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Articles 1998

In the autumn of 1956 I was summoned to Clayesmore for interview by the Master (as he was then called), Mr. Burke, who asked me if I would run the Hockey in the School (and perhaps be kind enough to teach a little Geography on the side). This sounded like an attractive way of avoiding real work when I came down from Oxford, and I readily accepted. Thus, in January 1957 I was taken by the Bursar, Col. Seagrim, late of the Indian Army and therefore clearly a financial wizard, to view the choice of 1st XI pitches. He offered me, on the one hand, the Lake Field which had a fearsome slope difficult to fight against when the north wind was blowing, but with a healthy growth of lush grass. My delight at this promising greensward was somewhat tempered by the subsequent discovery that the lower half would not be mown until mid February, after Roberts of the ground staff had taken his crop of silage from it. Alternatively, he proudly showed me the Lodge Pitch, attractively sited, lined with trees, beyond which the green hills of Cranborne Chase stretched away, and with lovely turf. Unfortunately it was also in those days equipped with an interesting set of well-preserved mediaeval ridge-and-furrow strips, whose undulations caused the ball, once launched, to fly up throat high. Or perhaps, he suggested, I might prefer the use of the main rugger pitch, a sea of mud with a few blades of grass which had somehow escaped the pounding hooves of the 1st XV during the Michaelmas Term. Thus began my spell of almost twenty years coaching the Clayesmore 1st XI Hockey, which ended nearly a quarter of a century ago, when hockey was a very different game. We look back with envy and amazement at the artificial grass surfaces and the rationalisation of the rules which make for a much faster and more continuous game.

My first match was with Colin Bothway's 1957 side, away at Weymouth; and when the sainted Bryn Morgan sprinted down the right wing and scored straight from the bully-off,(remember the bully-off?), I began to think that life would be bearable after all. The fact that we subsequently lost the match 1-5 soon cured me of any euphoria; but it was a glorious moment, nevertheless, and this proved to be a rewarding season, in which we did win four matches. These years, at the end of the 1950s saw teams with some fine individual players; but the sides captained by Colin Swatton (1958 and 1959) and David Watson (1960) were not in terms of results alone, successful ones, for which a combination of factors was responsible. Some boys had played no hockey at all before coming to Clayesmore, and teaching skills was severely handicapped by the appalling pitches we attempted to train on. Hacking the ball about on tufted grass did not promote sophisticated stickwork; and the sheer difficulty of propelling the ball forwards often meant that opponents faced a hail of mud and divots as much as the ball. Coaching was largely concerned with the uncertain knack of stopping the ball and avoiding serious injury. One year we even attempted to produce a smoother surface by using boy-power to pull the huge horse-drawn roller, but after we rolled Fox into the pitch one day the Headmaster put a stop to this, having mind to declining numbers in the School. Added to this problem were other constraints such as the number of boys available in such a small School, the inevitable competition from other activities including cross-country running, rugger seven-a-side, and the afternoon Confirmation Classes. Nevertheless I should not grumble, since we always contrived to enjoy our hockey, and morale never flagged.

The early years of the 1960s saw a revival in Clayesmore Hockey fortunes. Cometh the hour, cometh the man; on to the scene as Captain in 1961 strode the figure of Clive Wilkinson, whose assurance, enthusiasm and drive not only contrived to persuade the members of his teams to consider themselves as hockey players, but also led many to believe that HE was the master i/c Hockey, and that I was there mainly to paint the balls white. Equipped with new shirts in proper school colours, his side won six and lost only two matches in the whole term. It was a team of good players throughout, and one would like to have mentioned all those in the photograph by name. In addition, Clive initiated our annual visits as the "Curlews" to the N.P.L. Hockey Festival at Teddington in the Easter holidays; the fact that Clive later went to teach at Milton Abbey can only be regarded as something of an anticlimax in his career.

The momentum was continued by the successful sides of Barry Keystone (1962), Nick Gamper (1964), and George Hamlyn (1965). Sadly, Brian Merson's potentially talented team of 1963 was allowed only three weeks hockey due to prolonged snow in that cold winter. We vainly attempted to clear a pitch by rolling gigantic snowballs on the Lodge pitch, but only succeeded in crushing several small Juniors. That season was, however, redeemed for me by the fearsome sight of Adrian Cornwell in goal sporting a healthy growth of bristly beard, for which Carl Verrinder had somehow got permission from the Headmaster, because Adrian was appearing on stage as King Henry IV in the Dramatic Society's splendid production of Shakespeare's 'King Henry IV Part I'. Otherwise, my main memories of that year are of Spinney on his skates gliding gracefully over the ice on the lily-pond, and of some death-defying ice hockey on the frozen lake. No wonder that Brian Merson went off to plant trees in South Africa, having had enough of the English climate. Likewise, Dave Asher's potentially fine side of 1966 had its season largely ruined by constant rain - so much for grass pitches in January and February.

By the late 1960s a good standard of hockey had been established throughout the School, owing much to the devotion and enthusiasm of David Watkins with the 2nd XI, John MacDonald with the Senior Colts, and Jim Tilden with the Junior Colts. Their patient coaching and endless optimism, coupled with a very necessary sense of humour, and at times a tolerant resignation, turned many an ugly duckling into a swan by the time they reached the 1st XI. We had a series of very successful and happy seasons, and the sides of Dave Sparrow (1967) Dave Mitchell (1968) and Glyn Pole-Evans (1969) all broke even in terms of results. Looking back, the 1960s seem a golden age for hockey, and indeed for sport in general at Clayesmore - but perhaps this is merely rose-coloured nostalgia, and " 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view".

One of the many pleasant things about teaching at Clayesmore (and there were very many) was its small size, but for those of us coaching games this did present a constant problem. We had a very small pool of boys from which to fashion teams, yet we were fulfilling a fixture list against schools often three or four times larger, and with hundreds in the sixth form. This was difficult enough while our numbers remained above 200, but declining totals compounded the problem - for two years we were actually below 150. The sides of Malcolm Newman (1970), Peter Fox (1971), and Richard Sender (1973) suffered particularly in this respect, but nevertheless we always managed to field worthwhile teams which played with great spirit. Occasionally a group of talented players emerged together from the gloom, and we were able to fashion successful sides. The elegant Anthony Rose created an effective team in 1972 with good players, which won five of its matches; and this was the year which first saw the appearance in goal for the 1st XI of the massively reassuring figure of Malcolm Shaw, who remained our goal keeper for three seasons. The 1974 season, when Malcolm was captain, was another enjoyable year, but sadly (for me) his was to be my last with the 1st XI. For in January 1974 the Headmaster, Mr. McIsaac, was taken ill and removed to hospital, and I was called away from the hockey field for other and less agreeable duties.

Now, I look back with nostalgia on all these seasons when I was privileged to coach the 1st XI. The players never seemed to notice my inadequacies, beyond a baleful look when I made yet another umpiring mistake. The irritants seem much less aggravating now: 'flu epidemics, days of hard frost, rainy afternoons when cross country runs replaced the practice, difficult groundsmen, pitches not prepared, key players put off-games by Sister, dismal tuck shop teas, socks around ankles, shirts outside shorts, even the convoluted excuses of Nick Zelle to be let off games. Set against those was the sheer pleasure of messing about every afternoon out of doors in the soft Dorset air, amidst the idyllic green hills of Cranborne Chase and the misty blue Vale of Blackmore, instead of mouldering away in a stuffy classroom listening to Appleby next door. I remember the days of spring sunshine, the scent of newly mown grass, the cheerful faces, the bright hockey shirts, and the promise of crumpets by the fire at four o'clock. I was always buoyed up by the hope, optimism and enthusiasm of the young - and above all the laughter, always the laughter: "O FORTNATOS NIMIUM, SUA SI BONA NORINT....." as Virgil has it.

As far as "the best team I coached" is concerned................ well, in one sense they each had their own high points. Every January brought renewed optimism, every year had its glories, its moments when the shared camaraderie of a team brought its rewards. Each of those boys was, I hope, proud to pull on the 1st XI shirt, and I am grateful to a succession of Captains who strove manfully to weld them into teams. If pressed, however, I do remember one season with particular pleasure because of the luxury of going to matches confident of a good performance, and victory more often than not. This was George Hamlyn's side of 1965. We quickly established a settled team, which hardly changed the whole term. As I look at the old black and white faded photograph, and those youthful faces frozen in time, I can still visualise the shape of the team vividly. In those far off prehistoric days before the institution of striker, mid-field, flat back four, sweeper, 'libero' etc., we had what was called "the half back line". They controlled the pitch and provided the engine room which drove the whole team; and those of the 1965 side gave me a warm sense of security. There was Dave Asher at centre-half, who had the skill, strength, and vision to be the lynch-pin of the team. Beside him were the tenacious Clive Smith at right half and Paul Tupholme or Dave Sparrow at left half. Together they dominated play and kept an iron grip on most opposition. Behind them were the full backs - the tireless and rock solid Vice Captain, Rob Barter partnered by James Tomlinson. In goal we were fortunate enough to have the imposing figure of Falstaff - well, in fact, of the brave and ever reliable Malcolm Sussman, who was well used to being padded up, having portrayed Sir John Falstaff in that 'King Henry IV Part I of 1963, Sir Toby Belch in the 'Twelfth Night' of 1964, and Hardcastle in 'She Stoops to Conquer' in the following year.

Up front, the forwards (sorry, 'Strikers' ) scored 44 goals between them in matches during the term. At centre forward was the young and promising Barry Newman; on the left wing was the dashing fair-haired Flying Dutchman, Jo van Dijk; and inside him the august figure of Ron Fangen, bringing all his economy of movement, natural games sense and ability to that key position. On the right wing we had the skilful, speedy and diminutive Paul Atkinson, who proved to be a real match winner, bringing the ball down to the goal line and delivering the telling pass. "Give the ball to Atkinson and he'll win the game for you," was all I had to say before matches, and so often this proved true. Above all, at inside right there was George Hamlyn himself, the inspirational Captain leading by example, leaning forward fair hair flopping over his forehead, glasses steaming up, snorting and breathing heavily, driving into the circle time and again, endlessly industrious and tenacious. Now, thirty years on, those slim athletic figures in the photograph have no doubt broadened into comfortable middle age, but in the Peter Pan world of my mind's eye they remain eternal boys in the springtime of their lives.

In my declining years at Clayesmore, when the 1st XI had passed into other and more capable hands, I was fortunate enough to be given the girls' 2nd XI to look after and in some ways these were also some of my most successful hockey teams - but for quite other reasons than results. The charm and grace with which they played the game, and the swing of their cheerful red skirts made an old man very happy..... but that's another story. Like music, the hockey seasons of past years were moments of life gone for ever. They came out of nothing and they passed into nothing. But I remember them with the utmost affection. As Humpty Dumpty said in 'Through The Looking Glass' : "There's glory for you".

Michael Henbest (1957-1990)             

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