Winter 2017

Aldeburgh Lodge 1909

Old Orwellian Newsleter

Orwell Park School, Nacton, Ipswich, IP10 0ER 01473 659225

www.orwellpark.co.uk 2 Headmaster

As we celebrate our 150th year as a school, this newsleter refects on the experiences of Old Orwellians during their time at the school. There have been many changes over the last 150 years, but one thing has not changed: the school produces well-rounded individuals who are comfort- able with who they are and who have the confdence and initiative to make a valuable contribution to their next school and to society in gen- eral. In this edition we look back at the lives of Peter Mornard, who served the school so well as Head of English, Senior Master and Acting Head in the 80s, and Ted Blackbrow, who as school photographer devoted his last years to promoting Orwell Park in the local and national press. Nicole and I were delighted to see OOs at the Half Century Club Lunch- eon in November and we look forward to seeing many of you at the forthcoming events celebrating our 150th anniversary, including the House of Lords Reception, the 150th Anniversary Ball and the School’s Summer Concert at Snape. We also look forward to the publication next year of the history of Orwell Park which is being writen by journalist Edwina Langley and funded by the Foundation. With all good wishes for the New Year.

Adrian Brown Headmaster

Half Century Club Forthcoming events 2018

We had a marvellous lunch on 11th November which 15th March: Old Orwellian House of Lords was attended by over 30 Half Century Club members. Reception We were grateful to Peter Jackson (OO 1936-39) who 19th May: Old Orwellian Day hosted the lunch at the Farmers Club and also the drinks party before the lunch. It was an absolute 16th June: 150th Anniversary Ball at Orwell pleasure to see many familiar and new faces at the Park lunch and to hear fascinating memories from both 29th June: Snape Summer Concert Aldeburgh Lodge days and from more recent times at 9th November: Half Century Club Luncheon at Orwell Park. Orwell Park The Half Century Club is for Old Orwellians who left

the school over 50 years ago. We hold a lunch every year for members and alternate holding the lunch at Headmaster: [email protected] school or in London. Next year the lunch will be on 01473 653225 9th November at School. Headmaster’s PA: [email protected] Please do contact Sarah Kirby-Smith, Old Orwellian 01473 653274 Secretary on: Registrar: [email protected] [email protected] or telephone 01473 01473 653224 653274 for more information.

2 3 Peter Mornard 1947-2017 PJM was a brilliant schoolmaster: he identifed with children and they with him. They loved his infectious en- thusiasm and his sense of humour, particularly when the but of the joke was Peter himself. You never laughed ‘at’ Peter, you laughed ‘with’ him, because he was always so ready to laugh at himself. His atrocious puns, in- ficted without mercy on both staf and boys, betrayed a sharpness of wit and his over-the-top sense of the ridicu- lous.

In some ways he was a Peter Pan character with an optimistic view of the world in which Ipswich Town were always victorious and his racing tips were always winners. Children of all ages identifed with his Walter Mity persona. His sense of fun and make-believe mirrored their own imaginative exploits, for instance in scoring spectacular goals. But of course, in their imagination, the children would be scoring for a proper team like Arse- nal or Manchester United.

While this was the public front, there was a serious side to Peter’s life and career that could be best described as a vocation. He came from a family of teachers and he was a brilliant exponent with all the necessary skills. Peter gave of himself: he dedicated his energies, his time and his talents in the service of others. And there were tal- ents aplenty.

He was ahead of his time. The creative writing that he inspired from the children was meticulously marked and always had the encouraging comments, so beloved of modern educationalists. His own creative use of words was ably demonstrated in his endless articles for the local media, both newspaper and radio. Peter’s relationship with his pupils was one of mutual respect. He respected their potential, which he tried to foster. They respected his talents, his humour and his willingness to share his wide interests. He would spend endless hours encouraging them to develop the many skills of which he was an accomplished practitioner. On his frst day back at Orwell in 1980 he turned up late for his frst class; “Good Morning , boys.” “Good Morning, Sir. Have you got a chit for being late, Sir?” “And what’s your name?” “ Cook, Sir.” (We never used frst names in those days!) “Outside, Cook; I’ll deal with you later.”

From moment one, Form 5 knew who was boss: respect was instantaneous. Incidentally, two years later Cook won a major Scholarship to Oakham with English as a notably strong subject. That story was recounted to me by an Old Orwellian who is about to be 50: he remembers the incident with total clarity, as if it were yesterday.

Life was always a bit of a drama with Peter. He translated his love of the theatre into outstanding productions that live long in the memory. He was ambitious: for instance he never had a prompt; the children had to adlib their way out of trouble, if they forgot their lines. He demanded devotion to duty from the boys and an exacting involvement from colleagues; teamwork was a vital ingredient. He extended the skills and creativity of children to produce inspiring experiences, that gave endless confdence to performers and pleasure to audiences. He gave of himself wholeheartedly; however, we did have to put up with his last night, pun-flled ‘thank-you speeches’, which sometimes seemed to last almost as long as the production itself.

Peter would be sad to hear me say that he was never a great footballer. He loved his football and his celebratory jinks down the touchline when his Old Buck team scored a last-minute winning goal against my Orwell team were equal in his mind to England winning the World Cup. I did see him score one brilliant goal when playing against the boys: a volley from 35yards out and he never let any of us forget it!

Others will talk today about his involvement in tennis, but it was his table-tennis exploits which particularly cap- tured the minds and enthusiasms of the Orwellians. His organisation was meticulous and so it was a 3 4 Peter Mornard surprise when one day the table tennis team was outside the school waiting for transport to play a League match in Ipswich. Up comes the taxi but with an unfamiliar driver. The boys asked him if he knew where Mr Mor- nard was. Unfortunately the driver had very poor hearing and thinking they said, “Where is Mr Durrant, the usual driver?” replied, “Oh, I took him to hospital this morning.” The boys knowing that PJM would want the show to go on, thought they had beter travel without him. Half an hour into the match a breathless PJM was seen entering the gym, moped helmet in hand. “ Why didn’t you wait for me?” he cried. “Well Sir, we were told you were in hospital, but thank you for coming, Sir. You don’t look too bad, Sir!” Such dedication, they thought!

Peter took the team to the national fnals and I hate to think how much he must have spent on Mars bars, reward- ing boys for improved performances and occasionally for beating him, amidst much pretend bluster and play- acting.

The organisational skills that Peter utilised to run tennis tournaments were displayed in so many aspects of school life. It was these skills that made him a natural for Senior Master and fnally Acting Head when, in 1989, I took a sabbatical. The true refection of his infuence is demonstrated by the fact that whenever I meet Old Boys, they ask about the school in general and then enquire of ‘Morney’. He was ‘favourite teacher’ to so many. They knew the debt they owed to him for his dedicated input into their lives and subsequent successes. Peter is fondly remembered by so many because he was slightly eccentric, but so human; so broad in his interests, yet so fo- cused; so dedicated, yet so much fun.

Heads dream of having staf like Peter: skilled, extremely hard working, with a creative imagination and a great sense of humour. He enlivened lessons, activities, the games feld and the Common Room and most importantly he locked into the mind and ambitions of children. He was a gift to any school; he was a major building block in the improving reputation of Orwell Park. We were fortunate to have had his charisma for so long.

In the words of a colleague, “Never one for ostentation, he was in all senses – and even after a diet – a man of real substance.” He lives on now in the lives of those for whom he was such a major infuence and in the memo- ries of those who had the privilege of interacting with him over many years.

Peter John Mornard 1 Ipswich Town Nil

Ian Angus

Peter Mornard with David Howard 4 5 Ted Blackbrow 1939-2017

Ted Blackbrow, one of Fleet Street’s fnest photographers,

winner of UK Sport and Feature Photographer of the Year (1995 and 2003), creator of pictures described by Paul Dacre

as ‘masterpieces of the genre’, died in the last days of Au- gust, depriving the world, and Orwell Park within it, of a great talent, a loyal friend to the school, and a world-class professional of great energy, integrity and enthusiasm. Ted’s remarkable career began in one of the poorest districts of the East End; forced to leave his ‘good grammar school’ at the age of 15 (for a self-professed disinclination to take any interest whatsoever in academic studies), his career aim was to play football professionally for his beloved West Ham; up- on discovering that he was ‘only average’ at football, his in- terest switched to the photographers lying on the touchline, using the then cuting-edge plate cameras which would only allow two shots per minute. Ted’s willingness to embrace and invest in new technology was to feature throughout the next six decades, including achieving an acknowledged ex- pertise in digital cameras and Photoshop. Beginning as a print runner for Planet News, on a modest salary of £2 a week, Ted worked his way through the provincial newspapers, specialising in celebrity snaps taken at Heathrow Airport, as well as live sports action. As he rose through the ranks of Fleet Street photographers, the roll call of those who ended up in front of his lens is probably unrivalled: Roger Moore, Mick Jagger, most of the Royal family, Indira Gandhi, Margaret Thatcher, Elton John, Gorbachev and Reagan, and from the world of sport, Brian Lara, Roger Bannister, Steve Redgrave and Tiger Woods. Ted arrived at Orwell Park shortly after the Millennium, when a heart atack forced him to leave the high-octane existence of Fleet Street, an environment which he greatly missed. He was, howev- er, immediately captivated by the beauty of the building and grounds, the unique history, and the almost daily opportunity for stories and pictures, which he assiduously and efortlessly insert- ed into the local and national print media, every editor recognis- ing and running his quality output without hesitation. It was fas- cinating to observe him at work, whether arranging ranks of pupils in endlessly varied formations, or order- ing around the likes of the Duchess of Cornwall, Graham Gooch or General Sir Adrian Bradshaw, all of whom reacted instinctively and obediently to the voice of one who so thoroughly knew his trade. Ted’s health and energy declined in recent years, but he remained with us for all the big occasions; matches, tournaments, and team events; concerts, plays and even Speech Day, taking more than a hundred portraits at rapid-fre speed. Much of his work adorns our walls, and we were delighted to receive signed copies of his book, What a Life!, in June of this year. “I love this place,” he would say with a gleam in his eye, “and I’m going to get you a great picture!” And he always did. Thank you, Ted, for sharing your great talent, and your inspiring zest for life, with us all. Martin O’Brien 5 6 Memories of Aldeburgh Lodge

Aldeburgh Lodge was a good school; in fact a very well Park, to become Head of a Hertfordshire prep good school. We were well taught, we were disci- school, away from the river and sea upon which he was plined, well looked after, well fed – and happy. an obsessive sailor. He was admired as an occasional School life, together with much else, was diferent to member of the Aldeburgh Lifeboat crew, rightly the school life today. At the beginning of term the litle repository of great local respect. Siddy on the other local steam train, the ‘Aldeburgh Snail’, delivered those hand stayed with the school, moving to Orwell Park not arriving by car at Aldeburgh Station, which was the where he was loved and treasured by many more gen- end of the line. Thence a bus to school. That was that, erations of boys after us. Added to these stalwarts was we were there for ‘the duration’. I never remember any a collection of young Assistant Masters. Some stayed form of exeat during term time. This may sound hard but a short time, such as an interesting drunk who fas- today but that was how life was and we thought litle cinated us when in his cups, but others who remained, of it, enjoying life in a stable and friendly place. Half man and boy, to inherit great things. Both Spug and term was but a date on a calendar. We enjoyed family Morrie had daughters, which greatly increased the visits, when we could go out for the day, but only after atraction of their jobs! Ted Cawston, who played Church on a Sunday and back after tea. Term time was cricket for Sussex, also held the record for the Public term time. Schools’ 100 yards hurdles. As the distance was changed from yards to metres he said that he held the The joint Headmasters were John Spurgeon and Mau- record in perpetuity, and probably still does! He mar- rice Wilkinson. Both lived, with their families, in the ried Spug’s daughter, Neta, whom Orwell Park will school. The Lodge itself was a formidable fint covered remember. Also Noel Wilkinson, ‘Nolle’, and Brian building with nothing between it and the North Sea, Belle, who later inherited the top job in later years and and then Scandinavia, whence the wind blew shrewd- were great men. Also a delightful young man, North- ly. It was cold – very cold, but great in the summer, cote Green – NCG – who, to me at least, became lost in especially when we swam in that sea. the sea of time. A very nice man. The Headmasters were diferent characters, but com- Domestic backup was good. A wonderful Matron, plementary. Maurice Wilkinson, ‘Morrie’, was a kind Edith Tillot, who I believe served the school for many and gentle man. He had a pronounced stuter. I also years to come – a wonderful woman. Strict, fair and had a stuter and he took me under his wing to give totally caring of us boys. We all loved her and she us; elocution lessons, not put of by his own problem, we were her family. She always had a young assistant; which was worse than mine! I improved – he never in my day Hilda Forest, whose home was in my fa- did. ther’s parish. Spurgeon, always known as ‘Spug’, was made of stern- Sport of all varieties was well catered for, especially er stuf. I think we were all rather scared of him but he cricket and football. The cricket pitch was sacrosanct. was always fair and straightforward and commanded During my time Morrie bought a motorised roller and our respect. Both he and Morrie seemed always to spent many hours siting at the wheel rolling the pitch wear tweed jackets and plus-fours. Spug also always to a fair degree of perfection. Although there was a wore rubber soled shoes, which constituted a reliable short spell of rugby during the Spring term, soccer was early warning system as they squeaked on the linoleum the winter game. Success against other schools, espe- clad passages when coming to enforce discipline in the cially Eversley and South Lodge, who were traditional dormitories. Generally enforcement was either as an enemies, was greeted with great enthusiasm. These vic- innocuous public, but immediate, spanking or a formal tories, when they occurred, were generally marked the private application of one of the canes kept in the cor- same evening by a sing song. Looking back it is hard to ner of his study and whose severity was graded by us believe, and understand, why what was a very scratch, by their colour – connoisseurs said that the black was amateur performance was such a treat – and such fun – the most painful. but it was! Proceedings always opened with a piano- There were in my time fve or six Assistant Masters. forte solo by some self-conscious boy who had music The two senior were Mr Wilson and Mr Sidney. While lessons, and ended with the winning team singing John Wilson, ‘Willy’, was an excellent teacher (of al- ‘Cheer up my boys, ‘tis to glory we steer!’. An example most all subjects), Sidney, ‘Siddy’, taught French almost of the complete lack of sophistication in the thirties, as exclusively. Wilson left before the school moved to Or- compared with today, was to see Morrie, Headmaster 6 7 Memories of Aldeburgh Lodge and owner, singing for us “Oh dear, what can the Orwell Park 1937 mater be, oh dear, what can the clater be, father has hurt his anatomy, trying to mend mother’s new car.” Immense applause! Cowering Assistant Masters were always called for a song, recitation or any other way of making fools of themselves. The total lack of sophistication in the way of entertain- ment - and in almost all facets of life seems now to me, more than eighty years later, to be the most striking diference between those days, and I was there in the thirties, and today. It is difcult to imagine how simple our lives were then, but I think that with the passage of time, we more and more realise how good was the edu- cation we received. A myriad of things, events and personalities, remain clear memories. Empire Day, each summer, was one such. Empire may be a dirty word today, but not then. Spug taught us to respect and be proud of it. A great picnic, with a hundred or more boiled eggs, held in a sheet, was taken up the Crag Path to Thorpeness Mere where we were let loose on a variety of boats – rowing and sailing – for a glorious afternoon. It always seemed warm and dry. We walked two miles there and walked back. It was great fun. Many other minor and inconsequential litle scenes stay in the mind: the old horse, Peter, with his master, ‘Old Bolton’, who inhabited the small grass feld (the horse, not Bolton!) between the school and the sea and pulled the playing feld roller before Morrie got his motorised machine; the school’s engineer, Ted Bales, who cared for anything mechanical, was the engineer in the Life- boat crew and had to depart at speed for a launch as soon as the maroon fare was fred; the Chelsea buns (two each) issued for the wait before the school play; the steak and kidney pie on the last evening of term at the ‘Bust Up Supper’. I remember one occasion of mounting excitement as the signs were that something special was going to happen. Siddy, who we regarded as a good leak for any ofcial secrets, would only hint “that it came from the sky”. In the event we turned out to welcome what we thought was a helicopter, but actually was an early autogyro, piloted by an old boy, and I still have the photos. All these events were part of our lives. If we agree with the dictum of Lord Edmond Davies that education is what remains when all learning is for- goten, then were were very well educated.

Dr Peter J C Chapman (Aldeburgh Lodge 1932-36) 7 8 Memories of Orwell Park How odd that David Mathers should give prominence man's shoot, the cries of "Woodcock out left!" and being to the porridge in his memories! There are many things peppered with shot; Linguaphone records: "La famille about Orwell that I enjoyed and remember with afec- Durand est dans le salon. Elle comprend le père, la tion, but the school porridge is certainly not one of mère etc"; Hibs, Stringo and Bobert (3); Mr Akenhead's them. Indeed, what I do remember about it was the in- Maths Exhibition and the then - how some things junction from Miss Hare to those pushing the lumps change! - longest known prime number writen out on a reluctantly around their plates: "Eat it up or you won't piece of paper stretching all of thirteen feet; Kant (4) grow up to be a big, strong man like Mr Akenhead (1)." and his green-baize apron and cobbler's bench in the But I must have enjoyed some of the food, because my changing room used by the Red Lions and Green Drag- late mother used frequently to remind me of the occa- ons; the fusty old school museum, to which I contrib- sion when I accorded her cooking the highest accolade I uted a "ball from a shrapnel shell" found in the grounds knew: "That was super, Mummy - almost as good as (and Wil Ransome a Chinese fea-catcher) - where did Soames."(2) all those evocative exhibits go? - and its ancient upright piano, on which one of the many Kennards played Among other memories: my father's doing an air-shot Chopsticks; Refreshers; recovering from chicken-pox on the frst tee in the Fathers' Match and the bellow of in the San, honey sandwiches made by Sister Anderson laughter from Ted Cawston that followed it; searching and glorious days of quarantine after recovery, during for (and, in my case, seldom fnding) Puss Moth and which William Pit and I roamed the grounds in perfect Poplar Hawk caterpillars in a stand of young poplars March weather while others were in school. down by the river, or Stag Beetles in old logs in the woods; playing Zachary in Babes in the Wood; Mr But, above all, I remember the inspiration of that gen- Byford's winter scenes drawn on the blackboard in the tlest and most patient of men ‘Pat’ O'Donnell, who in- last days of term before Christmas; the splendidly- stilled in me a love of the English language, himself a named Miss Rumble, surely as glamorous a member of fne poet, whose poems, now long out of print, contain, staf as any school could boast; Mr J.W.O. Fuller, a char- as I later discovered, heart-tugging vignetes of the Or- acter straight out of Decline & Fall; a catch in the gulley, well Park we knew in the 1950s: unprecedented and certainly never achieved again, "worthy of A.P.F. Chapman at his best"; (from the touch A shot of talcum on the dome, -line, in my case) the all-victorious Football XI - or ra- A featherweight along the yew, ther XII, for, uniquely, twelve players were awarded A scroll articulate in rime, colours - of Autumn term 1957; winning a house Chess Chill spoonfuls down the ilex bough.... match against Howard Cohen in four moves; the night- time fre-practice during which my great friend Wil >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Ransome - whom some may have seen performing very creditably on Countdown a few years ago - got up still (1) The highly intelligent, chain-smoking and (I suspect) more than half asleep, went to the washroom, carefully heavy-drinking Maths & Science master, brother of The brushed his teeth and then went back to bed; the Great Times Crossword Editor, whose teaching methods Storm of 1957 and Mr Gardner's dramatic photograph were, in retrospect, well ahead of his time, but pearls of the lightning; the occasion on which the chemist in- before litle swine, since he couldn’t keep order. advertently substituted undiluted cough-mixture for (2) The school cook - whose name, I subsequently dis- the weekly syrup of fgs, causing a minor medical emer- covered, was in fact Sones. gency in the small hours; William Barr's and John Kirk- (3) Nicknames of Nicholas Owles (Hiboux), Michael patrick's exchanges in their nonsense language: "Nola, Rope and Robert Stopford vola, cello, Barr Two, and ninneybins for tea"; Noel (4) The mild and unobtrusive bootman - a German refu- Wilkinson's biblical mnemonics; round-the-table ping- gee, I imagine. pong; bust-up suppers; the parafn-heater in Mr Byford's classroom, on which, egged on by Nigel Hes- Robin Gilbert (1953-1958) keth, I singed my ‘carnet’, earning thereby, Dormitory Captain though I was, an ignominious visit to Mr Wil- kinson; a day at sea in a mine-sweeper and being sick after visiting the engine-room; beating for Mr Prety- 8 9 Memories of Orwell Park Denny, as he was always called, was a very reliable The Swimming Pool man and was called upon by all for a vast range of tasks Richard Cecil's article in the last Old Orwellian News from painting and decorating to constructing the school stirred my thoughts regarding this fne construction stage at Christmas, installing new urinals, decoking the and prompted me to record my memories. boilers, electrical repairs and, surely his fnest task, the The pool was, I believe, built after the war and was dug flling of the pool. with no particular dimensions in mind. It was large In the 1960s the school grounds extended down to the even for its day and very deep at one end to accommo- river bank and were, unlike today, closed to the public. date diving from two boards of varying heights. Who From this bank a cast iron pipe some forty yards in actually dug the pool I'm unsure of; was it a contractor length and about nine inches in diameter extended out and was it dug by hand, and if so did the spoil go to into the river and was held in place by iron stakes to perhaps to create the high mound adjacent to the First prevent it moving with the tidal fow. On the end was a Golf Green, which seems a logical distance? Perhaps cage to prevent seaweed and general rubbish being some of our Old Orwellians from this era might be able sucked in. On the river bank connected to the steel pipe to advise. by a canvas hose was an extremely rusty, ex war de- There was no heating so it was only used during the partment petrol powered Coventry Climax Fire pump, Summer term and temperatures sometimes reached 73 towed to site by the faithful old grey Massey Tractor degrees fahrenheit but more often they were in the low that was generally used to pull the gang mowers. In 60s. There was no circulation/fltration system or chemi- turn the output of the pump was connected by another cals added and it was flled with salt water pumped canvas hose to a steel pipe some fve inches in diameter from the River Orwell approximately a quarter of a mile which ran uphill almost a quarter of a mile to the round away to the south. pond. The pool was beautifully positioned in the formal pleas- There were always problems. Pumping could only com- ure gardens enclosed on the north and north eastern mence at high tide and then only for a few hours when sides by a high red brick wall constructed in 1859 to- the pipe in the river was covered. Blockages often oc- gether with the Clock Tower. In many respects it was a curred at the cage end which meant that pumping had sun trap surrounded by wisteria and a magnifcent ma- to stop until low tide when Denny would be forced to ture cedar of Lebanon. walk out on soft mud to clear the weed that had collect- ed. To the west of the pool was a round pond about ffteen feet in diameter and about one foot deep which proba- The canvas hoses connecting the pump leaked badly bly had a fountain in the centre when originally con- and last, but not least, the pump would often refuse to structed. This was the meeting point for those of us start, despite Denny's enthusiasm with the starting han- with model yachts and motor boats. This pond also dle. served as an integral part of the swimming pool flling system as it was at this point that the water pumped from the river emerged before cascading through a gravel flter and into the pool.

Filling of the pool only took place after the beginning of the Summer term and as I joined in the summer of 1965 I was to witness this great event and one of the high- lights of the term. Firstly Noel Wilkinson declared the entire area, including the model boat pond, 'out of bounds', probably to prevent one or other of us falling into the empty concrete pool. Naturally our interests were then aroused as to how the pool was to be flled.

This task fell to Mr Denny, the loyal school handyman, a jack of all trades who lived with his wife Trixey in part of the old stable complex.

9 10 Memories of Orwell Park When all was well the system performed and I had many a shouted conversation with Denny standing by the pump running at full bore with no silencer to mufe the sound. He delighted in telling me how similar en- gines were used in many racing cars. Clearly this one which had been pumping salt water for at least twenty years had seen beter days and was very unlikely to ev- er see a race track! The pool took the best part of a week to fll and was on- ly emptied once during the Summer term, usually when the water became very murky and the weed on the botom was about three feet deep. A plug at the deep end would be pulled out and the water escaped via a pipe that headed in the direction of the Buck House and the park boundary wall and thus made its way down in a self created channel back to the river. We had lots of fun building dams to hold this back and then releasing them with much excitement. What remains of the system today? The current pool is in the same location but much smaller, flled with fresh water, fltered and heated. The round pond has gone to make way for a planting screen. Where the pipe crosses the Ha Ha the infll remains to provide the crossing from the frst golf tee to the green. At the botom of the park only the stone brick abutments at the end of the fxed pipes remain. The cast pipe into the river has long gone, having been stolen in the mid 1970s by scrap met- Orwell Park 1985-1991 al hunters which spelt the end of this fne system. The I was at Orwell Park in the 2nd half of the 1980s, arriving fre pump has long since disappeared and is probably in September 1985 in the frst form which was taught by in a classic fre pump collection with litle known about Mrs Blackhall at the time. its real use. Boarding facilities back then were quite austere, with Throughout the summer months we enjoyed the pool bare foorboards, heavy wooden shuters over the win- but never unsupervised. Swimming and diving were dows, and iron bedsteads somewhat titanic in both age both very competitive and cups were presented on and weight. In my frst dorm our poor old Dorm Cap- Sports Day held on the last day of the Summer Term: tain (DC) was rather too tall for the beds and so slept on for swimming The Moy Cup, The Clark Cup and The his back with his knees bent just to ft. Mills Cup, for diving The Jones Cup and the Spurgeon Splinters were a constant peril as the foorboards had Cup. been cut the wrong direction and were slowly peeling I have atached some photographs taken by me during apart, so we always had to wear slippers when walking the summer of 1969 of a diving session supervised by around the dorms. I think almost everyone got splinters David Howard, a former member of staf, Old Orwelli- in their feet at some point, and the matrons were a dab an and a very fne swimmer who held many school rec- hand at removing them, on demand, though some boys ords in his time. would take their splinters out using the pointy end of a I would be delighted to hear from anyone who can add pair of compasses. And in winter the dormitories would to these memories or correct any errors or omissions on get really cold with ice forming on the inside of the win- my part. dows. At the heart of Orwell Park life were the daily Stephen Hiner (1964-69) whole-school morning assemblies which were held in the recently built new Sports hall, which was really cold and so the school assemblies were moved to the Read-

10 ing Room [Orangery]. 11 Memories of Orwell Park These always included singing a hymn and then a short then Head of English. A remarkable, creative English but usually Christian message from one of the staf teacher, he became acting Headmaster when Ian Angus members, Ian Angus himself, or from Rev Grant whose went on sabbatical. Not very long after Ian Angus re- parish included Nacton. Following this any school an- turned, Mr Mornard left to follow his other great pas- nouncements would be made using whatever sliver of sion for the sport of tennis in a managerial function, time would be left. Everyone had a hymn book, Hymns and Marcus Peel arrived with his yellow Renault 4, Ancient and Modern with their name in it and kept in the fresh from a stint in the Met Police. numbered slots in the hallway on the entry to the Read- Towards the end of my time the ‘New Block’ opened, ing Room. If you lost your hymn book, a replacement providing vastly improved science, technology, compu- hymn book cost £1. Church on Sunday was all but man- ting, and art facilities, together with extra classrooms datory, except for two Malaysian Princes, and as now and a new library. It all proved to be terrifc fun, and the Choir was really impressive. more computers made for more time playing ‘Chuckie Music at Orwell Park then was led by Adam Cronin, Egg’ on the BBC Micros and BBC Master computers and with the recently built music practice rooms, the each Saturday evening. Memorably one of the gap stu- facilities for music were comprehensive and more than dents programmed a “stock market” game in which half the school were learning an instrument at that time. you could buy and sell fctitious shares in fctitious Orwell Park became a victim of its own beauty on the companies, using fctitious money allocated to each night of the Great Storm of 1987. Awoken very early in boy. Inevitably the whole thing crashed after a few ex- the morning by the howls of winds, noise of trees crack- citing days, and never recovered as no buyers made for ing and crashing to earth, as boys, it felt both scary but a very illiquid market, an ending that perhaps was not all rather exciting too. I was in Cedar dorm, and our so fctitious after all. eyes were fxated on the great Cedar tree, expectant that The school moto “Nil Desperandum Christo Duce” it would fall over at any moment. amounts to four of the fve words of Latin that I man- However, things almost took a tragic turn when one of aged to adequately grasp during my six years. the scafold poles was picked up by the wind and smashed one of the dormitory windows on the second foor. Immediately all window shuters were ordered to Edward Allen (1985-91) be closed, and miraculously no-one was injured. The 1. Many years later I would fnd myself in a hill tribe pole was one of many lying on the gravel by the South village in the Golden Triangle, staying overnight in door, about to be used for routine maintenance of an the village as part of a community development external fre-escape. team, and was requested strongly amidst the eye- For what it was worth, the big event never came as the aching smoke to sing a song. With me somehow I Cedar was damaged but did not yield, remaining had a (fully-paid for) old Orwell Park Hymn book and belted out in English the great hymn Jerusalem standing as an icon of the school for many more years to their pleasure, and the only evening in my life yet. The water to the school and the electricity were that my growler-grade singing was gladly received. both lost, and calmly that afternoon the decision was made to start half-term a week early. The second half of the 1980s were very much the hey- 2. The staf tended to drive deeply dismal cars: Robert day of Ian Angus’ headmastership, and it was evident Bass arrived with his green Volvo 340, Marcus Peel with his yellow Renault 4, while Ian Angus had a that Ian Angus did not merely love Orwell Park but seemingly indestructible vermillion Vauxhall Cava- seemingly loved every brick of Orwell Park. If history is lier Estate. Indeed the staf car park provided inele- writen in a fair way, then Ian Angus, to my mind, will gant arguments against ever becoming a school surely be listed as the greatest Headmaster that Orwell teacher. It was almost redeemed by Charles Wat- Park ever had. His phenomenal work-ethic, clear vi- son’s (still cool) silver frst generation VW Golf GTI, sion, and ability to inspire staf and boys alike, was ex- though Bob Cardwell’s beige FSO Polonez almost ceptional. undid all the good work. As the seasons changed, so did Orwell Park. Initially

David Howard was the deputy headmaster but after a year that role was then handed over to Peter Mornard, 11 12 News Neill Menneer (1965-68)

Haileybury College: 1968 – 1973 West Surrey College of Art (Guildford) 1973-1976. Diploma with distinction Notingham University: 1976 – 1979. Joint honours in English and History of Art Freelance photographer in London 1980 – 1987 Moved to Bath 1987. Photographer / publisher / retailer / Set up Spirit Photographic in 2007 with Jo, my wife, (married in 1989). CEO of this company and still photographing families and portraits. New venture (No-Nonsense Ebooks) biography below: Neill Menneer is an award winning photographer who has been in the in- dustry for over 40 years. He has worked for the country’s top magazines and design companies. Winner of gold awards for portraiture, landscape and boudoir, he is a highly respected and accomplished artist who, since he obtained his distinction for photography and became the winner of the Ob- server Photographic prize in 1980, has been winning ever since! He now runs, with his wife Jo, one of the coun- try’s most respected and proftable studios from a converted church in Bath, England. Spirit Photographic spe- cialises in People and Boudoir photography. He has published three books and has been a major contributor to many others, including Master Photography by Mitchell Beazley. His book on Bath (published by Frances Lin- coln) has recently been updated and reprinted and is the city’s premier cofee-table book. It was called a “love leter to the city” and has now been joined by the second volume Bath a Pictorial Journey. Neill is now turning his atention to training and coaching of photography. With years of experience teaching small groups of amateur photographers Neill now wants to extend this expertise outside his city walls! His range of E-books are called No -Nonsense guides and sum up his practical and down to earth style. As he says: “Photography should be fun but the guides which invariably come with your camera are full of mysterious terms and stuf you rarely, if ever, need to know! My No-Nonsense guides are jargon free and get to the nub of the mater straight away.” Writen in plain English Neill’s years of experience have taught him what is important and what techniques are really worth knowing. He is not an academic, not a writer, not a publisher. Neill is a 100% full-time and dedicated photogra- pher and has been all his life, going to photographic college when he was just 18. He has a lot to teach and he wants to pass-on what he knows to you. He loved Orwell Park and has many lovely memories under Noel (Nolly) and ‘Toad’! Neill is married with two children, Phoebe and Rupert, both at University and a dog called Jaspa!

Ed Groenhart (1989) Ed is currently living and working in Linton on the outskirts of Cam- bridge, where he is running a chiropractic centre with his wife, Jo. They have two boys, two chickens and one dog (with another arriving in September!). As well as running 10km races (and running after the children and pets) Ed also fnds time to be on the the executive commitee of his professional association, the UCA, and on a panel as regulator of the GCC, which occupies any other spare time he used to have!

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