The Best Years of Your Life
That is what they say about schooldays, and I believe it. I had a good time at Clayesmore and now, whenever I soak in the tub after a bit of work in the
garden I slip back to those enjoyable soaks in the five-bath, windows-closed, steamy room
up in Spinney's dormitories. Good relaxation, good chatter, after a run to the cross-roads
in the rain, or a muddy rugby game or an exhaustive, all-day, Sunday exploration of the
beautiful Dorset countryside.
Warm water activates the memory part of my brain and I recollect school events during those years between 1937 and 1942. Digging a zig-zag trench outside the classrooms, team-digging a vegetable garden down by the old kennels where the soil was sticky and unrewarding. Both activities in case the bombs dropped on the school, but they never did. We did have fallen aeroplanes, some theirs, some ours, and there were three bomb craters in a field up on Iwerne Hill. Starting in 1939 the countryside bristled with soldiers. Some had no front teeth and we were told they were dispatch riders who lost them by speeding on frosty nights with urgent messages.
One of my earliest 'treats' as an impressionable thirteen-year old was an Army concert in the theatre, when an Army sergeant sang us an overly-dramatic 'Trees' and another sang, more cheerfully, 'Down Mexico Way'. On long summer evenings, from the dormitory window in Burke's overlooking the road, we'd listen to soldiers coming up from the Talbot. Usually it was with a girl and they didn't know we were watching, but this time it was a desperate situation and when they saw us they asked for help. They were from Newfoundland and were late in getting back to camp near Childe Okeford, so we rallied round and gave them our bicycles. We expected to see our bikes in a day or two but when a week passed we felt betrayed. Eventually, we did get them back.
I remember the beginning of the Local Defence Volunteers, later the Home Guard, and the village men came up to the 'Stables' for drilling--sloping arms and that sort of thing. One of the pupils , young Tristram I think, did the drilling but his voice had recently broken and his shouts turned into squeaks as he raised the volume. No-one laughed--it was a serious time in the island's history. When they weren't drilling at Clayesmore LDV's were putting poles up in the fields to tear the wings off gliders if they came to invade us. Dick Hunt, a good cricketer and who farmed where the Roman Villa is, was their Officer in Command.
Does anyone remember Mr Nathan, or more properly Herr Nathan? It must have been 1938 or 39 and he was our P.T. Instructor who drilled us in gymnastics. For the Speech Day display every boy was in spotless white and part of a symmetrical formation in front of the cricket pavilion. We did a synchronised mass display of arm swinging and leg raisings to a loudspeaker, in the style of Hitler Youth. Mr Nathan was, of course, a spy. Boys had seen him across the Stables courtyard opening the black-out curtain of his room and signalling with a torch. He left suddenly and quietly and it was said he made for the coast.
We youngsters became defenders ourselves, with cadet corps equipment from a Weymouth school where, I would have thought, danger from the enemy must have been greater than in Iwerne Minster. It included ancient rifles from India or the Boer War, lots of brass buttons, and puttees with 'plus-four' type trousers. As I remember, we were anything but uniform. A tall, handsome officer of the Royal West Kents, Capt Blomfeld, came to manage us but he didn't stay long and I never knew what became of him .
Regimental Sergeant Major Banfield, a very Regular Army chap with medal ribbons showing he'd been in India, took over and when he issued uniforms he took one look at me and said that I had a chest like a shilling rabbit "Here, take this one". And it fitted. A lot of his stories started with "When I was in Armenuggah..."and that's all I remember of them.
R.S.M. Banfield endeared(if that's the right word) himself to us by invoking Army Regulations that allowed (he said) "Men to smoke pipes while on the march". The bigger boys responded immediately and route marches were, for a time, accompanied by smoke trails. They puffed out their chests and puffed on their pipes and became real men for the afternoon.
We had a band, drums and bugles, also from Weymouth School. Mr Sessions composed the tunes and our signature was "The Shifty Swing" because of his nickname and his talents. One memorable recollection is this band of music brothers marching around at practice, a little bit in step, with Eveleigh ma resignedly beating the big drum with an expression that said "I'm not here--I'm doing Mozart". He never looked military - even less so in uniform.
Charlie Banfield became friends to many of us and later, when the war was over, many pupils befriended him at a time when he needed friends. It was a wonderful give and take.
Later, I grew out of the shilling rabbit chest and became the Company Sergeant Major - rather grand. As a treat for good behaviour in 'disassembling' our rifles (and putting them back together) we 'embussed' to the Dorsetshire Regiment headquarters for a day's sample of "real Army life".
On the parade ground, at the head of the column, I shouted as best as I could and a genuine Regimental Band struck up the Regimental March and we moved forward. Very grand. Afterwards R.S.M. Banfield said I'd done a good job. He was like that.
But it wasn't all war at Clayesmore. During long summer evenings we played 'Kick the Can' in the trees across the road from where the chapel now sits, until it got too dark to see. I've since taught a lot of children how to play it, and its still fun.
We were always hungry and appreciated the mid-morning break to walk up to the village bakery or the pork pie factory if we had money to spend. The crusty loaves and the pies were hot and steaming at that hour and they lasted during our walk back to classes. Official food at the breaks included rock buns and fly cakes - but no 'seconds' unless attendance was light, which it seldom was.
Burke's House Senior Social (and Something) Society was a group of the hungrier boys who became good at warming tins of sardines and peas and converting left-overs from the Housekeeper to keep our hunger at bay. We met one evening a week, I think.
It wasn't so easy to keep warm in Burke's dormitory. We had to have the windows open. We filled the tin mugs on top of our lockers with water and in the morning they were solid ice. On those freezing nights we were allowed to keep our clothes in the bed, and in the morning most of us put on vest, shirt and sweater all at once and at high speed. Shame on those boys who slept in their stockings. Another fun thing, in summer time, was for us to run naked to the swimming pool, swim across and back and then run back to the dorm, all wet. In spite of all this, or maybe because of it, we were a healthy bunch.
The winter of 1940--or maybe '41--was a severe one and the lake froze over, which gave us a chance to learn skating and sliding. That winter I found a dead swan in the Lake Field, pulled out its feathers and boiled it until the flesh fell away. Then I put all the bones together for its final flight and, I'm happy to say, it's still flying from the ceiling of the Biology Lab - almost sixty years later! Doesn't anybody dust and clean?
Habits are formed at school and one that stayed with me for many years was the Sunday 'quiet hour' - reading, no talking, no radio, and most boys wrote letters. Only recently have I stopped writing letters on Sunday mornings.
Sundays (apart from Chapel) got us away from the school routine and I was lucky to have masters (notably H. J. Moore in natural history and the Bursar, Peter Summers, in archaeology)) encourage and guide me. We (Clive Balch and others) walked up and down flinty fields looking for artifacts--and finding them! Bird watching excursions got us away, too. Today I pride myself on my powers of observation (comparing with my friends, at least) and I'm sure I learned it because of these masters, who gave freely of their time - and their rationed petrol! I even qualified for a Choir Outing to Lulworth Cove because I pumped the bellows of the chapel organ and, of course, there were the 'away' games at other schools. Petrol rationing was severe enough to deny us free access to buses and one time a resourceful master persuaded an undertaker that twenty people could 'Play dead' if he took them to an away match.
Sundays were good because you were free - to walk over the countryside, to bicycle as far as you wanted to. We'd go off in groups, remembering Clive Balch, David Sanders (with whom I shared a study) and John Elderkin, but there were others too, John always spoke to the point "If we're walking to Hambledon let's get going" he'd say to us as we scattered mole hills, swung on gates , poked in hedges, gathered hazelnuts, and cut ourselves walking sticks. To some, a walk is a means to an end: to others its an excuse to change direction as the fancy takes you. You can do either, or both if you're clever, in the beautiful countryside around Clayesmore.
One particularly 'Good End' and a favourite place was a cottage in Tarrant Gunville where we got a tea of sandwiches, jam, cakes, all for a shilling. Miss Rideout put us on civilised behaviour and was very good to us hungry boys.
Another favourite place was the footpath through the shady hanging woods at Hanford, with the Stour(into whose clear water we jumped or dived on hot summer days) on one side and the steep slopes of Hod Hill on the other. There were wild garlic plants along the path under the trees, and they gave zest to our packed lunches.
It was a dare to bike down Iwerne Hill without touching your brakes and a lot of us did it, but one time I was overtaken by Mr Spinney who called out "Hands off the brakes" as he sped by. I think that some idiots even went
down without using the handlebars, but perhaps that's wild gossip.
Sundays and evenings allowed us to pursue some personal hobby in a club, and there were several different kinds. The old estate greenhouses were the club rooms and we made model aeroplanes, radios, kept birds (jackdaws mostly) that had fallen from their nest, created elaborate homes for mice and guinea pigs, and so on.
Albert Jennings lived at the lodge at the school's entrance. He was the Groundskeeper and had a wealth of 'how-to' knowledge which he was glad to share. I spent a lot of good learning time with him, helping in the remnants of the kitchen garden and the greenhouses. There were even espaliered peach trees growing against the walls! One day we planted lots of cabbages out near the rugby field and right in the middle he brought in a bunch of strawberry plants. No one knew of this temptation, not being excited by cabbages that surrounded it, and he kept it quiet. He was among the people who steered me towards horticulture--which is where I ended up. I made reference to Clayesmore and Mr Jenning’s guidance and friendship in the introduction to my books, which are in the Library. I just wish I could have given him copies.
I thoroughly enjoyed my sixth form years because I had good teachers, particularly Humphrey Moore and Doug Hillier ( fast rugby player from Wales) who opened my eyes to natural wonders. H. J. Moore had a neat systematic way of writing notes on the chalkboard, which I imitate even today. For the Higher Schools Certificate I was able to turn Biology into Botany and Zoology because of those notes. I struggled with Carl Verrinder's chemistry and squeaked by the exams. I couldn't say the same for J. E. Simpson's complicated math and he may have thought I was a waste. Learning was fun and the other pupils made it so by helping me over difficulties.
There was L. Schaeffer in Biology and we shared the one reference book, passing it back and forth. It had two authors and we promised ourselves to jointly write a textbook when we were famous. The next generation of schoolboys would ask one another to "Pass me the Schaeffer and Brookbank". Nice dreams! As it happens I have written two books and they are selling quite well. One is used as a textbook in high schools and in a Federal Prison in Tucson. I wonder, did Schaeffer write his books?
They were the best years.
I left Clayesmore in 1942, got a county scholarship and went to Reading University to study Agriculture. Who should I meet there but Clive Balch and we enjoyably shared a lot of time. After a year we were joined by Ian Lucas. Both have become famous in the field of animal science.
At some point after leaving Clayesmore I spent enjoyable wild times with J. B. Hobbs in London. He was a medical student in a menage of medical students who seemed to change every time I visited. I believe he settled into a residence on Harley Street.
At graduation from Reading I got a scholarship to join His Majesty's Colonial Service which led me to become a Relic of Empire. I spent a year at Downing College in Cambridge, where I met up with Reitman, and Barnes, and Graham. Barnes and Graham had been in the Navy where Graham had been badly wounded but he was greatly recovering. Col E. M. King invited Reitman and me to the Houses of Parliament and we had tea on the terrace - all rather grand.
The second part of the scholarship was a year at the Imperial College of Tropical Agriculture (more Empire!) in Trinidad, prior to going out to the Colonies. I asked for Fiji, second choice Cyprus, and so was ordered to Tanganyika as an Agricultural Officer. Where the heck was Tanganyika? Neither did I know that Winston Churchill had given away the colonies and the Empire, but at the time and in my ignorance it seemed a justifiably responsible thing to go and help.
In my first month there I met Oliver (maybe it was Martin!) Bott dressed in large bush hat with feathers as an officer in the King's African Rifles and waiting to be de-mobbed. He kindly invited me to join a party climbing Mt Kilimanjaro and they reached the top, but I got mountain sickness and staggered home. Later on, Alec McCallum came to Tanganyika as another Clayesmorian Agricultural Officer though, unfortunately, our paths never crossed. .
I found it a great experience. There was a huge potential for economic development and political growth and educational advancement. There was always plenty to do on your own initiative, and many ways to help people live a better life, but during hard times of famine things weren't so bright.
It was a learning opportunity for me. How to be a good prefect for example. We worked with a whole 'house' of African Instructors out in the villages, training-on-the-job, stimulating and supervising. Depending on where we were we told one another about coconuts,(I built a drying structure that burned shells in order to cure and preserve the meat), citrus, groundnuts, coffee, fire-cured tobacco, (for two years I managed a tobacco seed farm belonging to a growers' co-operative - The Ngoni-Matengo Co-operative Marketing Union!), rice, sisal, onions, vegetables and pyrethrum. And anything else that came our way.
There were lots of 'manual' style activities like digging earth dams, building houses and offices, creating contour banks, making irrigation ditches, digging planting holes for coffee (keep digging until you can stand in the hole up to your knees!), and so on.
Two years ago, with grown children and spouses, I returned to Tanzania to work with Habitat for Humanity in places where I had lived and I met four retired Africans with whom I'd worked. It was great Old Friends Weeks, reminiscing. In one place, Songea, they showed us five acres of glittering fish ponds , still out in the bush, that provide protein for the locals, fingerlings for those wanting a pond of their own so they can eat better and supplement their income by sales of fresh fish.
It was impressive, and especially heartening to be shown the little pond I started years ago, that was successful and provided the inspiration for the expansion. We were told that the District has the largest number of fish ponds in the entire country.
I wish I could say that all this dam digging and fishpond creation took place because I had helped dig the Clayesmore swimming pool, but that was before my time.
I'd married my American wife in Tanganyika and our three children were born there. After eleven years, and at Independence, we left but not before I had (as Principal) re-vamped the curriculum at the Natural Resources School near Arusha. It was a two-year school for African field workers in the Agriculture Department. When Independence came more quickly than we thought, I enrolled at the California State Polytechnic College to get the Master's degree that would allow me to teach Agriculture in California High Schools.
On entering the classroom the first day who should be there but the head student of the Natural Resources School that we had both left the previous week! I met up again with Cleopa when I did my Habitat stuff and we have become good pen pals.
Well, my high School agriculture ambition lasted but one year. I had the crazy notion that kids went to school to learn things, but found it otherwise. However, it's an ill wind, and so on, and through California friends I moved to Yuma in Arizona where a junior college with an agricultural department was starting up.
I began by teaching the unemployed how to become farm workers and everyone in the class got a good job, some paying more than I was getting. But one student found himself in jail for using the welding skills I taught him, to open a safe at Christmas time. I stayed nine years at Arizona Western
College and became Department Chairman. For three summers I taught groups of young Japanese farmers how to grow citrus. Now there's a people who go to school to learn! Yuma has a summer temperature in the hundred and teens and in a wet year it rains three inches. It's all rock and sand and no trees but the Colorado River is tapped for irrigation and it's a very productive farming area.
Twenty-eight years ago I moved to Tucson, working for the University of Arizona as an Extension Agent (Urban Horticulture) and I retired recently. I gave up 'time-card' work and my weekly radio and T-V programs but I've kept my weekly newspaper articles because I like doing them and they bring in some beer money. Book sales and a little consulting also helps. I've kept my involvement with community gardening and support a group of volunteers that manage five gardens of sixty five gardeners. And I go and talk to groups of people--for free.
I have a friend, a medical Doctor from Cuba, who is translating into Spanish, the calendar parts of my two books 'Desert Gardening - Fruits and Vegetables'. and 'Desert Landscaping'. This means I can add Spanish to my lack of Japanese.
So, I'm finishing as I started, teaching people to grow food for better nutrition and to make money through cash crops. People who live in places that used to be colonies and part of the disappeared Empire.
At the beginning it was often a matter of survival (if the baboons ate your crops, or it didn't rain, or the locusts came) but in good years farmers got money from sales of coffee or tobacco to send the children to school or buy corrugated iron to replace the thatched roof.
Today, here in Arizona, it's a less urgent lifestyle of growing your own pest-free vegetables, selecting arid-land plants for the landscape (to save a dwindling water resource), installing and maintaining trickle irrigation systems, making solar food dryers and solar cookers, playing with hydroponic systems, keeping the rabbits out, or zapping a grasshopper. It's all been, and still is, rewarding and enjoyable.
I think it was General DeGaulle who said there are only two cultures in the world - French culture and Horticulture. He was half right.
And has it all happened because I went to Clayesmore? Where, in more ways than one, I grew up, accepted responsibility, did the best I could, had good teachers and friends, and learned to learn a lot of useful things!!
I believe it has.
George Brookbank (37 - 42)