. "There will be no air attack while you are constructing the overhead crossing".

"Not very realistic, is it?" called out one of Willatts' squad. "If you never got blown up when you were up a tree, everyone would always be up trees," he added with maddening logic.

The line layers climbed two adjacent trees and began to pass the drums across the supposed road.  Control radio transmitted: "Hello all stations. Explosion in approximately figures four minutes. Over".  To my surprise, "One, OK, Over” came from the bush behind me.  I realised that the outstations had wriggled back up the wood through the undergrowth to see what was going on.  A widely spaced ring was watching the line parties.  Most were peering round trees, all were flat on the ground.  The line parties slowed down.  They had nearly finished the overhead crossing.  They now had to move twenty yards to the bank and dig a six inch deep footpath crossing across it. They knew that the bomb was there.  No one wanted to cross to the bank.  They looked like people in a slow-motion film.  Everything was just about drawing to a halt when Malin, who had been dithering behind the line layers, suddenly underwent a transformation. Like Camille Desmoulins jumping onto a cafe table and inspiring the Parisians to storm the Bastille, he leapt on top of the bank, faced the grovelling cadets in the gully, and to everyone's surprise roared in bell-like tone: 'Get bloody moving! ".  The two groups dived onto the bank.  Hugging the ground, they started to dig the cable in across the footpath.  Malin was standing above them red in the face, like a man possessed.  "You can't dig with a mattock lying on your face.  Get up, you miserable wimps!"  The two teams shot to their feet and began to dig furiously, looking closely at the ground around them. They had worked out that the bomb would be fired by Hall at the tree, but they could not know exactly where it was.  Malin had clearly decided to give his all for the exercise. He was leaping between the two parties, encouraging and swearing where needed.

            It all happened very quickly. The two parties were twenty yards apart on top of the bank.  The bomb was buried between them.  Awkward's party were on the line of the firing wire.  Suddenly the one of the diggers shouted "There's a buried wire here!"  He threw himself wildly down the gully, into a small holly bush and, by the scrabbling noises, was trying to get out through the bottom.  The panic was instant.  People hurtled off the bank as if yanked by invisible cables.  Two rolled backwards, spinning with their arms over their heads.  Malin knew we wouldn't fire it if there was anyone on the bank, and he could really have taken it slowly, but the frenzy caught him, and he too dived into the mud and leaf mould.  The bank was instantly depopulated.  No one had actually signalled an air attack.  I blew my whistle and roared, “Take cover”, rather unnecessarily.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the audience cringing lower to the ground. Everyone was clear.  I signalled to Hall.  I saw the electric flash as he put the second wire on the battery.

For an instant I thought we had a misfire.  Then I heard a thud as if someone had dropped a pile of books in the next room.  Afterwards Malin was rude and said he thought it was like dropping a small notebook at the other end of the school, but he was biased and he had his head in the mud anyway.  A small column of earth and chalk shot eight feet into the air, hovered and dropped into the far gully.  A cloud of sulphurous fumes wafted through the trees. There was a tiny pause and an ironic cheer from the Theory class.  The line layers slowly raised their heads.  "Was that it?"

"Wait until the 'All c-c-clear' is given".  Malin was back to his usual self.  "All c-c-clear!" he shouted.

"I thought we were going to be bombed' moaned Awkward.  "I'm all muddy now.  Do you think I'm going to carry on when I'm all muddy? Why did you make me jump in the mud just for that?"

Everyone broke up. The Theory class drifted back across the road, with the logical one suggesting that he could burst a balloon next week and really frighten people. Radio operators wriggled out of the undergrowth where they had crawled to see the show.  Malin herded the line layers together and began to clear up.  Cpl Hall detailed two cadets to carry the accumulator. He was sucking a finger. "The spark burnt me.  My end of the firing circuit was more dangerous than the other'.

The Platoon dismissed and the NCO's returned to the Signals Hut. "Not the greatest bomb ever" offered Small.  "In fact, I would rather judge it from the other end of the scale, like the minutest bomb ever”.  But in a curious way, we had forgotten the bomb in our new respect for Malin.  "Did you realise you were actually standing on it when you got mad at them?" said Hall.  "You were bloody impressive.  It was like something out of a war film".   "Willatts' admiration was more practical.  "It could have gone off.  You would have had earth ... and chalk ... right up your trousers".

I told him that he couldn't be recommended for a VC as his valour was not done in the face of the enemy.  He took it well.  "It's been a g-g-good afternoon.  But I think I'll opt to do some boring classroom theory next w-w-week".  He wandered off. We all watched him go.  The bomb might have been smaller than expected but we were now looking at a bigger man.

The little hole in the top of the bank stayed there for some time. People in the know would comment on it, and the story of the bomb and Malin's heroism grew in the telling. Then the Council decided to build houses on the field where the Theory class had sat for the al fresco lesson, and they diverted the Green Hill road straight through the wood. The bank was bulldozed when the tarmac was laid, and the site of the great bomb of Green Hill was lost for ever, the memory floating away in the wind like a puff of gunpowder smoke.

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Dear Ian 

I have just read your November OW newsletter, which mentions that the next one is due to be issued on 22 January - if you have already finalised it ready for publication then don't worry, it's my fault for sending this too near the deadline!

 Firstly, I was wondering if the suggestion for those who were in 5R in 1962 to have a reunion at the Annual Dinner in April, should be widened to include all those in that academic year, as for most of us it will be exactly 40 years since we left the school.  I am talking therefore about everyone who entered the school (at 10/11+) in Sept 1958 into forms 2A to 2E, or at 13+ into form 4Z, and left the 2nd year Sixth Form in July 1965. (Editor. Yes, good idea, the more, the merrier!)

 Both myself and John C. Hills (both of whom coincidentally had fathers who at the time taught at the school) are in the above category and are hoping to attend, having just re-established contact after many decades, and would like to meet up with others from our year.

 Secondly, in the last newsletter you were asking about the first batch of 34 boys to be confirmed in the then new School Chapel (ex-Chemistry Lab) in March 1961 by the Bishop of Buckingham.  It so happens that I was one of those, but for some reason which I cannot remember now, I did not attend the communion the following morning, so wasn't one of 160 boys and staff shoe-horned into the chapel, which as you say, would have been a very tight squeeze!

Thirdly, you also include in your extract from the 1961 Wycombiensian, a passage written by Helena Ellis, the lone girl member of the school.  My late father, Stanley (S.A.) Male, was a senior member of the Classics staff at the time (under Kit Haworth), taught Helena, and had a framed photograph of the Classical Sixth Form and staff, in which she is included.  

Yours sincerely,

Tony Male

Editor:  Can anyone name all the teachers and boys?

Dear Ian,

I always look forward to reading the online newsletter and the January one was particularly enjoyable.

As regards the unknown group photo near the end, it was before my time but I checked it against a pile of old RGS material, which I still have, thanks to my late Mum being a hoarder. I still have most of the 'grey books' from 1957 to 1970 and most Wycombiensians and Speech Day programmes for the same period, and also a number of programmes of Gilbert & Sullivan operas and other school drama/music from that era.

I checked the photo and it had quite a few of the people who appeared in the 'civilian dress' photo for the December 1961 production of 'The Gondoliers' except that they look a bit younger in your photo. There was no G&S in 1960 (for some reason) but it could be 'The Mikado' from 1959 (or 'HMS Pinafore' 1958?). Anyway, I'm pretty sure I recognise BJ Hankey (sitting row, 4th from left) and AH Dixon (sitting row, 5th from right). (Editor: Excellent detective work!)

Sport Internationals: my years at the school were 1963-70. Richard Staynor's were 1964-70. You should add Alan Ludgate (1956-1963) who has been a Chess international for Ireland several times over.

I was interested to read about Len Worley in the latest newsletter. I remember him from many Saturday afternoons spent watching Wycombe Wanderers at Loakes Park from about 1961 onwards. He was the Wycombe Stanley Matthews!

A slightly wicked thought: as I was browsing through some old Speech Day programmes, noting which universities and colleges people went off to, I recalled that the school seemed to have something of a 'special relationship' with Jesus College, Cambridge for some time in the late 1950s, early 1960s. Lots of people went there. Then, suddenly, in about 1962(?), people stopped going there (although there were still plenty of Oxbridge successes). I remember that a rumour went around the school in my early days that some ex-RGS person(s) had blotted their copybook there. Is this true? Have sufficient years passed for the miscreant(s) to come forward and identify themselves? (Editor: Can anyone confirm that the rumour was true? Any more information on it?)

While I was browsing through some old school mags, I was struck by the gloom and sheer gruesomeness of some of the poetic efforts published. For example, from the Sept 1962 edition...

". . .TILL YOU BE DEAD"

Death in the morning on the stroke of eight.

Choking in the hood, enveloping the face;

A man's soul swinging, waiting, at Paradise's edge,

Or stiffening in rigor at the gates of Hell.

Blue in the morning, neck circled by the cord,

Bloated and swollen, lying in decay:

Sprays of yew and cypress round about his shroud,

And an earth-stained skull above the scaffold's door.

Corruption framed in the coffin walls:

Lying forgotten until Judgment-day.

By IMMERITO.

Eek, it makes you wince, doesn't it? I'm very glad I didn't go to the RGS until 1963 as capital punishment had been abolished by then.

In the same edition I found this poem, which is slightly less gloomy but only just...

FOLK SONG

Old man, why do you watch

The gambols of the sea?

The cold wind of memory

Stings sharper here, where the waves dance.

Time moves no slower on seashores,

The sea allows no flight from chance.

Old man, a wintered life

Looks from your spraydamp eyes;

Behind your furrowed wrinkles

A stale remembrance hides

From the waves that cry

The years over the shingle.

But does the water's tingle

Cause this glitter in your eye?

Or is it from within, a single

Spark of joy which age provides,

The semblance of the happiness of others

Which shakes the tomb where youth resides?

by R. V. Scruton

Now for something completely different (and a bit more cheerful)... would it be worth featuring bloopers from old school magazines? Here's one I noticed (from May 1961):

Staff News... "Mr Bartle (1901-35)... for the second year running he has been unlucky to lose all his chickens owing to foul pest."

The italics are mine. It doesn't say who the foul pest was, but there were several in my class who fitted this description.

Happy New Year!

Jon Saunders

(1963-70)

Dear Ian,

Great job, I love to get the OW magazine. My sporting hero at school was John Williams. He was a gym teacher in the 60s. I believe he ran in the Tokyo Olympics. I think it was the 200 or might have been the 800. I think staff members should be included.

I have a nice story about Luke Donald. 3 or 4 years ago I took my boys (then 9 and 11) to the PGA event here in Vancouver (alas we no longer have it). I had spotted his name on the program as he was listed as being from Bucks. I managed to ask him between holes which town? Well "so am I" I said. Then which school? Well "so am I" I said again. After that we followed him around the course and cheered him on. He was very nice to my kids (despite having a bad day by his standards) and gave them autographed balls before he finished. Nice to see him doing so well now.

Cheers from Vancouver Canada,

David Sandles, 1964-1971

Dear Ian,

You referred in the January newsletter to confessions and an amnesty.  I shall for ever remember being the Field Prefect part of whose role was to deter/prevent smoking round the school grounds. This responsibility gave me the perfect excuse to disappear for a cheeky smoke of my own!  On one morning, I came out of my hiding place down in the garages under the flats opposite school and walked straight into you!  I thought I was particularly quick-thinking, saying “just checked in there, Sir, and noone’s in there, before darting off. My self-congratulation lasted half-an-hour or so before my form-master, Neil Cooper, asked for “a word”. “Jeremy,” he said, “you’re a good chap, but there’s a time and a place, and that was neither. Do I make myself clear? He certainly had. What a great way to deal with someone! Does that count as a confession? I think the truth to everyone concerned.

All the very best,

Jeremy Bennett (1981-1987)

Editor:  Any more ‘confessions’ from anyone?

Dear Ian,

I read in the Old Boys magazine of Mr Berry's retirement from the school, and as I took part in a large number of the youth hostelling trips, which Mr Berry used to organise, I would like to express my appreciation to him. 

Mr Berry also taught me Maths up to GCSE, but Maths wasn't one of my strengths!  Perhaps when you are next in touch with Mr Berry you could pass on my best wishes to him?

Kind regards. 

David Chapman (RGS 1987-1993)

Dear Sir,

I visited the Old Boys’ site for the first time in ages and was pleased to see news of contemporaries, a couple of whom I remember well.  I retain some fond memories of my time at the RGS, despite my comparative lack of academic achievement when I left.  It is so true that one never forgets good teachers - for me it was the redoubtable David Flinders, renowned for his tough discipline in the pursuit of excellence, quick-tempered, yet so long as one put in the effort, he was always supportive of those fortunate to have him as a French teacher a form-master.  He had a most effective way of getting attention and killing chatter in class – raking his fingernails down the blackboard, which made us clap our hands to our ears.  Memories come flooding back!

Regards,

Max “Myndblown” Waller

Dear Ian,

You're right, it was Jayne Mansfield who started the American football game in 1958(?) She arrived on a vintage car, signing and handing out glossy flyers with her photo and details on. My (unreliable) memory says that the game could not be held at the USAF base at Dawes Hill Lane owing to building work. I also remember that the team was known as the 'Bucks', thus enabling them to be billed as the 'High Wycombe Bucks'. Well, someone must have thought it was a good idea.

 Finally - the photo of the unknown group. I reckon that it was taken in the (old) hall in 1956 or 57. I recognise several faces but can only suggest three names: back row extreme right, Backhouse; second row seated extreme left, Packman; and second row seated third from right, Cass. The number of boys, about sixty, would be perhaps two first year forms, though I think the Junior School at Uplyme had its own photograph taken separately from the main school so why this group would have been taken I can't think. Another slightly odd thing I noticed: there are possibly four senior boys in the seated row, but no members of staff.

Regards,

Peter King

Photo ‘Quiz’ 2

Can you name the year, the production and any of the cast?

SAD NEWS

We have recently heard of the deaths of Eric Sampson (1927-1933), P.H.L. Howell (1932-1938), and Julian W Priest QC  (1937-1944).  Geoffrey Green writes that at the RGS Julian was President of the “20^th Century Opinion Society”, where he gave a paper on “Goethe’s philosophical implications on Faust”.

SPORTING INTERNATIONALS

Below is a list of OW’s who have represented their country in a particular sport.  Could you please look to see if there are any mistakes here or any omissions, and let Ian Clark know about these as soon as possible. 

NEXT NEWSLETTER

In the next newsletter, we hope that there will be photographs of the Dinner, and Sporting Reunions, and some memories of Mervyn Davies and also Bert Scott, who died a few months ago. It will be published on May 10^th.  If you would like to comment on anything that appears above, or send in your memories of the RGS, please do not hesitate to email ianrclarkuk@yahoo.co.uk

A very happy Easter to all