Bedales Chronicle

Summer 1970Volume 54 No. 3

EDITORSTomas Graves

Elizabeth Pricker

COMMITTEESelina Cadell

Jonathan Hugh-JonesStephen Bishop

Kate MillerJudith Cahn

COVERJohn Corley

TAILPIECESNeil

NounJohnNigel

PHOTOGRAPHSRowena Bailey

Neil

SCRATCHBOARDNigel

MAZEDavid Gordon

EditorialWe were going to write a scathing Editorial on APATHY at Bedales, particularlyin relation to the Chronicle. The splendid and extremely encouraging response fromthe lower blocks to our efforts at publicity excludes them from censure, however,and before we begin to scathe, we would like to thank them, and to add that thoughwe have been unable to print all that was submitted, we are very pleased to have gotit. Please don't be discouraged/fed up/indignant because your article/poem/storywasn't printed, and do go on writing, D. H. Lawrences and Karl Marxes oftomorrow.

Block VI, and to a certain extent Block V as well, have on the other handdisplayed a smug, bored, supercilious certainty of their own superiority. TheChronicle, they appear to feel, is merely a sort of poetic dustbin for their cast-offsand minor works of lesser genius. Thus we have reached an ironical situation wherethose most capable of contributing are the only ones who do not do so. Apathy ispardonable in the face of exams, but this is not just laziness, it is an atmosphere offaint but definite hostility. The top of the school is as a majority unwilling to write,and those who do write (of whom there are many) refuse, for some mysteriousreason, to allow their creations to be contaminated by publication in the Chronicle.This is an over-sweeping generalisation, we admit, but it does sum up the generalatmosphere which exudes from the Block VI Common Room when the wordChronicle is mentioned.

The Editors

Limerick CompetitionWe received a considerable number of entries and the standard was on the wholepretty good. The member of staff that we asked to judge them finally came up withthese winners:1st Prize: A wily headmaster named * * * * *

Had new classroom blocks built back to back.Boys against the expansionSet fire to his mansion:On his grave rests an indistinct plaque.

This was chosen for its relevance to Bedales, which was meant to be a feature,together with its complete originality (a quality somewhat lacking in some others).Unfortunately, the writer preferred to give his work in anonymously, but if hecares to step forward now, he may collect his guinea, which will otherwise bedonated to a worthy cause.

2nd Prize goes to Tamasin Day-Lewis (Vli), who will be the recipient of10 shillings (alias fifty New Pence):

There once was a Chink from Tai-Tong,Whose cuisine went drastically wrong,Although his flied liceWas not very nice,His Kit-E-Kat went for a song.

Other Highly Commended entries appear elsewhere in this magazine.

Expo '70- impressions of a visitorFrom Osaka, fifteen miles away, the red pinnacle of the Russians can be seenthrough the dirty mist-asoaring arc that makes one aware of the immense power thatthe Russians have, even to the extent of being able to balance the moon above theneon hammer and sickle on top of it.

Expo '70 was meant to show the character and ability of each country, butreally they were all separately trying to sell themselves to Japan and each other.Britain tried to show the family and cultural life, and a little of the 'SwingingEngland' scene (though not really enough of this, as it is a great cult in Japan).The Americans showed their country through the eyes of photographers, portrayingthem as artists. They showed their sports and the clothes worn by the great players,and—the greatest draw of Expo—the Moon Rock, along with a lot of the equipmentused in the lunar expeditions. The Russians had Lenin as their mainstay as well astheir lunar projects—it was fascinating being able to compare the two. The Czechswere very moving; they had none of the normal exhibits, just works of art, beautifulsculpture—some in bronze and in glass, and all depicting the raising of the peopleafter the invasion of the oppressors. In the background beautiful choral music wasbeing sung, and the whole pavilion moved one; to help the Czechs seemed all thatmattered for that half hour.

Some of the countries gave a completely false impression of themselves;Canada, for instance, is not really one long King's Road as they tried to make itout to be.

The atmosphere in the site was exciting and bubbly, catalysed by a conflict ofcultures, and the sight of all the possible new ideas. If, however, this was the city ofthe future, God help us, as it was completely uncorrelated and many of the buildingswere thoughtlessly placed, destroying both their own effect and that of others roundthem.

The money spent by some of the countries was incredible, and for the smallercountries completely out of perspective with their economy. The millions of poundsspent not only by the host country, but also by others in an extrovert display can-not, I feel, happen again, and that it all has to be demolished at the end is tragic.Expo '70 was an ideal portrayal of the world showing itself in a glossy cultural andscientific haven. It showed little tragedy, and what there was was left to the com-mercial pavilions.

Bridget Hughes (Vli)

The Senior cricket team began the season with three draws, but the second andthird of these were very much in Bedales favour: against the Academics (Southamp-ton University) and Lord Wandsworth's School. There is a full programme offixtures this term and the team shows every sign of settling down into quite a goodone. The bowling is capably in the hands of Jason, Duncan and Jim Holloway.Jason has been troubled with injury but Jim has bowled with real speed on occasions.The batting has been inconsistent but Bunny Warrick played two valuable inningsagainst the Academics and Ottershaw. Jonathan Ker batted well to score 33 againstQttershaw. Adam Raven scored a patient 38 against Lord Wandsworth. The fieldinghas varied from the excellent to the haphazard but Jonathan Ker has set a highstandard behind the stumps and Jason's running and throwing have been a very goodexample to his side.

John Batstone

Alfred the Boilerman witnesses the endof innocence

It was a cold winter that year.God-forsaken treeswere as cold as we were, and the sunwas a good month absent.There was snow too, and that was fineto laugh in and eat but we couldn'tlie there.All at once it was winter again and wewere driven underground.And down below, Alfred and his boilermensat in a silent circle round the stoveand listened to our play.Perhaps it was only darkness thatseparated us from Alfred.But it was winter, and the cellarswere warm so we came quietly, drawnlike the lamp-bitten moth to the heat.And we found us a cupboard and kept secretthings there that we loved and called love, andeven if it wasn't quite properly doneIt was fun just the same.Down below, the thirty boilermen sat,thinking of all that they'd seenand wishing it had been them.We came dancing one night with the windin our ears and the rain in our lungs,splashing through puddles, lain in the coal-dust,pulling a coat up over our shoulders, keepingthe drips from the greeny-slimed roof,out of the warmth of our boiler-room nights,no wind, but a draught that tickles my neckwhich makes the whole world more exciting,and her hands play naughty, biting tunesand its winter and dark rooms and we're happy again.While all the time, Alfred and histhirty,dirtyboilermen listened to our whispered secretsand sighed for lost youth.And had we stood with shirts undone andlaughing hair, and watched them as theyshuffled back, would we have seen Ozymandias inourselves and winced at their deathly whitewashed eyes?No, not a flinch.You and I were far too enrapturedto worry about it then:We had our innocence regained.

Jonah Hugh-Jones (V)

John HetheringtonJohn Hetherington is leaving after three years as one of the most inspiring Englishstaff Bedales has seen for a long time. All those who have been taught by him havebeen able to share some of his acute perception and enthusiasm for English litera-ture.

Some members of the staff have also been able to wonder at the speed andability he has for the Times crossword, others have shared his keenness for tennis,cricket and swimming.

Although it is sad that he is leaving, it is obviously a break which will enablehim to concentrate on his writing—he has already completed his first book—andthis is naturally an important advantage for a writer. We now therefore say goodbyeto him as a teacher, and await the publication of his first work as an author.

Love: Two themesThe father to his son

O can loneliness move you?Or will you lift the sullen eyesOf those who allow loneliness love?Or will you laugh, to prove youCallous to the longing that empty liesTrembling to your anger? MoveYour lips in a pretence of pity:There are those for whom dear death is long,Whose suffering you could lightenInto spring, beacon in a waste city,Candleflame burning strongLove-light to eyes that now a cold dawn must brightenFor want of a son's fireOr rest in their dark night.You are an eyeless statueTo those who each morning attireTheir limbs with emptiness, faceless to fightDeath's age and age's death. That youRaised lids not rancorous, your eyesNot cold over a laughing mouth (love's mysteryIn laughing eyes) might soothe, too,His yearning who triesTo read the blank page of your love-history.O can loneliness move you?

The son to his mistressDeath is an end that all must come to,And even you, sweet, will droop,Since even the fairest blooms laugh with lifeUntil the last day ends them.Let us defy this end,And in the old poet's phrase'Pluck the day' before dusk pre-empts usIn death. We shall die,But let us first make memories,And crown them with that last giftFulfilling all we hope for: and we hope, and love.

Ken McLeish

Block V Common RoomO'er greasy toaster, spread on high,an obscene poster draws the eye.A sugared "Times" all torn to shredsis in the jam where someone treads.Through piles of files he gaily tripsthen on a lump of treacle slipsinto a puddle, rank and largeshared by a slab of bread 'n marge,embarassed, scared, averted glancesconsent to wild and furious dancesof the loud debauching fewwho dominate the social view.A maths book spread with marmaladeis in the mess the "Guardian" madewith cigarette butts in the cornermaking the trash can much forlornerfor it has no rubbish, andthe viscous floor has lent a hand.

The gramophone broadcasts a noisein no uncertain tone of voice.Precluding speech, it numbs the earand stops all reason coming nearso windows break and teacups smashand today's news is torn to trashand honey, jam and margarinelend to the chairs a silky sheenand people—"humans"—everywherefoul up their world and just don't care.

Though happy are all troglodytesand gleeful too, their parasites,not sumptuous snacks and ladies fairnot company and friendly airnor any other social snarewould tempt me to reside in there.

Anonymous

A Cafe Accordion PlayerStare at him and notice he is youngTo sweat each evening out and strumThe same old half-learned tunes.He sways around the room and croonsA shallow wispy bassWith boredom on his face.

Mechanically he minces round the floorAnd, fingers wet with sweat, plays moreWrong notes. The instrument is strappedAround his waist. He stopped and no-one clapped.

Anonymous

STUDIO: Use, Misuse and AbuseStudio has always been, and probably always will be, open to anyone in the school.Unlike a classroom, nearly all the equipment is available and accessible at any timeand in large quantities, especially drawing paper and oil paint, both of which areexpensive materials. As a consequence of this privilege, there is a lot of unnecessarywastage and disrespect for the equipment, which leads on to stealing, and in somecases vandalism—all this in turn creates a destructive attitude towards the studio.The increasing non-creative atmosphere has resulted in the drying up of Bedalianartists' inspirations. This causes a lowering of production, and, more important, alowering of standards.

These troubles also stem from the fact that Block two and three have nogenuine outlet for their own ideas, which affects the will to work in their lessons.This may be due to the lack of training in the lower Blocks and the fact that anyoriginal talent may not be discovered. This can be seen by the drastic reduction hithe number of artists between Blocks three and four each year. People are notencouraged to continue art as a subject, even to O level, but are more than oftenrecommended to give it up in favour of academic subjects.

Bedales moved into a new Art Block only two years ago only to find thatseveral rooms, originally intended for studio use, had already been taken over forother purposes. Now we find that the rooms are to be vacated, not for our use, butto become part of the new middle school block.

This leads on, perhaps, to the most important factor of the present state ofart at Bedales. It needs FULL RECOGNITION by school and staff alike, and can-not at this moment regain the status it once held alongside workshop and pottery,and more especially Bedales music and drama.

Kate Miller and Peter Grimsdale

Mary MacmillanUnluckily for us, but happily for her, Mary is leaving us at the end of this term topass on to greater things: she is getting married.

She arrived when I was in Block III, to bring a welcome bastion ofpermanency into the constant flux of student teachers and 'temps' in the Frenchdepartment which made it impossible for those not privileged to be in 'George's set'to actually learn anything much.

With her arrival, these bad old days were put an end to; and French lessons,in addition to being pleasant, became also (in the nicest possible way) instructive.

Now, alas, I am in Block VI, and Mary herself is joining the flux of time anddeserting us. But both in the classroom as French teacher, and outside it as house-mistress, helper with games, and enthusiastic and active member of the Waterfordcommittee (though I am not one of its number myself, I was specifically asked byone who is to mention her contribution to it) she has made herself extremely popularsimply through her cheerfulness and constant good humour, coupled with thegenerosity and the sympathetic understanding of her character. Her presence willI think be missed to an extent by all, and especially by those who she teaches andwho have known her since she has been here. Happy honeymoon, Mary, andGoodbye—though not 'Adieu', we hope, but 'Au Revoir'.

Mavardardi RestaurantIt was what the paperback thrillers would have called a "cosmopolitan sort ofjoint". You could find hundreds like it all over the world. This one was in theMavadardi zone of Nairobi, and it had more than the usual sprinkling of touristsamong its customers. The roughly plastered walls were decorated with advertise-ments in half a dozen languages, a few climbing plants in brightly painted pots, andposters of Swiss Alps and English castles. There was a bandstand, but its onlyoccupants that day were a "Shenzi" (Swahili for shabby) tabby cat and a coupleof guitars propped up against a stool. There was no lack of music, however—ajukebox blared alternatively the latest American popular tunes and traditionalAfrican songs. Like all the restaurants in the area, this one served impeccable foodand wines.

On entering, through the door-curtain of coloured metal chains, one wouldhave noticed first a group of people who occupied all the window tables. They wereAmericans, with sunglasses on and big, expensive-looking cine-cameras, and wereeating spaghetti bolonaise with coke. Their conversation (which was loud and pene-trating) consisted entirely of a struggle between the men of the party who werediscussing Nixon's chances at the Presidential election, and the women, in theirmiddle forties and heavily made-up, who were trying to beat one another's scoreof "sights done" during the morning—a herd of elephants, President Kenyatta,warriors, and half the rest of the Capital as wel l . . . .

In the far corner sat one of the regular customers—a suave African—occupied in amusing his latest female conquest. He usually spent most of his timein the restaurant eating buns and drinking bottles of wine. Where he got his moneyfrom I do not know.

At the formica-covered bar itself were two blonde-haired, blue-eyed, well-built men, wearing check shirts, shiny trousers and dark moccasins. Their quick—you might have called it efficient—way of drinking their glasses of brandy, and theirgutteral speech soon revealed them as Germans. The other bar seats were taken upby some Africans who spoke in the local dialect.

The long table in the middle was occupied by Frenchmen. Typical these;they wore berets, baggy sage-coloured trousers, shoes with triangular eye-holes,and loosely-fitting coats. If it had not been for their maps and cameras, you wouldnot have thought that they were tourists: with violent gesticulations and hecticexcitement, they were talking about De Gaulle (of all things to talk about in Kenya).At the same time, an oily tubby, fez-crowned Egyptian was trying to ask the way tothe New Stonely Hotel.

Everybody's attention was momentarily drawn by the rattling of the beadchains across the open doorway, as two new customers came in, bitterly complainingof sore feet. They were dressed in white shorts, which were separated from equallywhite stockings by four inches of pink flesh. From their pockets protruded tubes ofsunburn lotion and guide pamphlets; each carried a straw hat and a camera. Afterspending some time discussing which of the two vacant tables they should sit at, theychose one and immediately began looking round for the waiter. In case you havenot already guessed, they were English.

Two permanent residents dominated the scene; the "Expresso" coffeemachine and the African proprietor, Kihara Kimau. The machine was wreathed insteam most of the time, every so often there was a roaring hiss as a cup was filled.Kihara, who was not unlike the machine, if you half-closed your eyes, was easilydistinguishable from the strangers by his long, curly, wiry black hair and his pointed-shoes. His starched apron made up for his dark colour and clothes. The only words

8

I heard him say to the foreigners were "Asanti", when he brought the right dishand put it down successfully and "Sorry, Bwana" when he did not.

As I turned to leave, after my meal of steak and peaches, he approachedthe Englishmen with two bowls of piping-hot minestrone. Just as he was puttingthem down his little son called from the kitchen. A little jerk, a scream, as hot soupscalded skin; but, of course, "Sorry, Bwana! "

Tony Frisby (Vlii)

NEWS IN BRIEFLast term's news in brief was mercilessly censored (so will this term's be if we goon like this). Consequently, this instalment will be longer than usual.APRIL—Tuesday 21

We came back to school after a pleasant Easter (especially the Redmen who,after a ski-ing holiday, lived up to their name). We found the dining room in thethroes of the Green Pox (no, it wasn't the undercoat!) with a tall metal bonyparasitic monster spreading the dreaded pox all over the walls. It is thought to be aclose relative of the Le Mans Bridge.

The new middle school building was progressing steadily (for full report seeelsewhere in this issue) and the new language block (Herr Vogel's "New Realm")was materialising at an astounding rate. It should be ready by next term (cubicles,tapes, earplugs, etc.) just in time to accommodate those rendered homeless by theS. Block falling down—particularly Herr Vogel, whose "old realm"—the BedalesRussian and German Sector—continues to sink inch by inch into the quagmireround the fishpool (which, incidentally, is thriving with mysterious marine flora andfauna).

The not-so-temporary building between Steephurst and Steepcot—as yetunnamed—is also progressing admirably although the workmen are endangering theRed Brick Path with shouts of "Cor! " and wolf whistles.

The building itself has pretty curved passages, a luxury number of bathroomsand even the possibility of carpets in the dorms and passages. Miss Caiger hasfound only one problem—where to put the curtains. (Who needs curtains? say themales.) Apparently, space was not included for them in the design. However, she isbound to sort out that hang-up (excuse the pun) by next September.

This term, 6i took over the collective responsibility from 6ii (who haveA-levels). They seem to be coping well—except for Tich Brooke:

"I'm not going to take Block Two letter writing—they might beat me up! "Saturday 25

Dance in the Lupton Hall—music provided by a minimal group—Jock, Nigeland Gravy—who were, it was agreed, much less un-co, but did not produce suchvariety as the full-size ensemble. The dance was, and not much more.MAY—Saturday 2

The first good weather of the summer brought with it the first and last gameof French and English. The teams swapped ends of the pitch four times during thegame with the inevitable confusion resulting.Saturday 9

Croquet started up, under the dubious directorships of Kate, Nokki, Emmaand Roi.

That night there was a small, sweaty, exhausting dance. This left manypeople half-dead, who dropped out of the Christian Aid Walk from Chichester toPetersfield the next day. It was pouring with rain which was further incentive to dropout. Most of the hundred walkers were from the lower blocks. They arrived homeafter a long 8-hour walk. They had collected £140 sponsorship money by theChronicle press date.

Saturday 16The film for entertainment was "The Ipcress File"—one of the best films

shown at Bedales over the last few years. Everyone enjoyed it—Neil thought "everyline was classic".Sunday 17

Quote Jeremy Phillips—"If only they'd let me wear a loincloth into Jaw,I'm sure I'd pay much more attention." This particular Sunday, however, muchattention was paid during Jaw—it was taken by Canon Pearce-Higgins. The reverendgentleman turned out to be a renowned spiritualist, and it was a very stimulatingevening—unprecedented numbers congregated in the wing to hear more of what wehad been given a foretaste of in Jaw, and divers and violent reactions, ranging fromreligious indignation to curiosity, excitement and fear were produced among manyby his stories of supernatural occurrences, and communications from the 'otherside'.Weekend 24/25

We had a three-day half-term. On the school train going up to London wasan extremely efficient ticket collector. "British Rail guarantees getting you fromPoint A to Point B" he told some Bedalians in a First Class Carriage (who couldn'tfind a seat elsewhere) "but does not guarantee you a seat. Clause 43, paragraph 7of the Rail Transport Act of 1897."

He went down the train, bandying bye-laws ("If you don't know who's got thegroup ticket, that's not my business. If you can't show it to me, I'll have to chargeeach of you the price of your ticket. 'Passengers must produce a vajid ticket ondemand.' Railway Act of 1907, paragraph 2, clause 8".)

As he tripped over people's cases and waded through the cigarette smoke,he quoted every Railway Bye-law since "a man with a red flag must walk in frontof every train". The journey back was dull without him.

By now the swimming had started; the pool's heating was greatly appreciatedby all—until they got out of the water and froze.Week ending May 30

The Great Annual Bedalian Whole-School Sports.Tony Min ran the 100 yards in 9.8 seconds—beating the previous record

(10.3) by-y-oh work it out yourselves. Apart from that, the sports were lazy, un-coand amusing to watch.Saturday—May 30

Film—"Whistle Down the Wind". Unfortunately the projector broke downbefore we could see the last reel. A pity, as it was one of the more interesting filmsthe school had produced this year. Parts were extremly good and realistically freefrom clich6 (the little brother with the northern accent was splendid) though therewere some nauseating moments such as when the three children skipped to 'Jesus'(alias an escaped convict) in the barn with presents of food, to the tune of 'WeThree Kings'. No-one seemed to mind much, however, and as the plot was notparticularly vital in the film, it was far from a ruined evening.JUNE 1

The dreaded O- and A-level week.Candidates were warned about the penalties for cheating extensively before-

hand . . . quite unnecessarily. If you feel you absolutely HAVE to cheat in futureexams, Christopher Bartrum has the answer: "Write all the formulae/case endingson the inside of your eyelid before the exam".

Most exams were held in the gym this term. It lent itself admirably to themiserable exam-room atmosphere.Wednesday 3

Block 4 left for Dartmoor. Since they left, the peace has been incredible.The queue has become orderly. The potentially dangerous air pollution situation

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has developed into a smokeless zone situation. However, the school missed theirsparkling wit and unequalled intelligence (to illustrate this point I shall take aninstance during a Block 4 Geography Class recently: when asked by Mick Hawkinswhy the sea level in a certain port had recently risen, a bright young girl suggested—"Because they're building bigger boats?")Saturday 6

Large numbers of Bedalians trooped down to The Savoy Qnema to see thefilm of D. H. Lawrence's "Women in Love". The projector naked out half waythrough. The local Salvation Army Band trooped past the cinema (whose walls areeven thinner than Bedales Newtown's) four times; every time was during the mostserious soliloquy. Their magnificent ZING! TATATATATAAA! THUMP! hadthe Bedalians rolling in the stalls. To complete the afternoon, a fire-engine andwhat sounded like a 1930 steam-engine paraded past. Most people enjoyed whatlittle of the film they'd seen or heard.

Also that afternoon, during a cricket match against Churchers, George Simonscored 84 runs—the second highest score ever at Bedales. Needless to say we stilllost.Sunday 8

Chronicle Goes to Press (Thank God!)Afterthought; Bean: "You don't have to hit George to be a good shot". Or

did he mean the reverse?Having-a-lovely-time-wish-you-were-here—Gravy and Leafy.

There was a young person who smelled,Whose hygiene was never excelled,For it quite plainly showsWhen you clutch at your nose,For fear of being swiftly repelled.

This same young student who smelled,Had an aura that got him expelled;But he had a good innings,With a record of winningsIn the number of victims he'd felled,

Allen Samuel (Vlii)

11

A pampered blind doctored old beagleDreamt his whole life of catching an eagle.To a fearsome winged creature,He roared, "I will eatcha! "It killed him, yet 'twas but a seagull.

The Shtopengruber treatmentThe psycho-analyst stood at ease behind his perspex desk. His sprucely uniformedassistants hovered behind, their huge shoulders rubbing the sides of the tiny cubicle.

"Good morning, Comrade, it has been too long.""Too long," heartily echoed the fairer of the two assistants."You look strained and overwrought," stated the psycho-analyst, a friendly

smile creasing his firm lips."Overwrought," intoned the short and ugly assistant.There was an awkward pause."Well, Comrade doctor," I nervously began, noticing the stupidity of my

hands as they hung useless by my side. "It's a question, Comrade, of maladjust-ment."

"Surely not," said the psycho-analyst, kindly."A basic conflict between my position relative to our revolutionary process

and my standing in Factory U group 659 has developed, largely due to emotionalinstability," I explained shyly.

The psycho-analyst relaxed. Two sets of fingers tensed and met each otherover his terylene tunic. He delicately lit a cigarette, on which I burnt my fingerstaking it from him.

"This is a case one has heard of, rare but not totally isolated." He pausedand turned his bald and shining head. "Otto," he said, motioning towards the uglierassistant, "you will recall that young female comrade, not three months ago witha similar complaint."

"Indeed," pronounced the other, "one recalls the Shtopengruber treatment.""Elaborate on your present state, Comrade."Suddenly it seemed foolish. I thought back and tried to remember her.

I thought of her face which though pretty was somehow wrong. I thought of theway when she got up her hair stuck to her forehead and then how she had combedit free, back to its natural lightness. I remembered her eyes, and the disconcertingway they sometimes looked past you. I remembered her uncertainty and how sheleft. I remembered all these things.

I looked up and Comrade Doctor was smiling. He gripped my hand in hisclean-cut grasp.

"Comrade," he quoted joyfully, "the case is indeed clear. You have beenmost lucid. We will proceed with the Shtopengruber treatment."

After they had gassed him and he was truly dead, the doctor and his twoassistants strode out on the terrace. They felt good, for the recent elimination hadfurthered the fifth project of mankind—the defeat of pain.

And the sun shone on the concrete.Tom Lodge (Vlii)

There was a young man from Hong KongWho just couldn't write limericks.They did not scan or rhymeThat daring young man from Budapest!

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/C3

Les Gens du couleurThere are seven coloured people at Bedales, ranging from dark brown to lightyellow. As one of them, it only occasionally strikes me that I am coloured, andthat is the main feature of colour at Bedales; its unobtrusiveness. This may bebrought about by the small number, but as far as I know it is the same for all sevenof us.

My attention is harshly drawn to the fact of my colour only rarely. It isinfrequently done so maliciously, more usually "as a joke—we weren't beingserious." But even such cases as these are uncommon for me. I may be verballymaligned, as one might be maligned by being called "curly" or "fuzzy"—which ismore frequently the case. I am fuzzy perhaps with schoolmates (but never withschool friends). The most usual reference to my origin is concerned with heat andcold—I am supposed not to feel, and feel acutely respectively. This conies fromstrangers only, and is always well meant, and often said with slight embarrassment.These are only trifling cases, and the times I hear such derogatory words as "wog"and "nigger" are a constant accompaniment to the names of certain people, quiteas British as (I was going to say "I") anyone could be, but who, for some reasonor other, have acquired this appellation. Most often I hear them used as generalterms of abuse which are curiously hardly ever applied to me.

Again we must return to the insignificant. Why is this? Most people atBedales are rich—does wealth breed virtue? It is more likely that it merely allowsthe disease of timidity to creep in, so that, instead of the hardy docker cursing thenigs, we have refinement and sophistication hiding the truth. It is probably simplythat wealth, a certain degree of physical comfort, allows civilisation to set in.

What is the result of such comfortable circumstances? For me it has meantthat I see such things as "Paki-bashing" and negro ghettoes in the same light as Iview the slums, "doing Jews" or the betrayal of Caesar by his friends. It may welllead to complacence about racial problems, but on the other hand it is far morelikely to produce objectivity in feelings about it and hence reduce bigotry. And inany dealings with the problem, calmness is surely needed. I have wondered why Ido not look upon myself as an objective and arbiter of racial problems as one couldwish for, being myself a mulatto. The answer is that I am too European in my wayof thinking, though not of European skin colour. This leads me unconsciously to lookdown upon negroes and thus to bias my immediate judgments, and also to reactagainst such a swing "consciously" and produce the opposite bias. I feel, however,that these swings are very slight.

It may be that I am being naive with regard to the extent of colour prejudiceat Bedales. Do some people squat behind locked doors and malign me? Probablysomething of the sort does take place, but like the nicknamed teacher I cannot know.It remains then that I am always struck by the presence of a coloured person, somuch am I in the company of those that are not. Adrian Henrlques (V)

THOUSHALT NOT

. . . if thou canst help it.

14

There they lay staring out through the wire. Their hopeless faces. There they lay,sparse and withered, their pitiful rags struggling to cover their filthy, stinking bodies.There they lay, withered and gnarled, their ribs poking through their chests likestripes on a shirt or railings at the park. Huddled together for self-assurance, theireyes peering round, into space, at people, at buildings, half comprehending, halfmad. There they lay, on dirty sandy gravel, ten yards from the wire, gazing into thefreedom they could never attain. Trickling the sand through gnarley dirty fingers,courting insanity. There they stood, trooping in dim twilight into their filthy huts,herded like sheep, beaten like cattle, by guards more savage than the wolf, andmore efficient than the computer. There they lay, sweating on the beds, the sick onesgroaning with inexpressible pain, the mad ones ranting, the sane ones trying toblock their ears and eyes to the ghastly horror surrounding them. As the sun wentdown for the last time, as the door swung to and bolted home, as the filthy darknessenclosed them, and prevaded their minds, they lay in terror.

And they lay groaning through the night, until the morning, until the suncast its beautiful blood-red rays over the filthy squalor of their home. There theylay as the guards flung them to their feet and herded them to the gigantic chambersof death. There they stood as the clothes were ripped off their bodies, the babieswrenched from their clutching arms, the spectacles torn from their faces. Theyshuffled slowly . . . silently, into the titanic halls of death, and the cast iron gatesswung quietly to, on the masses of innocents inside.

And they lay as the last horrible agonised screams died off the walls, as thelast body stopped writhing in horrible convulsions, as the last fingers slowly relaxedtheir clasp from the bare bleeding flesh.

And they lay as the gold teeth were plucked from their gums, and the ringsremoved and the bodies, mangled and distorted, were shovelled into the trenches oflime. And there they lie today as the flowers grow beautiful on their tombs, and theair is scented with sweet pollen; but can we ever forgive the horror of the Nazis?

N. Lourie (V)

Dear Sir,I would like to offer a reply to J. Hugh-Jones letter concerning the Film Society.

As I see it, the task and responsibility of any film society is to provide foran interested audience a film of a higher quality than those normally shown to thewhole school. The emphasis should be on quality rather than rarity.

"The Informer" had its dice loaded against it from the start. A black andwhite film, with poor sound, having perhaps one of the corniest endings ever put onfilm. I feel that most people would rather have seen a more modern film in colour.

A film society should set out to please as many people as possible, if it is tosucceed economically, but it should do this at no cost to quality. This is where theskill of the selectors comes into play.

From the choice of films in the past it would seem that American and Englishwar stories and westerns have been completely excluded. Some good films of thesesorts do exist and should not be rejected as a matter of course, especially as thesefilms have wide appeal. Some good examples are: High Noon, The Gunfighter,The Victors and A Hill hi Korea.

If I might continue by giving my view on "The Guns of Naverone". I haveseen this film twice and am satisfied that it succeeded admirably as an entertain-ment. It is false to say that it moralised, as it did not.

My final point is that the Bedales Film Society has a special responsibilityto choose a high quality wide appeal film because it is not independent financiallyas it is subsidised to a considerable degree by the school Finance Committee.

Yours, etc.—Nicholas Allen

15

Dear StorkEver since we hired Stork, he has been taking it easy because nobody has had anyproblems they could not cope with. However, here we are in the summer term,and ... Stork at your service. (Is that corny enough?)

Dear Stork:I love peanut butter. My female hates it.She loves marmalade. I loathe it.I love Cucumber Spread. She can't stand it; she prefers Bloater Fish Paste

which makes me sick.We can't go on like this. Our future is being threatened. Every meal, we

have to sit separately. The loneliness is unbearable. What can we do?—Worried

Dear Worried:In a situation like this, one has to face up to reality—there is only one

answer, and you know it. Peanut Butter, Marmalade, Cucumber Spread andBloater Fish Paste don't mix (unless you're Gravy). Evidently you stomach isstronger than your heart—therefore, take my advice: SEPARATE, and you willsoon find happiness again.

With sympathy—Stork

Darling Stork:I tie my right-hand shoelace in a left-hand bow, whereas I tie my left-hand

shoelace in the kind of knot that goes:"The bunny goes out of his hole, round behind the tree, and back into hishole."

Perhaps this is due to the fact that I was tipped upside down in the bathwhen I was a tot.

My fave colour is purple, and I have a friend called Jeff.Is all this normal?

Yours—Francis

Dear Francis:No.

Yours—Stork

Dear Stork:I simply don't know what to do.For a whole year I have been very much in love with someone in Block 2.

He is very beautiful and I long to go with him but I am much older and taller thanhim; we would look silly together.—Alice.

Dear Alice:There seem to be two alternatives: either take a shrinking course (I suggest

the Peef Laundry) or else slip a little something into his tea. Love will find a way—after all, it is a many-coloured thing, specially after Peef Laundry.

All the best—Stork.

16

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Bedales Middle SchoolAt a time when independent schools are threatened, and many search for ways to'modernise', it is heartening to find pressure for places at Bedales actually increasing.This is not accidental. Successes at "A" level are a very marketable product, but aswiftly changing and increasingly complex technological society now demands morethan the ability to pass rather static examinations. Perceptive selection boards andemployers look for those able to use their knowledge and skills with flexibility;people who are not merely informed, but able to create new patterns and makeimaginative decisions from the rapidly expanding mass of knowledge at their dis-posal. The nurture of these human potentialities has never been easy; since itrequires both imagination and sensitivity to recognise such growing points in others,and to provide an atmosphere and organisation where they shall not be inhibited.It says much for the vision of J. H. Badley, and many who have been associatedwith the school, that the-human values they held to, have contributed to the buildingof a community where this can happen; a community where concern for human needsand respect for individual contribution has been paramount.

A developing society modifies its child-nurturing processes according to itsneeds, and I do not believe it to be accidental, either, that the primary sector ofstate education in this country has revolutionised its methods. The limitation oftalent of a tight hierarchical system, where the head knows what the staff shall do,and the staff know what the children shall learn, has gradually given place to amore consultative, contributory, team approach to learning. Small doese of subjects,administered at arbitrary intervals, often seeming quite irrelevant to the childrenwho swallow them, have been replaced by a child's own exploration of his environ-ment; the teacher using that vehicle to help him master the basic skills and enrichhis personal experience. In contradistinction to the more acquiescent products offormal drilling, children from these enlightened primary schools seem to retain thecuriosity, self-confidence and creative impulses which are characteristic of a childable to be himself. But he is not a miniature adult, and has great gaps in the bodyof facts proper to any discipline; nevertheless he retains the flexibility and drive, thequestioning attitude, which, I believe, makes him potentially better equipped to usefacts in real situations.

The current preoccupation in the state system is how this successful methodof learning shall be applied to the wider environment which young people encounterbeyond the age of eleven; an environment which necessarily includes the techniquesand basic facts of the formal disciplines, and in my view, one that should developthe intellectual rigour appropriate to that stage. Such rigour should enable formalexaminations, which are still a hard fact of life, to be approached with confidencewhen due. Plans go forward, or Middle Schools begin, in a number of places; andit is in these that this educational problem will be tackled. I believe the oldest ofthem is four terms of age, so Bedales is in the vanguard in establishing what isprobably the first Middle School in the independent sector. That is not to say thatwe stand on the brink of unexplored territory. The Schools' Council IntegratedStudies Project at Keele and the Integrated Curriculum laboratory at Goldsmith'sCollege have both made very practical research contributions. Discussion anddevelopment goes on throughout the world. I gained some insight into the breadthof this during last summer holiday at an international conference held at Queen's,Belfast.

In practical terms, the new Middle School building and equipment will pro-vide the physical education resources which a young person will require to carry

21

put a piece of individual or group research or exploration, which may involve himin many of the disciplines. A team of specifically Middle School staff, each contri-buting his own discipline, will stimulate and encourage at appropriate points, sothat a person is asked the leading question, or given the required teaching, when hemost needs it. Broad themes, relevant to modern human problems, will provide theframework of research and problem solving in which individuals can be fullystretched according to their capacity and stage of development. To facilitate thisfurther, Heads of Departments will come into the Middle School, as will seniorsand others, I hope, to make their specific contributions from time to time. Thedecision to include Block I as a part of Bedales, and to site the Middle School there,will make this possible. Also, the proximity of specialist departments and facilitieswill enable those subjects of a sequential nature, such as music, modern languages,most mathematics at that stage, to be taken where they can most effectively betaught and fitted in to the Middle School person's programme. One of my funda-mental responsibilities will be to ensure that a "whole" view of Middle Schoolindividuals leads to a balanced and smooth progress. Lengthy blocks of time willenable projects to continue with minimal interruption, so that breaks in activity ofvarious kinds will occur naturally rather than by the bell. Perhaps a more efficientuse of time.

When a social structure goes as far as it can towards informality and mutualrespect in personal relationships, it makes demands on participants for growthtowards awareness, responsibility and concern for others. A learning structure basedon similar values makes demands for self-discipline, intellectual rigour, initiativeand flexibility. We can turn our backs on all these and opt for that kind of securitywhich authoritarianism offers, knowing just where we are and what is expected ofus in a hierachy. A modern, democratic technology can offer us much if we are ableto manage it in human terms, but it will require the ability to live with rapid change,so the need is to educate beyond the static patterns of knowledge or authority whichserved in the past.

Gerald Pearson

Prison was behind me now—or was it just a dream?No. I was real, for the mothballs still lingered, in my ancient ragged clothes.

New fresh air rushed cold and clear at my toil carved face. It reminded me, I wasfree. The aeroplane took off, and with it the thought of my freedom rekindled adying flame which awoke lost emotions, and warmed old memories, so long dis-carded, through lonely blackened years, in a lonely hostile country. The craft drewsteeply away from the grey fearsome buildings. They rushed past like a flickeringcartoon and disappeared below, melting into the grey country whilst the enginespounded, biting and sucking the fresh morning air.

Suddenly the clouds fell away and we entered a new world, with sky blueas a holiday poster, blue as I had never seen it before: It filled my darkened eyes andswept aside the colourless years which left me lost in peace. We drifted upon a seaof cloud, bulbous and rounded as the pit engine's smoke, but white and fresh asclean sheets. Above me all the sun awoke and burned life into my shoulder and setmy autumn hands glowing summer once again.

Time and a thousand thoughts and dreams flew past to a new sown heaven.The clouds whispered away and far below lay a polished sea, a sunlit, swimming,silver sea on a silent gliding journey to the distant horizon. And on that silent seaI saw a yacht, a white yacht, small as a drifting feather, making her way, withclear blue seas before her, to some new land or unsung waters, or to a far-off home.

Peter Grlmsdale (IV)

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This is the ultimate fear,far greater than the death of man.This is the real emptiness of life,The utter horror, and obsession, of a voiddream, that can never be forgotten.Waking in the night, a shaking,laughing, senseless form;all that is contained in that nullity of life.That dream of inane pointlessness,that grasping out,to the periphery of our bubble of existence.A silent hope,In a corporeal meaning,a need satisfied by an escape.And when I cry out into the night,the eternal night of bewildermentof shaking forms, and creaturesfilled with the certaintyof an insane meaning; I perish,annihilated by my absence of being,I disown all, refusing to exist;I pray to melt into the air,I pray for a stupor of simplicity,a throbbing womb of imbecile innocence,a second childhood.But I have been brought to existence,forced to stand.Slapped to breathe.I am.I am a part of my obsession,a piece of nihility;united in my understanding, a positive vacancy,brought to being.An empty kernel, always empty;but a being,a part of a positive obsession.

Anonymous

I see the people all aroundGoing back and forth—not caringCaring not what happens nowLiving for the present momentThey only know that death is nearing.

The days just lead to other daysAnd all that people want to do isSurvive them all; to them that's life.But this survival leads to timeWhen life gives up, and death then lives.

Anonymous

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Solution to last term's crossword:

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Embryo of a rabbitOblivious of your repulsive existenceYou hang by the neckYour creased, grey bodyDrooped in alcohol.

Bulging transparent veinsInflict your headIn an utidy grid.Socketed bulbous eyesStretch the closed skin.

Minute perfection, held by scienceCauses diagrams,on morpheus' condensationAs he breathesAgainst the glass womb.

Kept as a figure of factKissed only by pincers.Your limp body swayingIn yellow blood.Our father which art in heaven look at thy creation.

Emma Parsons (III)

My love grows on a withered stalk;The piano grates out-of-tune;My aspirations are but fruitless talkand the sun is eclipsed by the moon.The summer's come but is flowerless,for the buds have come and will die.Against killer the worm is powerless,as the honest man is with the sly.The soil in a rainless country likea fever-parched throat must needs be dry;The intolerant voice of the just, torn likea tortured man, will repeatedly cry—"Lose not the answer for the query:Forget not the practice for the theory."

Julia Ackerman (Vli)

The first men to land on TahitiFound the females refreshingly meatyBut the girls would not playBecause, so they sayThe sailors' socks smelt somewhat feety.

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Black ComedyLast year a very high standard was set with John Batstone's production of HotelParadiso—a standard which any production afterwards would find it hard to match.While Black Comedy was quite good, it came as an anti-climax to the previousproduction. This was partly because unlike Hotel Paradiso, Black Comedy dependson one basic joke—the lights are fused, we can see the characters, they cannot seeeach other. Though at first funny, each turn of the action produces predictablesituations and one anticipates one's laughter. This is a criticism of the play ratherthan the performance.

John Batstone's production was very good. It had polish, it was fast movingand intelligent; one of the things I liked was the way three characters cross theirlegs on the sofa—each in the same direction. But it was almost too professional.If the producer aimed at getting away from the traditional concept of a staff play,where one's laughter is largely from type casting and associations with the actorswhich have little to do with the play, then he achieved his object. But in terms ofcomedy, perhaps something was sacrificed—for one was laughing at Schaffer, ratherthan Schaffer and the Bedales staff common room.

But the acting at times was excellent. The main part, a young artist whobrings home to his bachelor apartment his young fiance'e, was played by WilliamAgnew, who is an energetic and good actor—though he could have concentratedmore on the character of his part. Perhaps the best thing in his generally attractiveperformance was his movement. As his young debutante fiancee Janet Grigg wascompletely convincing, carrying off a giggling, precious, almost trendy treatment ofthe part extremely well. Kate Slack as her rival gave a skilled and funnny impressionof an infinitely more competent and business-like lady, handling a gin bottle withsome flair. Rachel Carey-Field had a smaller part to work in, nevertheless giving agood character sketch, though she could have made more of her tipsiness—it's thefirst time I've heard her sing, and I only wish it were louder.

Geoffrey Robinson's retired military officer came as the greatest surprise,and his careful intelligent study of this all too often stereotyped part deserves muchpraise. Kenneth McLeish's homosexual bachelor, though acted with a lot ofattention to details of dress and gesture, was too predictable and this was a bit of awaste of obvious talent. The man from the London Electricity Board was exquisite,leaving nothing to be desired in characterisation, accent or costume. He was playedby George Bird. Finally, it was nice to see George Smith in a much longer partthan before—for his ability to make something out of the most unpromisingcharacter is exceptional.

So in detail the production was a success. I liked the acting, Mr. Cash's setwas very ingenious and beautiful, but the play was not as funny as Hotel Paradiso.Maybe Feydeau is a better playright.

Tom Lodge (VIII)

In a Cantonese restaurant, Mick,Who is Irish, and really quite thick,Contorted his tongueRound a lychee (Foo Yung),And was suddenly, vividly, sick.

Anonymous

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Mr. and Mrs. BennettWith the closure of Lithcot House as an extension of Males' Flat, "Benn" and Kaywill stop being in charge there—a responsibility they have held for twenty-odd years.Though we speak not as two of their best Dtorm Bosses—indeed we claim to havebeen their worst, we feel sure that everyone who has been to Lithcot would liketo join us in remembering 'Benn' for the inimitable way in which he has supervisedthe house. Many Dorm Bosses will carry with them to the grave fond memories ofsavouring the delights of Nesquick in Mrs. Bennett's kitchen. One cannot but beamazed at the ceasless, boundless energy of the latter, in the care of the genera-tions of boys who have passed through her hands. Until recently this responsibilitywas undertaken by them both without any aid from senior boys, for the initial ideaof Lithcot was as a boarding house for boys coming into the school at Block II inorder to provide a friendly and personal atmosphere in which they would be intro-duced to school life, and also to shield them from the manifold dangers of Males'Flat. In recent years, however, this privilege has been extended to every malemember of the school, and has offered a refreshing change.

However they will not be disappearing altogether from the area but willcontinue in their respective capacities on the games fields. We also hope that theywill continue to be seen as frequently as before in the school Sports Shop.

On behalf of all past Lithcotians, thank you both.Robin Lodge & Philip de Bary (Vli and Vlii)

The forefinger easing and tightening,and lifting and dropping the pen's slight movement.There is something solid and lasting,something firm and meaningfulin the heavy bones of each finger;the skin with its soft shadows betweenknuckles,its smooth sheen.Then the arm widening into a bulb of muscle,enclosing the heavy centreof hard white pressing bone.And life is at its centre,and movement.Then the fingerwork of veins,warm, and blue;and under constant pressure,their senses dulled by pressure,their feelings dulled with blueness,and slow friction's warmth.For a moment your hand and arm, are life.Beauty.And the stable love of existence.

Boda Bullock (V)

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Dances: The case for extensionYou should get this Chronicle either just before or just after a dance so here is thebasic argument for extension.

The main objections are that firstly, dances are a cause of unhappiness, andsecondly, that they are quite tiring enough, and therefore bad for work, already.The first of these is the most considerate, but with all the good intentions in theworld it is false.

There are two main causes of unhappiness in dances. The first, apparently afemale complaint in particular, is a lack of opportunities to dance. This is some-thing that an extension could solve. We don't need to point out the pattern ofparticipation. It is only really in the last three-quarters of an hour or so that therange of people involved gets really wide. If this last period were extended it wouldnot be unreasonable to hope that the trend would continue with the result that notonly would more people dance but that the people who only start to enjoy themselveshalf an hour before the end would make the wait far more worthwhile. This issolving unhappiness, not creating it.

This same breaking down of inhibitions also helps the second problem, thefailure to obtain the desired partner. Dances are well proven as the way to breakdown shyness—if "worthwhile and lasting relationships" are to be encouraged, thelonger the dance the better. The mentality looking for a casual pickup doesn't, ingeneral, need a dance to produce one, but the sense of defeat for someone less out-going after a fruitless dance can be very painful, and, whereas it seems dubious thatfour hours produces this feeling more than three, the extra hour can mean a fargreater chance of success.

Surely the exhaustion factor is greatly overplayed? There is no lasting mentalexhaustion in a dance ending at ten-thirty, and as no physical demands are made onus on Sundays other than walks and jaw practice the physical exhaustion is of noimportance. And at the end of term this becomes irrelevant anyway. There would beno work lost if end of term dances ended at dawn.

There was also a staff suggestion that, if a census was taken, most peoplewouldn't dare admit that they don't enjoy dances. This is just being totally unawareof prevalent attitudes. The present fashion is not to compliment dances but to com-plain about them. Words to the effect of "blank yet another lousy tedious dance"are rather more common than perhaps realised. According to old News in Brief com-ments, many dances either "faded into obscurity" or "Presumably there was adance, but we can't remember it". This is essentially a fairly typical fashion, andmost people enjoy dances rather more than they would admit.

The issue is to be decided at the beginning of next term after an experimentwith this end of term dance. This is perhaps unwise. If they really are overexhaustingand damaging to work we're not going to see the effects if we've all gone home.We must experiment with the full range of dances, i.e. over a whole term. Surelywe aren't risking too much to sacrifice three hour's sleep over fifteen weeks? Bebrave, make an intelligent experiment, and let the experiment work! Success in thisissue could lead to greater things.

28

Stonescooped and shallowed pool dryrock shapes move smooth roundoccasional watery eye;

eroded edges as shoulders and backof stones in river boulders,huge as a whale or hills;

wearing over water warm rockas flames around their burningscreaming clapping running

round impregnably roundno crack or hold, no scratchfor gushing past to catch

and lace a shawlover brim and browand water of rock faceis an edgethat shall slice body and face

straining sinuous whitestretch clear over stoneas flesh over bone,

reach up from the billowing bottomfoam finger slaw the armbubbles float as shadows along the length of calm.

Julian Henriques (Vlii)

Old lady wishes to sell immaculatecar—cheap

"Just the job," I thought and set out for the address given. As it was, 27 RailwayCuttings turned out to be not an old lady's dwelling but a chaos of old cars andscrap metal. Above, a large banner proclaimed that this was "Honesty Joe's QualityCar Mart" with "No Rubbish Sold Here" written in underneath just to remind youthat this was not a scrapyard.

Anyway, having come this far I cautiously removed my wallet to an insidepocket and entered.

"Can I help you, son?" said a voice from behind a dying car, and outemerged Honesty Joe. He didn't look very honest. A cloth cap and a large cigarcoming from underneath a bushy moustache were his only distinguishing features,but then on second thoughts he did look a bit shifty.

"Er, yes, I was looking for an old lady who wanted to sell her car," I replied."Which car was this, skip?""A Morris 1000, it was—immaculate condition.""Oh, that old—er—oh, that one, oh yes. Yes I can see it would suit you right

down to the ground, Skip."

29

"Where's the old lady?" I enquired."She died. Very sad it was too.""Oh.""It's over there. Ain't she a beauty? Used to belong to Harold Wilson, yer

know." I couldn-'t imagine Harold Wilson in that. Or then again perhaps I could."Runs like a nun, she does." I wondered what a nun ran like. "Only done

250 miles since new." "Fishy," I thought.He kicked it. Sounded firm. I kicked it."Ooooh don't kick it there, Whack. All these cars have a built-in weak spot.

Mustn't kick the back bumpers.""I should sell it at twice the price but seeing as how you got an honest face

and it will go to a good home, £50?"Hmm, I thought."£40?"Well I mean to say."£30?"Not much can go wrong."£20?"And for such a lovely car ..."£15? Look son, I can see you're a hard bargaining sort, give me a tenner and

we'll call it quits. I'm cutting my profit to the limit—got to make a living."Well, seeing as he probably had a wife and four kids to support I duly handed

over the money, much pleased with my first step into big business bargaining."I'll send you the ownership book as soon as I get it pr int . . . I mean find it.""Alright," I said cheerfully and drove home at high speed.The ownership book never arrived but since I can't afford to run it anyway

it didn't really matter. I had won a moral victory over a tough business tycoon.Gordon Fraser (Vli)

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The telephone boxBlood red, standing high with directories inside,Rectangular panes of glass ringing for our presence,And the furious bell sneering in the storm,Old Mrs. Eye-glass watching out for vandals.

Finger in root of conversation,Revolving dials connecting wave* of oscillating tongues,The thick plastic mouth-piece moistened with words,An agitated conversation expressed through twisted wires.

The impoverished teenager full of energy,Reversing his charges, request ungranted,Drop three clangers, bell rings,Press button A, Mr. Long the hairdresser, press button B.

The kicking pride of a hooligan against the pane,Running away like words through a wire,Wailing tyres, dissipated glass,A little chip in the faultless red paint.

Jason Hartcup (IV)

fl.i.P.

Headpiece to end all tailpieces

31

BEDALES CHRONICLEOld Bedalian Supplement

Volume 54 No. 3

Summer 1970Editor: Paul Brown

REQUEST

This is not an editorial. An editorial, according to the O.B. Chronicle editor'sschool dictionary which nestles happily between Modern French Part 11 and 'NewJunior Latin Course much as it has done for the past quarter of a century, is "anewspaper article written by or under the responsibility of the editor", an excessivelygrandiloquent title for this brief note, the subject of which is NEWS. The editorhas one or two invaluable assistants who manage to collect news in some miraculousmanner, and he has been further aided by individuals who have sent varyingquantities of information, every contribution being greatly appreciated even if it hasnot always been acknowledged. (Postage, you know.) A regular supply of newsabout O.B.'s at college and other seats of learning would undoubtedly be of greatinterest, especially to those who have recently left the school and also to a numberof the older P.B.'s, and it has been a tremendous help to have had for the pasteighteen months or more an O.B. who might be called our Oxford Correspondent.Alas, he is now about to go forth into the unknown battle of life (about much ofwhich, one suspects, he knows quite a bit already), and the Chronicle loses itsOxford Correspondent. Attempts are being made to find a replacement, but if any-one at (or about to go to) Oxford thinks that he or she could take on the extremelylight and agreeable duties of Oxford Correspondent, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.All that is required is that a few items of news of O.B.'s may be contributed duringFebruary, May and October in time for the printers. The editor will send out a civilpostcard thrice annually mentioning the date by which news should be sent. It isvery much hoped that correspondents may also be found for Cambridge and anyother establishment where a few newsworthy O.B.'s are congregated. Names ofvolunteers (or of people who might be made to volunteer) would be most gratefullyreceived. Can YOU help?

Hot Line from Bahrain, Part IIWe end our tour here in April, and return to our home in Kent—together with, wehope, the latest addition to our family, a young Short-toed Eagle. We've had"Eagle" since November and have been endeavouring to teach him to feed himselfand train him to hand. He was found wounded and exhausted in the desert nearthe army camp at Hamala.

John Robinette is also serving out here; a major, commanding "A" company,with the Royal Anglian Regiment, at Hamala.

So it's a small world!Clare Stroud (nee Craven) (Bedales 1945-50)

(Sorrowful editorial footnote: Since this was written, "Eagle" has (alas!) died.)

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Where are ?T. Robin FellgettSarah Garland (nee Hough)Peter HoughBarbara Jones (nee Hardwicke)Mark KidelSally LodgeSimon LloydHoward MartinJoy OakleyAlexis OrloffDavid QuasMyra Round (nee Lynn)dive TaylorJohn UsherwoodPhillada Ware (nee Brown)Mrs E. Clay

(formerly Mrs. Jane Reid (ex-Staff)If you know where any of the above are now living, would you please inform

either Joan King or Jack Allan or the O.B. Chronicle editor (addresses on backpage)?

EngagementNicola Carr to Nicolas Coldstream.

MarriagesDeirdre Dainty to Petty Officer Kevin Charles Groube of the Royal NewZealand Navy on 18th April, 1970.Christopher Fleming to Penelope Sabben-Clare in September, 1969.

BirthsTo Miranda (nee Maxwell-Fyfe) and Michael Cormack on 29th April, 1970,a son, a brother for Helen and David.To Chloe {nee Taunton) and Roy Allman-Ward on 2nd April, 1970, a son,Mark Lucian.To Jean (nee Robinson) and Stephen Lance on 4th April, 1970, a son,Justin.To Susan (nee Jones) and Nicholas MacGregor on 15th May, 1970, on son.To Rachel (nee Hall) and Charles Henderson on 15th March, 1970, a daugh-ter, Catherine Alice.To Penelope (nee Lynex) and John Massey Stewart on llth March, 1970,a daughter.

DeathsDonald Jervis Molteno (1906-11) on 3rd April, 1970, aged 77.Kenneth Roscoe, husband of Janet (nee Gimson) on 10th April, 1970, diedin a road accident near Reading.Hugh Everard Wedgwood, 3rd Baron Wedgwood of Barlaston (1933-38) on25th April, 1970.Lord Hugh Kennedy (1907-13) on 27th April, 1970.Sydney Ernest Franklin (1900-04) on 13th February, 1970.Elliott Lovegood Grant (Peter) Watson (1895-1904) on 21st May, 1970, aged84.Roger Hillyard Ashwell (1940-43) on 3rd May, 1970.

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NEWS IN BRIEFWe are periodicaly reminded that 99 per cent of our students do not sit in, brandishbanners, throw paint, or keep mistresses at public expense. The following recordof Scholastic Sobriety from our Cambridge Correspondent should place the O.B.Under-graduate inextricably in the ranks of the Respectable Majority.Hugh Wills keeps, instead of the horse his scholarship at King's allows, a trendyblue Lotus Elan. He still works incredibly hard.Steven Levinson is still submerged in Arch. & Anth., and is off to Berkeley,California, to develop his interests in structural linguistics as soon as he gets hisFirst.Andrew Floud just loves Cambridge, and entertains the avantgarde with his Ballet.Simon Laughlin is rarely seen without a flambent pipe emerging as a chimney frombetween his Rabelasian locks.Michael Gordon maintains his youth by playing practical jokes on his mates.Details supplied on request. (Not from me—-Chron. Ed.)Claire Oxby smiles benignly as ever, keeping half the Cambridge male populationin anticipation.Arthur Champernowne builds computers in his spare time, gets Firsts, but stillfinds time to escort a young lady over the moors during the vacations.Mark Gilpin continues the tradition of O.B.'s reading Economics at King's.John Levinson designs the sets for Andrew Floud's Ballets.Stephen Uhlig cycles his size-too-large bike round the town, and peers at O.B.'s withinterest.C B .... still reads the Chronicle because he is a mad old boot who shouldbe working instead of writing this old cobblers.Jessica Carter is alive and well, and working very hard. So too is Martin Handley.Jonathan Lubran changes college when the service lapses below that which hisstandards require. He is now an official member of Corpus Christi.David Millman is also with us reading for a degree in Music and Education afterthree years in Manchester.

. . . AND THE REST OF THE NEWS IN BRIEF:Deirdre Dainty who was married in April is going to live in New Zealand whereshe will continue her training to be a nurse.Tanya Drawbridge has been invited to exhibit her work, both sculpture and silver,at Expo '70 in Japan.Judith Merrington is mentioned in the science report in "The Times" of the 7thMarch, 1970, as one of a team studying eating habits of humans.Adam Hogg has built up a prosperous business in France spinning yarns for theknitting industry which he exports all over the world. He has a French wife andtwo sons, Bertrand and Christopher.Susan Reid is now with the editorial staff of Jonathan Cape, "Jackdaw Publica-tions".Jackie Reid is living in California. She was back in England for Christmas.Jane Clay (ex-Staff) is now working for the Wordsworth Rydal Mount Trust,showing the public around. It is later to have residential scholars there and hotelaccommodation.Correction: Philip Fleming is Psychiatric Registrar to Friern Barnet Hospital, notjust Registrar. Incidentally, this appointment was announced in the Chronicle fiveweeks before it was made, so if anyone wants a good job, let us know and we'llannounce it.Since he returned from studying in the States, Mark Kidel has been spending histime with BBC TV inquiring into "work". His reflections will appear on the screensome time in the autumn.

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Hugo Phillipps is in his final year of study in Hong Kong, and may be returning inthe autumn.Adam Reeves was bumped into on 43rd Street in New York recently where he isbusy doing a Master's in E.S.P. (Editorial Note: What in the world is that?) andhoping to convert the Black Power movement to a new revolutionary theory he hasdevised.The Bedales musical tradition has hit the Queen Elizabeth Hall in a rather originalway. Stephen "Unwin" Brown has been giving rhythm with his drums to thecompositions and guitar playing of Toby "Bias" Bpshell. A riotously enthusiasticaudience, which included a phalanx of normally seriously minded O.B.'s, gave theirgroup "Trees" a great send off for their first L.P. "The Garden of Jane Delawney"which has been released on the orange C.B.S. label number (8)63837. The wholeshow was presented by Roy Guest who tactfully left off his old school tie.Amongst those present at the Solemn Occasion mentioned above was AntoniaBurrows who, just before returning to London from Brussels, threw an enormousball at the British Ambassador's residence to celebrate her 21st birthday. B.E.A.kindly provided transport for a large number of Toni's O.B. friends who travelledto Brussels for the festivities. She is now helping to run the group "Trees" (againsee above).Johnny Robinson, exiled from the University of Surrey for a year to study Swissengineering, was last seen on an autobahn with double pneumonia. He was hopingto hitch to Brussels to attend a ball being given by H.E, the U.K. Ambassador toNATO.Alison Ball, hoping to become one of England's unique breed of lady barristers,has been practising by holding court with her friends in Hampstead.Gail Engert, having obtained a Fine Arts degree from East Anglia University, isnow installed at the Walker Gallery in Liverpool.Besides being seen one night dressed as a gorilla in La Grande Place in Brussels,Christopher Irwin has frequently appeared in the capitals of Europe during the lastyear. On one occasion he chaired a Council of Europe Committee in Strasbourgwhich Barbara Allen also attended. He was also a member of the British delega-tion to a defence meeting in Washington which was led by another O.B., Sir FrankRoberts.

Col. A.E. Scothern, C.M.G., D.S.O.One of the most genial and friendly of the pre-1914 staff was "Scaggers", who wasat the school during the four years prior to the first War as science and gamesmaster. He died at his home in Redditch on March 20th at the age of 87. A photoof him is to be found opposite page 79 Vol. 1 of my book A Short Life and a GayOne. I am indebted to the Redditch Indicator for the following: —

"As Commander of the 6th Border Regiment and the Sherwood Forestersduring World War I, he gained distinction, was mentioned in dispatches on fiveoccasions, and was awarded the C.M.G. and D.S.O.

"He was appointed to the then Redditch Secondary School in 1920 . . . Hebrought to his new assignment... a reputation as a soccer player; an Oxford 'Blue',he played for England as an amateur international on four occasions.

"In 1932 the title of the school was changed to the County High School . . .He instigated the house system and numerous developments of school life. Underhis headmastership, students distinguished themselves in academics and sport.

"At the outbreak of World War II he was appointed Divisional Organiserof the Local Volunteer Corps, subsequently commanding the local battalion of theHome Guard, and later the 'N' sector of the Worcestershire Home Guard.

"As President of the Redditch branch, British Legion, he was associated withall aspects of its work for ex-Servicemen over many years."

35

According to the Bedales School Roll, he was also Deputy Lieutenant forthe County of Worcester in 1947 and in Who's Who.

It was my great good fortune to have accompanied him to an O.B. Meetingsome years ago when Peter Eckersley and I took him to the South Downs on theSaturd'ay afternoon. It was the second time he had returned to the school sinceleaving, the first time being just after he was married.

He leaves a widow, a daughter, and two small grandchildren, to whom oursympathies go.

Mrs. Scothern writes: "I well remember how much my husband enjoyedthe week-end when you took him to Bedales. He always loved that school, theatmosphere appealed to him, and the life there definitely influenced his attitudetowards teaching generally. He admired the Chief tremendously. I am glad to feelthat his name is now on a plaque in the Chapel of St. Michael and St. George inSt. Paul's Cathedral. His seat in the chapel was allotted to him in 1968, and nowthe name-plate has been removed from the seat and affixed for ever in St. Paul's,on the walls."

Robert Best (Bedales 1902-10)

BEDALES SOCIETY COMMITTEEAND OFFICIALS FOR 1969-70

Chairman:Vice-President:

Chairman:Hon. Secretary and Treasurer:

Asst. Minutes Secretary:O.B. Meeting Committee:

Editor Bedales Rolland O.B. Chronicle:

Chronicle Treasurer:Address List Editor

(temporary):Head Boy and Girl:

Bedales Association andGrants Trust Fund Hon. Treasurer:

General Committee:(in order of retirement):

J. E. BadleyT. W. SlackJon BarnsleyJack AllanWindward, Tilmore, PetersfieldJenny HiltonNorman Edwards8 Richmond Bridge Mansions,East Twickenham, MiddlesexJoan King (address below)Paul Brown1 Greenlands Cottages,Steep, Petersfield, Hants.T. H. V. WilliamsJoan King"Pennyfold", Steep, PetersfieldTom LodgeRosemary Boughton

Jack WalesbyMichael MorrisJeremy CravenJim WinserJohn ScrubyJeremy BaconJenny DandridgeIris LemareGyles Brandreth

36

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