Walton Elm

The school was a good one. It was set in the beautiful Dorset countryside, about 8 miles from Gillingham and Shaftesbury, 2 miles from Sturminster Newton and in the village of Marnhull.  There were about 60 boys and it was run by a headmaster called Johnson who was really very kind and cared about the lads.  There was also a housemaster called Trethewey.  He was a very military minded man (he even used to carry his swagger stick with him everywhere).  We used to have to march everywhere when he was around and everything had to be 'square and Bristol-fashion' (whatever that means).

One Saturday shortly after I arrived at the school I got a visitor.  This was a complete surprise.    It was Timothy in his bubble car.  When he got it, it was a grotty white colour, he had painted it red and black check.  It looked really funky.   I was so pleased to see him.  It was difficult to understand why I couldn’t be at home with my family.  Incidentally, no one else ever bothered to come and visit me other than social workers!

I learned a lot at Waltom Elm.
Lesson number one was swimming. We had our own swimming pool and each year used to have a 'gala-day'.  This combined an old boy’s reunion, parent’s day, and us showing off our dubious talents in a series of concerts, plays and sports events. 

It was during "nosh-up" time at the end of the day that I again learnt to swim (after my near disastrous experience on holiday a few years previously).  All the parents and old boys used to crowd into a huge marquee towards the end of the day and try to make it all worthwhile by stuffing their faces with as much free food as possible.  Whilst this was going on a few of us boys were diving off the boards into the pool and I was standing by the side of the pool throwing cups of water over them when something very strange happened.  I went to throw the water but didn’t let go.  Somehow in the throwing motion I threw the water the cup and myself straight into the deep end.  The water was about eight feet deep and I was about four feet tall.  I touched bottom kicked off and just naturally started swimming, fully clothed.

Church
Another lesson I learnt was about churches.

Every Sunday morning, come rain or shine, we had to march 3 miles to a quaint little church and then march back afterwards. As if the marching wasn't enough to put us off church for life we had to sing dirgy psalms and sleepy hymns and listen to boring sermons about death and despondency and how the wages of sin was death and if we were not good we would go blind or deaf and if we were really naughty we would be punished with both afflictions.

Within the church we were seated in the gallery.  This was probably to stop us annoying the good local folks during their worship.  It didn't stop us however.  Missiles of one description or another, usually paper balls, would often fly mysteriously from the gallery only to cop some old dear behind the ear.

The only reason we used to carry on being naughty was because after the strenuous march and a couple of sleepy hymns and monotoned monotonous prayers we would all be quietly snoring or playing snap or poker. Either way we didn't really take a lot of notice of what was going on. Church was boring.

Handel’s Water Music
One of my most valuable experiences at this school was musical.  I  had told the music teacher that I played piano and she got me started to learn to play violin too!  This experience, which I proved good at, gave me a love of music which has stayed with me all my life to date.  I continued piano for several years gaining qualifications over a number of years.  My musical tastes today are wide and varied, though regrettably, I no longer play.

I played Handel's Water Music and Jesu, Joy of Mans Desiring, as a solo, on piano in a concert, and also violin with the school music group in the same concert, and this I blame for my love of show biz and showing off.