East Barnet Old Grammarians March 2015 Newsletter

Form V Class of 63 - Reunion Lunch November 2014 at The Sun In Northaw, Potters Bar

by Phil Suttcliffe

"Nice to see you, Jeremy," I said. "It’s Keith," he replied. He wasn’t wrong. Though he might have been, I suppose, given our time of life etc. But no, it was definitely Keith Burridge. He went on to be very nice about it, but right there is one of the reasons why many of us feel nervous about attending class reunions. Yes, you spent much of five years in a room with your classmates, 1958-63 in our case, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to remember their names or anything about them 51 years on. Especially when, on the train journey to Potters Bar you’ve realised that you’ve forgotten to bring the phone numbers of Bas Jones (kind lift provider) and Pete Hall (kind event organiser) and the name and address of the pub we’re lunching at. Your phone’s died anyway so if the train’s late you’ve got no chance and you don’t go to Potters Bar just for the ride, so this could turn out to be frustrating. Good Lady Wife, Gaylee, takes all this frazzled news in her stride (she’s a hospice nurse, you know, she’s seen worse) and suggests we’d just better get to Bas’s on time which we do.

Jaqui Daniels, Alan Williams Keith Burridge, Dianne Conners (Sills), Phil Sutcliffe Still, in the nature of things, class group dynamics, the propensity to gather in small, secure groups of friends and so on, it’s quite likely you hardly exchanged more than a few grunts or squeaks with the majority of your peers back when, so you never knew them at all really. So why would they want to see you, and you want to see them now? Answer may well be, they/you don’t in any specific way, but they/you are quite likely much better equipped to deal with the difficulties, work their way round the socially paralysing effects of egocentricity and get somewhere. But, for instance, I learned about the harrowing, wearing trials and tribulations of one now-woman while at school and similar, though post-school, of two now-men I’d not spoken to that much in all those years at EBGS. Suddenly there they are full-on, real people not just cartoon kids who you know by one or two characteristics, their lives lived and proceeding, whether they’ve come out the other side or still working through it valiantly and unobtrusively, as the case may be. "Respect", as the young people used to say when I was middle-aged.

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Get a few of those every time and something accrues, whatever you may do with it (including forget it, candidly, but then it’ll come up as a fresh revelation next reunion so all to the good). But, aside from these brief bondings and lots of just plain nice chat with people radiating the certain degree of warmth and decency we’d all hope we reciprocate, what caught me this year was sporting nostalgia. Always an all-round big fan and crap player of almost everything, I drifted away through those pages of the calendar wafting into the past as per a 1940's movie when I saw demon bowler Dave Smith hit me on the head with a bouncer. I fell down presuming I was unconscious but I wasn’t, and not only crafty inside-forward John Danter (a reunion debut) but powerhouse centre-forward Rickie George. I remember him slamming it into the back of the net on Cat Hill one day and then, rather later, playing for Hereford in the FA Cup, spinning and scoring in the massive non-Leaguer upset of First Division (oh yes they were!) Newcastle United.

Gaylee Suttcliffe, Geoff Painter Iwona (John Danter's partner), Barry Jones, Andy Sharp

Suzi Jones (Barry Jones' wife), Iwona, Barry Jones John Danter, Rick George

Dave Smith, Peter Hall, John Curran, Pam Hall Anthony Bushell, Colin Daniels However, then I discovered what I should have realised donkeys’ years ago, that John had co-written the Bucks Fizz Eurovision smash "Making Your Mind Up" along with no end of other hits and as a working-lifelong music journo I’d seen his name all over and never thought it could be East Barnet John. Well, we said "Hello" so that’s a start to a bemused conversation on down the road again (to quote Willie Nelson),

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should he come again. It looked promising at the end of the soirée when he wandered off from Bas’s snooker room to jam with Andy Sharpe’s current combo. Andy, at school when we were 13-14, played Green Onions on the organ and Howlin’ Wolf’s Smokestack Lightnin’ on the school Dansette and set me off into the dirty music which turned out to be my (vicarious) living as an interviewer, critic and so on. We missed our beloved form teacher/history teacher, Terry Hearing, who, in his mid-80s, said the journey had become too wearing to enjoy. We missed beloved headmaster "Sam" Johnson who’d died since our last Reunion, in his 90s. We missed Mark Cowling, one of my old group of friends, who’s now too constrained by the effects of MS to make the trip from Middlesbrough. We missed a fair few others who just didn’t seem to be in the country on the day, all for happy reasons I think. As at every gathering of our generation’s middle class, blessings were counted a good deal. We grew up with free education, the Welfare State, and the Beatles! Who could ask for anything more? Leaving Bas’s later in the evening, I passed another old friend. "Bye, Andy," I said. "See you in five years, Phil," said Alan Williams, who fortunately may not have heard what I said, on occasions one of the advantages of our time of life. Well, I think I got away with it. Other photos are at https://www.btcloud.bt.com/?shareObject=20ed5c39-c538-1589-0200-339d5f63e032

EBOG FC REUNION Sunday June 7th 2015, from 12.30.

We’re looking forward to seeing many of those who played for EBOG FC (and their families) from 1948 to around 1980. Others who are interested are also very welcome. There will be a ‘Vintage Vets’ game and we already nearly have enough volunteers for one team, so email me at rosdelabertauche@yahoo.co.uk if you would like to be included. A cold buffet will be available from 1pm. To read more about the Reunion you can go to a web page which we’ve created as an ingenious way of collecting in a few pounds to cover the food costs; to update everybody with the latest news on the Vintage Vets game and, of course, to list those who have said they will come. The web page is best reached by going to www.ebog.co.uk/football and clicking on ‘Make a Donation’ in the top right hand corner. It will take you to the EBOG Virgin Money Giving page. In the centre of this page you can click on a link to the EBOG FC REUNION page. No obligation to donate, of course, you can just use it to catch up with Reunion news. Hope to see you in June Ros Bertauche

LETTERS

Dear Brian, I did not attend your School but was in the First Barnet Guides from 1956 to 1960. I would love to be in touch with the non-identical twins who were also Guides around that time, Pam and Christine, who went to EBGS. I have so many happy memories of going camping with them. I wish I could remember their surname. They lived close to Foulds Primary School and I lived in Arkley, but we used to meet up weekly in Church House for Guides on Friday night. Thanks Gill Shepherd 94 Highbury Hill, London N5 1AT gill@gillshepherd.com Tel: +44-207-354-2705 Mbl: +44-7989-394042 Hello Roy, Many thanks for the Newsletter which has just arrived. I have some rather sad news about a classmate, Alistair Holmes, who had a fall (back in April I believe) and broke his neck. His daughter, Alison, found his computer and managed to access his address

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book and contact some of his friends. She continues to update us on his progress. At one time they were told he was not expected to survive but he was moved to Stoke Mandeville who were more hopeful. Since then progress has been positive although slow. He is having physio to help him sit up and has been able to get into a wheel chair. He has recently had an operation on his trachea which I believe is to close it up so that he can begin to eat and drink normally again. Alison is extremely positive and has done so much to help her Mum and Dad and really wants to hear from all his old friends. Alison’s address is alisonholmes38@btinternet.com so if anyone remembers Alistair please get in touch. It sounds as though he is still mentally alert although frustrated by being incapacitated. It is a lesson and example to us all as we battle with old age, that others have even greater battles and he is a wonderful example. Alistair was a Borehamwood lad of the 1950-55 era. We got in touch through EBOG and have reminisced about the area and particularly the local pubs many of which have sadly closed down. Regards Tony Cox tonyandpatcox@gmail.com Update from Dave Northwood: I went to see Alistair in Stoke Mandeville and found him in surprisingly good spirits, all things considered. I am told by Alistair's daughter that he has recently had several worrying chest infections but thankfully seems to have overcome them.

Pam Coxen's Spanish Diary

Since the announcement by the British government that the winter fuel allowance will be discontinued for British pensioners residing abroad, the subject has been high on the topical conversation list for quite some time. Open a local newspaper, listen to our radio or overhear chatter in the coffee bar, it is either this or the cost of electricity or boring old weather.....just the time of year I suppose. As I scribble, my husband is driving me to the town of Vera to visit our dentist. The car is swaying somewhat as we are battling an 80 mph gale which has been ongoing

for nearly a week now, affecting computers, telephone lines and inflicting damage of all sorts from power surges. This sort of weather is quite normal here. Last March a cyclone took a few domed pool covers for rides, leaving them maybe a garden or two away from their bases. Tornadoes are not unknown; I have seen one of these whirling over the sea. So we have our contrasts in weather. This morning the barometer on the beach read 3 degrees at 8.30 am which will mean it is well below freezing a little further inland. This is cold for houses built to withstand the heat, relying on the good old log fire to heat the whole house in winter. Spain imports 95% of its oil and it is not really an option for domestic heating. Gas is delivered regularly throughout the year by lorry on a weekly basis, but is becoming less popular because of the size and weight of the canisters which need storage and maneuverability. That leaves us with electricity. A recent announcement by our electricity company noted that, since much of our power comes from wind farms, due to such a peaceful, windless month around Christmas, which for us was quite wonderful, they had great difficulty in producing the quantity of electricity required. As a result, our next bill at the end of February will show a further increase in price of 3%. Reasonable, one might think under the circumstances, but this follows the largest talking point of all, the horrendous bills we have all just received for the combined months of December and January. Meters are usually read and billed monthly, but at the end of December no bill arrived. Christmas holidays, we all thought, but the downside of this is that our charges are tiered. There are just so many units at a lower rate. If you exceed this amount the next tier is more expensive, and so on. Most of us manage to stay within the first tier for one month, but over a period of two months we are soon up to the third tier, so that is very annoying, but it does not end there! At the beginning of January the overall cost of electricity was raised, so instead of December being charged at the rate for 2014, it fell into the new higher charge....not a great deal one can really do about this.

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Here is a family group photo taken last November. From left my younger son David, older son Michael, me, Sarah, and my grandson also Michael, Sarah is grandson Michael's partner and just presented me with my fourth great-grandchild. Maybe even more costly than winter is keeping cool in summer, many British people return to Britain for this reason, but others cannot afford to

keep a home running in both countries. Most houses have air conditioning these days, but run by electricity. The good old fashioned fan I believe is more economical, but when like last summer, we had temperatures in the 90's sometimes going into 100's between August and the middle of October, there are times when one's hand must reach for the switch to survive Believe it or not the highest temperature for the year was recorded in the first week of October, 105° I believe. I can well understand when sitting in the afternoon sunshine in mid-January, that the British government feels we do not need our winter fuel supplement, but I think if a complete analysis were to be done of temperatures and fuel costs over a 12 month period, the overall cost to the pensioners would not vary very much from one country to another. When I arrived at my dentist he was in turmoil, as the gales had caused power surges that had affected his equipment, telephones and computers. He was no doubt insured, but very much inconvenienced. Our health services here are still in my opinion the best, despite all the cut backs. My dentist no longer has to look into my mouth to tell me what treatment I require, I enter a small room that would not look out of place at the space center, a machine encircles my head looking deep into my gums and everywhere, and then my dentist within 5 minutes, reads its findings and I go off to another 'Tardis' to have my teeth and gums cleaned before going home smiling, all for 110€. Roll on springtime, although the scenery is so beautiful just now. I walk on the beach at 8am with my dog Roxie (3 layers of woollies), the sun coming up over the sea, and if I turn around, I see a backdrop of the snow topped mountains of the Sierra Cabrera, where many, I expect, will be enjoying themselves on the ski slopes just now. Pam Coxen (1949-1953) catherine.capper@gmail.com

LETTER FROM CONNECTICUT from Valerie Kent (née Dodd) (1949-1954)

I’m not going to look at what I wrote this time last year because it would be inhibiting, but I do know

we have not had a winter like the one we are now experiencing since 1978. Boston has so much snow they have nowhere to dump it except the harbor. Cars parked in the streets before the snow arrived are buried and no one is sure which huge pile of snow contains cars and which are just snow banks. Connecticut has had it slightly better, but not much. We have had more snow this February than anyone can remember. I have spent over a $100 on snow removal so I can get my car out and my sidewalks clear. The roof is still snow-covered and the gutters are ice-filled and look like they might break down at any time. God help us when it all begins to melt. The money I spent waterproofing my basement last Spring will be a complete waste. Nothing will be able to withstand the flood of melting snow that will come seeping in through the walls.

But, weather aside, it’s not too bad and I manage to get out every day to go to the local Animal Control Office (otherwise known as the Dog Pound) to take out our five dogs and clean out their pens. Two of them are from a fire which happened three weeks ago when their owners, newly moved in to what they said was their dream property, decided to have a fire in the fireplace of their living room the night of our first big snowstorm. In the night the father of the family thought he smelled smoke and found the chimney was alight and blazing. The family of four, with two dogs, one cat, and a horse (fortunately in a barn on the property), quickly evacuated in the zero degree temperatures of the early morning, and they are now living

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in a motel until they decide what to do. The dogs and cat came to stay with us at the Pound. Three weeks later the dogs are getting really fed up and becoming increasingly difficult to manage. The cat is a Siamese

and seems less stressed. The latest news is that someone has offered them a trailer (caravan) to put on the property so they can stay there until the house is repaired.

The other three dogs in the Pound are strays that no one wants to adopt. One of them has been with us since August. The two that have been there the longest have settled in for the long haul and become quite at home. Everybody loves them, but nobody wants them! The other dog is a psycho in my opinion and needs tranquilizers, but he’s a pit bull puppy and maybe he will mellow out later.

This summer I plan to take a road trip across country to Minneapolis with my son and his family. Compared to some of my fellow EBOG compatriots in the U.S. and other countries around the world, that is small potatoes, I know, but it is something I have always wanted to do --not just go to Minneapolis-- but to go from coast to coast, east to west, and from the border of Canada south to New Orleans. A woman traveling alone and driving all those great distances is not particularly clever, so I have to find people willing to go with me on these trips, maybe next year and the year after.

What else is going on in the U.S.? Well, the international news does not look very good from my perspective and one wonders where it will all end. Also, whether we are the cause of a lot of this disruption and, if so, what can we, as a country, do to ease tensions? I thought

that Obama was smart enough to keep us out of wars, but maybe it is too difficult for even a very bright man like him. I feel like I am living in a parallel universe here with my parochial concerns for the dogs and cats of Cheshire, and whether the roads will be cleared enough so I can go out, and do I have enough groceries to keep myself alive in case I am snowed in, while people the world over are being shot and bombed, and others are drowning in the Mediterranean trying to escape war. Life was always complicated, I suppose, but now it is beyond understanding. So much hate, so little love.

On that note I will shut up and leave the philosophizing to those who know all the answers.

IN MEMORIAM Please send Newsletter contributions to Editor Brian Pritchard brianfpr@roadrunner.com or snail-mail to 1626 Wellington Place, Westlake Village CA 91361, USA

SUE BARRY (née Bell) 1946-2014 from Roger Jones

Sue Barry, a pupil at the school from 1957 to 1961, died peacefully at her home in Swanage, Dorset, on September 24th after a courageous battle with Motor Neurone Disease. She was 68. Life did not always deal Sue a good hand, but in the face of much adversity she always came up smiling and in spite of her own problems had a wonderful capacity to care for others.

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Susan Dorothy Bell lived her early years in New Barnet, left East Barnet Grammar School when she was 15 and by the time she was 17 she had married Paul and given birth to her first child, Shaun. Two more quickly followed – Mark and Louise - and a fourth, Rick, came later, but the marriage subsequently failed. In 1979, she married Doug Barry and after a spell in Barnet, they moved in 1988 to Swanage where Sue had spent family holidays as a child. Her days there were soon filled when Louise and Mark’s families moved close by, but in addition to family responsibilities, Sue found time to run a toddler group, be a professional birth partner, become a qualified Reiki healer, and also supported people battling drugs and alcohol. Nor did she forget those she knew in her younger days. Many former colleagues at East Barnet Grammar have reason to be grateful to her for her compassion at difficult times, and she was the prime mover for the organisation of school reunions for the Year of ’57 which attracted old classmates from far and wide to a number of get-togethers at Alan Drive. In 2012, Sue was diagnosed with MND. But though her life was changed forever as the disease gradually took its toll, she not only had the courage to meet that challenge head-on and squeeze as much out of every day as she could, but she continued to put others before herself and retained her wonderful sense of humour, often poking fun at her own expense. It was humbling to witness and, so, too, was the constant love and support she received from the indefatigable Doug and her family (in addition to four children, there were six grandchildren and a great-granddaughter). The fight Sue knew she could not win ended at home in September and she was buried in God’s Acre Cemetery in Corfe Castle on October 17th after a moving service of remembrance and celebration in the Church of St Edward, King and Martyr where Sue and Doug had renewed their wedding vows earlier in the year. Her coffin was pink – her favourite colour – and the mourners, including many former classmates, were asked to wear an item of pink clothing. The service ended with Tina Turner’s “Simply The Best”. How appropriate. Sue was not only the best; she was also brave and selfless, an inspiration to us all, and a truly remarkable human being. In her memory, Sue’s youngest son Rick, and his wife Mandy, are undertaking the Three Peaks Challenge this coming September to raise funds for the Motor Neuron Disease Association. The challenge entails climbing Ben Nevis, Scafell Pike and Snowdon – the highest mountains in Scotland, England and Wales respectively – in the space of 24 hours. It is Doug’s fervent wish that those who remember Sue might sponsor Rick and Mandy. You can do so by going on-line and visiting justgiving.com/three-peaks2015.

Len Walsh

Len's daughter, Lindsay, advises that he passed away on the 13th of December 2014. Len was an outstanding cricketer and footballer at the School and later for EBOG. Dave Allen (1938-1941), who recently celebrated his 90th birthday, recounts: In the middle of 1947 Len Walsh was at a dance in the School Hall organized by the Old Students Association. During the evening Dave and Len met with Frank Sergeant (c1937-40).They chatted and decided that they would like to form a football club.

After a few meetings together (and with others) they requested a meeting with Mr. Clayton, the then Headmaster. At the meeting the trio told him of their idea. They were surprised how encouraging he was, particularly as they had requested the use of the School pitch at Ludgrove, also the goalposts, nets and corner flags which were stored in the Groundsman's wooden hut, at the same time hoping that they could use the hut (as a changing room) with a cold tap outside to wash under! Their requests were promptly granted and after numerous meetings with other Old Students, discussions and appointments E.B.O.G.FC was officially formed in 1948.

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During the early days of the Club a "friendly" game between the Probables and the Possibles was organized as this would help the Selectors to pick a 1st XI. During the game Len Walsh (a probable) went up to head a ball at the same time as Dave Allen (a possible). There was a clash of heads, Len was knocked out and Dave, with a bloody mouth, was stumbling about looking for his front tooth which was soon found in the bone behind Len's left ear! Len was a regular attendee at the Retirees meetings (Advert! We meet on the last Wednesday of each month at the White Hart in South Mimms). During one meeting Len mentioned his time in the Royal Navy during the 2nd World War. It was getting near the end of the War when he was drafted to the Far East - I believe it was to Kuala Lumpur. After a while he lost his spectacles and was therefore unable to perform his duties as a Storeman. He was sent to Sydney, Australia, to obtain new glasses. He spent the rest of his war service fighting the waves on Bondi Beach.

Jack Nicholls

from Ken Moore (1938-1943)

Jack Nicholls passed away on 22nd December. He had been in a nursing home near Haywards Heath suffering from Alzheimer’s and internal troubles for some time. Eventually his wife Edna (née Berriman) had to sell the house in Haywards Heath and move to a smaller house in Wokingham which was close to one of her daughters. Jack went into a nursing home in the vicinity. Jack started at East Barnet School in Sept. 1938 and I started there at the same time. When I left the school I went to Northampton Poly to study engineering and after that I got called up for National Service and on completion I joined The Old Students Association. I became a member of the Entertainments Committee and soon became the secretary. We used to meet in the back room of The Cat and organised many activities including monthly classes in the School Hall, dancing classes once per week, walks, coach tours etc. We were involved in the annual review which was written and produced by Rex Faulkes and Jack Nicholls. There were rehearsals and the dress rehearsal on the Monday followed by the full staging for the next five nights in front of audiences. On a personal note, early on in my time as Entertainments Secretary, there was a girl on the Committee, Sheila Carnt, and she lived over on the other side of the park. I offered her a lift home on my motor bike. We celebrated our diamond wedding anniversary last March.

Patricia Kelly (née Montague)

From Roy Bertauche I received a call this evening from Audrey Howson (née Foster) reporting the death in late January of

a school contemporary, Patricia Kelly (nee Montague). She thought that others in her year (1943-48) would be interested to know.

She had no information or obituary to add.

Brian Robert Kemp (1949-1956) Brian passed away on the 1st of November, 2014. He is survived by his wife, children and grandchildren. In his later years he suffered from Alzheimer's Disease. In addition to family and friends, his funeral was attended by many of his fellow Freemasons. He left instructions for no flowers, requesting instead a donation to Cancer Research UK, a charity that was close to his heart following his own brush with cancer many years ago. As a result £1135 was raised.

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Roni Hermony's Israeli Diary Winter-Spring 2015

A few days ago I received an email from Brian, our friendly editor, reminding me that tempus fugit (not in those words) and I need to put fingers to keys. Age: I had a brilliant subject for my article with all the paragraphs worked out and I didn't write it down because it came to me while I was busy and "pouf" – there it was – gone! So here is another little missive. I am training my ex-boss; I got the job for him, he was jobless and 6 months younger than me, from

my previous position in Optiplas, the factory on my kibbutz, to do my job. He will get more hours (more money) because I did a personal "stock-take" in December and having, in December of the previous year taken this part time job, I decided to retire, to stop work completely. Since then I am still trying. I have this character flaw that everything I do has to be done properly/thoroughly and the people I work with get used to this and take advantage of it - and I don't know how to say, "No, I'm not coming in." So two months on I am still working but today I told them I will not be coming in - tomorrow is another day. I am at home finishing my coffee at my leisure this cloudy

morning, in my dressing gown. Having written the above I will confess my husband laughs at me and says: "Story of your life" and thereby hangs a tale. Life on the kibbutz, as I have written before, is dynamic and we, the members, wanted to change a lot of aspects of the-day-to-day operations because some of the rules and regulations just didn't go our way. For example: there was a rule that when you reached the age of forty you no longer served Friday night dinner in the communal dining room to the rest of the members, a very intense and tiring duty. This was an organized affair with white tablecloths on the tables which were laid with a place for every person, by family, each family knowing exactly where they will sit at the rows and rows of long tables. There would be at least 300 diners. There was a small service during which the serving team would use the time to prepare food (ready in heat in the communal kitchen) in bowls on the trolleys. When the last words: "Shabbat Shalom" were said the team went out of the kitchen with trolleys loaded with the bowls (steaming hot), each bowl was calculated for 4 people so we are talking ten or twelve trolley loads just for soup, three levels to each trolley for each stage of the meal for all the people present. Potatoes or rice (for example), a green vegetable in bowls and meat on trays: chicken or schnitzel – maybe meatballs. BUT at the age of 35 or thereabouts I went on a course to introduce self-service into the dining room. Then after I had the new self-service up and running for a year or so I went to work in Optiplas, as I mentioned in previous articles. The dining room served breakfast, lunch and supper but Friday night was still Friday night and, although there was no longer a service, there was still a special meal and still a special team so there I was: a team leader, still "shlapping" food containers at age 55 plus. Brian would say c'est la vie. (Ed. note: I would never say this, Roni. I've forgotten all my high school German) I used to say C'est la guerre de ma vie! More than a few years on, I was asked to leave Palram because the new boss didn't want a secretary. It was one hand pushes the other pulls. He asked, "Please leave but, before you go, computerize the filing system", which I did. I then worked from home translating the E.R.P. rules from Hebrew to English for the new factory in the States. I decided to leave Gaaton (the next job) because the people lied to me about the job but "before you go please computerize the filing system", which I did. There was another even shorter one in between. ‘Nuff said. I can hear Yigal laughing in my head "story of your life!" The best story is Optiplas, a memory ground in stone. 1st of July 2010. I had been working in Optiplas 9 and a half years as a purchasing agent. I had built a filing system, from scratch, online and hardcopy and I had built up contacts all over the world. The Maintenance Dept. enjoyed my services more than any other department and everything was running super smooth.

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Came an invitation that we do not refuse: to speak to the personnel dept. "You have reached retirement age; your services are no longer required. You can leave today but you can also work till the end of the year and if you decide to stay would you please train somebody in your present position?" That same day (earlier) I had received news that one of my closest friends had just died of cancer and her funeral was that day. I mumbled something to the effect that I would give them an answer and got out of the room. I could not concentrate and after lunch Yigal I went to Herzlyia to the funeral. On the way we talked it over. Yigal had already decided he was retiring that year after the summer season – he was an agricultural worker – big tractors and so on. I decided I would be graceful and work till the end of the year and train somebody else to do the job I really, really enjoyed. Now Yigal is really laughing because history is repeating itself yet again with all the calls I keep

getting to come back and "put out the fires" in Tractoram. Complete change of subject. In a recent email from Brian he sent me this charming picture of a young Brian with his children. I believe I mentioned in one of my articles that because I got married in Israel my parents who came to my wedding also came on our "honeymoon". It was the most disastrous affair and not only that but we got married a year before the 6 Days War. All the places that my new husband insisted on taking us were dangerously close to the former border over which the Syrians used to take potshots at the kibbutzim for fun. This reminded me of a picture taken with all of us

at a spring – not yet part of Israel - that we visited. I am second on the left, nineteen years old. It was taken with a Russian camera, a Kiev, that Yigal bought when he finished his obligatory army service in 1961 and the picture of all of us is a timeframe photo from across the Banias spring. Different "selfies" in those days.

I started writing at the beginning of the week and today, Thursday I can total a very full week of sandstorms, thunderstorms and lots of work in Tractoram. My roses have finished their winter blooms so I pruned them right back for the summer. Cut away all the dead wood and now they look quite stark but they will come back as good as always. Some of them are 40 years old. One almost died but I persuaded it to live for me and now it reaches two meters with masses of huge blooms after a full season. I do a short prune at the end of the summer and a full treatment at the end of January, weather permitting. Full winter here. People think Israel is warm all the year round. I remember my sister came to visit in December, years ago and brought shorts and

t-shirts. Needless to say she wore my clothes all the week she was here. Eilat can be warmer than here but the Airport was closed this week because of the sand storms. The temperatures here are very low in the winter, lower than the Greek Islands or any other country this side of the Mediterranean. So I sit here in my Uggs, or the Israeli equivalent thereof, and write to you all wishing you well.

Till next time. Roni Hermony Israel

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James Gilman's (1944-1947) Memoirs continued from the December 2014 Newsletter

There were two especially lovely destinations on forays from Port of Spain. One was Manzanilla Bay on the east coast of Trinidad, a beautiful, deserted stretch of golden sand from the surface of which could be mined exquisite pink shells fit to enhance the glamorous neckline of any mermaid lolling beneath the gently rolling waves. And then there was Mount St. Benedict, an isolated kingdom of the spirit close by the island's capital administered by monks of the Benedictine order. Access to this outpost of Heaven was via the hell of navigating a succession of hairpin bends, whose sheer cliff-face drop to the receding terrain below ensured a steady stream of prayers ascending to the monks sequestered at its peak. Dad must, I think, have been as terrified of these bends as we were, given that his only previous driving experience consisted of untutored

meanderings around Tsingtao; but with everyone's eyes closed at the most crucial moments we managed to get to the top, and then back down again, and repeated the experience on numerous occasions. The atmosphere of this refuge from everyday life's challenges and confrontations was so peaceful, and its liquid golden honey dripped on to hot buttered toast so divine, as to ensure that our worship at its shrine took place with religious frequency. Blue Basin, a perfect rock pool with its own small waterfall situated on the east of the island was another sanctuary just waiting to seduce the Gilman swimmers (who did not include me, needless to say) while the nearby beach, fringed with palm trees

and echoing with the murmur of pounding surf while blessedly free from the pounding music polluting today's beaches, proved an ideal place for architecturing sandcastles, burying comatose sisters, and digging the world's longest tunnel from Trinidad down to China. There were also walks with my dad, just the two of us enjoying the tranquility of the Queen's Park Savannah, an oasis of greenery opposite my school where, in the cool of the evening, we would savour the scents and sounds of a tropical day winding down, in the closest companionship that I was ever to enjoy with my father. One especially memorable event was a summer holiday on neighbouring Tobago, some 20 minutes' away from Trinidad by air but an overnight trip by sea. An already exciting prospect was destined to generate an overwhelming rush of bewitched incredulity within me when, in the course of that 10 days' holiday, I came face to face for the first time with that essence of feminine allure: a set of ten scarlet-painted toe-nails. They were embedded upon the dainty sandaled feet of the most exquisitely beautiful creature to swim into my view in the whole of my nearly 10 years: the wife of an oil executive friend of my parents with whom we'd been invited to lunch at their exclusive hotel on the edge of the sea. I'd never realised that ladies did such things, and was moved to my very core at the sight. So unique an experience was this in those days that the next occasion upon which I was to witness such a display was some dozen or so years later in a bed-sit in Earls Court, London, when it was my own toe-nails that twinkled roguishly at me in all their ruby glory one morning after the night before -- but that belongs to a later episode in my life-story. My mother and I flew to Tobago while my father travelled overnight by sea along with our car, leaving my sister Joan to follow by air at a later date. Though only some 20 minutes' long, the flight was far noisier and less comfortable than my only previous experience in the air, travelling from the store in London to the North Pole to see Santa soon after our arrival from China. None of my later flights in various parts of the world have served to convince me that air travel has become more attractive than on that memorable Christmas outing back in 1937. We stayed in the home of the Salvation Army Corps Officer -- herself away on holiday -- in Scarborough, Tobago's small capital. The upstairs flat had one unique advantage: it overlooked the open-air cinema next door so that we were able, by perching on the window sill, to watch a different film every night for free, all thoughts of Salvationist sin conveniently vanquished in the face of such providential good fortune. We even saw my favourite film, 'Stowaway', starring my favourite film star, Shirley Temple, who had a miraculous escape from Chinese thugs whom she scornfully harangued in perfect Mandarin, escaping to America on a ship just like the 'Comerin', though much more glamorous and full of wealthy Americans singing love songs to reach other at the drop of a top hat. Or perhaps they had also travelled on the 'Comerin' together with their stowaway friends, with us children being kept conveniently out of their way so as not to

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interrupt their singing. Tobago was great fun, with excursions into the jungle areas which Trinidad didn't have interspersed with forays around the town on my own, in which I emulated my 'Swallows & Amazon's' heroes' and heroines' penchant for map-making by carefully drawing my own map of the town, with emphasis placed on the sewage drain outlets pouring their raw contents into the side gullies paralleling the roads. I'd never come across such a fascinating sight before, and marked each exit carefully in red for the benefit of future explorers (or health inspectors). Once again, as in olden days back in London's Highbury, I had my family all to myself free of work and other cares, and we enjoyed picnicking, sea-siding, jungling, and games just like families were supposed to do, at least in the books I'd read (other than 'Scotty' of World War One's 'North Sea Patrol' who, in his Sopwith Camel, bravely forewent such civilian activities so as to make England a land fit for heroes like himself). But I did miss Henry. Joan had to return home earlier than us, as she had to go back to work. We drove her to the airport, where she boarded the single-engined plane. It wouldn't start. The pilot climbed down to the ground, borrowed a screwdriver from a colleague, wandered over to the engine, and started unscrewing bits. After looking at these and shaking his head, he screwed them back on again. Following a few minutes' thoughtful contemplation of the front of the plane, he shook his head again, sighed, and climbed back into his cockpit. To our surprise as much as to his, the engine started and the plane took off, with one white face appearing at a side window, to which we frantically waved encouragement. We waited anxiously for the next couple of hours until a phone call from Joan said they had arrived back in Trinidad, eventually, but she was never going to fly in a plane again. Nor did she -- at least, for the next 10 years. We travelled back by sea, much to my relief and probably that of our parents also Life continued after our holiday as it had done before, with school being a major element of my daily life. Latin was my best subject but one which, sadly, was not taught at any of my subsequent schools in England. Maths was especially interesting, as our teacher had a complete set of three-dimensional mathematical models -- globes, pyramids, cubes, and the like -- which he'd hurl at any pupil giving what he considered to be a stupid answer. As a result, though we didn't learn a great deal of maths in his class we certainly learned how to move quickly, sharpen our physical responses, and erect desk lids at lightning speed whenever a missile strike was sighted. Geography was mainly an ongoing lesson on the nations of the British Empire, which nations, we were shown on a globe, were all coloured red and whose Empire, we were reassured, was one upon which the sun never set. Perhaps our teacher should have studied a little more History in her degree course for the sun, even then, was beginning to cast its dying shadow over the red bits on the world map. English seemed to be divided between the reading of books and the learning of poems by heart, and a lot of what was called on the timetable 'Copy', which consisted of endlessly copying individual letters from printed examples on each line on every page, to ensure we were able to write with a legible hand. As a left-hander who therefore had to push instead of pull his hand across the page, I found this more of a drag than most of my fellows and -- literally -- blotted my copy-book on many an occasion. Science was great fun, with plant and animal life being enthusiastically exterminated and bodies then cut up; Divinity (as Religious Education was labelled) was full of Bible stories and moral teachings, as befitted a Church of England school; and P E was a glorious mêlée of swinging on ropes, chasing each other around the gym, tightrope walking, rolling on to and over various parts of our bodies, and creating a general mayhem greatly enjoyed by us all. Strange, then, that this subject above all others was to subsequently prove my downfall at school later in England. Our cook, Lottie, had come with us from our earlier residence, and was an exemplary shopper, cook, and general help around the house, who had but one failing. As a cook she was aware that the products inside a tin of food -- such as corn kernels -- were a guide as to that tin's contents. She would therefore refuse ever to buy any tins of the 'Uncle Ben' brand (mainly rice dishes) because, with a picture on the label of a Negro beaming away in ecstasy, she was always suspicious as to just what its contents might contain. Strange that she never had the same problem with 'Green Giant' tinned products. Before meal times Lottie would go round the dining table ensuring that the little cans under each table leg were filled with paraffin, this being the only way of preventing ants from over-running our meals. We all slept under mosquito nets, of course, and for a brief while our lives were considerably enlivened by a monkey which was given to us by kind-hearted Chief Petty Officer Catchpole, my old friend from the 'Avila Star', with the most fun arising out of the fact that whenever dad went near it to feed it, the monkey would

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consume his fingers as though they were its native bananas. After a week of this, monkey went back to the CPO with a note thanking him for his kindness. 'but the animal was as yet insufficiently civilised'. James Gilman james.gilman@btinternet.com

Extracts from The Diaries 23 - 11 - 1951 to 2 - 2 - 1952 of Allan Clayton First Headmaster of East Barnet School (1936-1960)

transcribed by Brian Warren (1951-1953)

Mike Brazier recounts: The situation regarding the "Clayton Diaries" is that some years ago I discovered them in a shed in what - was then - EBS Upper School near Ludgrove. I had them in my possession for a number of years and found them fascinating. It shows the many moods of Mr. Clayton and his many difficulties in being the first Headmaster of, what is now called, East Barnet School. I quoted a number of extracts in periodic Old Students circulars and many Old Students expressed interest in them. Eventually Brian Warren took over the researching of the Diaries and posted them in our Circular. A couple of years ago I approached the current Headmaster, Nick Christou, suggesting that the proper place of these, in my view, historic records was at the School. He agreed and the 130+ School exercise books are now back in the School's archives. On the 23rd of November there was a telephone call from Barclays Bank East Barnet regarding the Application for letters of credit for the upcoming winter sports trip to Switzerland. On the 28th the HM gave

a talk on Switzerland. On the 4th he ordered the currency for the trip. During the following week he made further arrangements with the Bank He also arranged for the exchange of ski boots between Malcolm Butson and Brian Kaupe. In addition he arranged to collect ski boots from John Wrighton and distribute them to Bob Fraser. On the 15th of December Xmas dance tickets were 4/6 in advance and 5/- at the door. Two hundred attended. There were wonderful decorations with an illuminated Christmas tree and a snowbound house in the wilds on the stage. Three pages of the attendees' names followed. On the 17th the Laboratory Assistant was absent as he had to attend Court for riding on the footpath.

Mr A. J. Legge, M Sc. was awarded an M. A. in Education at the University of London. Terry Eastwell donated a Christmas tree for Xmas Form parties all of which were attended by the HM. At two of them Messrs. Hill, Wankling, Legge, Craig, Sheldon and Thurman performed a ballet dancing item. (Ed. note: I would have to have seen this to believe it!) Sixty one senior boys and girls did Christmas postal work. On the 3rd of January Mr Clayton, Miss Handy and Miss Watchorn left Victoria Station at 1pm en route for Crans Sur-Sierre, Switzerland with 31 pupils, his son David, and two old boys, Peter Mills and John Wrighton. Mr Sheldon, who had been spending Christmas with his parents at Wiesbaden, joined the party at Basel. The holiday lasted until January 15th. On the 14th of January the school re-opened. The above-mentioned teachers and the pupils returned from Switzerland on the 16th. On the 15th F. W. J. Pargeter was appointed school Vice-Captain. M. Hills and A. D. Walsh were appointed Prefects. Vernon Jones was awarded L.R.A.M. at the Royal Academy of Music. On the 17th the HM completed the accounts for the Swiss visit and paid in surplus cash. On the 19th the Old Scholars Association held a fancy dress ball. There were some excellent costumes with Mr. Clayton as School Captain. It was not a very popular function with only about sixty attendees

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On the 23rd John Wrighton had a minor operation in Charing Cross Hospital to repair a tendon in his leg that he had damaged in a skiing accident. On the 24th The HM attended the opening of Burlington Infants School in East Barnet. 150 chairs were borrowed from the School. Janet Floodgate under her stage name of Janet Karel was cast as Principal Girl in Prince Littler's pantomime, "Babes In The Woods" at the Grand Opera House in Leicester. On the 1st of February the HM accompanied three girls from Upper VI Modern to see Le Malade Imaginaire well performed at Latymer School, Edmonton by La Troupe Française, organized by Miss Peggy Stirling. On the 2nd of February EBOG David Jenkins visited Mr Clayton's house to return literature on Switzerland. He had abandoned his plans to visit the country because of the new currency restriction. (Ed. note: In those days absurd and unfair currency restrictions allowed us, as best as I can recall, £10 per annum for personal spending abroad. However, during that same period, the much-publicised Lord and Lady Docker, and other British tycoons were living in luxury on the French Riviera, somehow managing to do this on ten quid a year!

Another flaw in this restriction was that it was left to the bank issuing the currency, to record it in the traveller’s passport. However, those such as myself, who worked in a bank and who knew someone in the Foreign Exchange Department, were able to buy currency without having it recorded. Also, there were Currency Brokers who, for a fee, would collect sterling in the UK from travellers and arrange for them to collect the equivalent amount in the coin of the countries that they visited) On the 6th Miss Gotell informed the HM of the death of King George VI. In the evening of the 6th the HM and Mr Sheldon gave an account of the visit to Switzerland and arranged an exhibition, attended by about 120 parents, pupils and friends. From the 15th of December to the 9th of February Mr Clayton caned boys for being sent out of class, interrupting a lesson, disobedience and deflating a boy's bicycle tyre. (Ed. note: I remember this last incident well. As he frequently prefaced his announcements at Assembly, Mr Clayton thundered, "I had to cane a bie yesterday", and then continued, "for deflating another bie's bicycle tyre. His only excuse was that he did it at his other school". This began a standing joke among my peer group. Whenever one of us committed a minor or major transgression we would declaim in a stentorian monotone, "I did it at my other school". Around the same time, AC added another catch phrase to our lexicon. One day at Assembly he announced, "Some bies have been coming to lunch", now raising his voice, "chewing gum". Not only have they been chewing gum", his voice now raised to a crescendo, "but also sticking it under their plates!" There was muffled laughter from the back of the hall whereupon he became apoplectic. "You bies at the back come forward", he bellowed. Nobody moved. "Don't stand there like wooden stumps, come forward", he commanded, foaming at the mouth. A group of lads timidly shuffled forward. "It's funny isn't it, Harris!" "No Sir", responded Harris in a quavering, barely audible voice. Then, addressing all the remaining boys by name, he proceeded to ask the same question of them. By some miracle, they were not caned or even put in detention. Even today, over 65 years later, "I did it at my other school" and "It's funny isn't it!" arise in our conversations when my former schoolmates and I get together.)

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