If all has gone to plan this web site should have been of interest to former inmates of King Edward’s, Aston. I feel I should include a page dedicated to the current generation of boys/pupils/students though, if they are anything like us, they will probably learn nothing new from its contents!

It is impossible to work hard for more than seven years without something funny happening, or being made to happen. And my time at Aston was no exception. If by the end of this page you feel that we wasted the opportunities presented to us, please remember that what follows was spread over a long time - and separated by periods of unremitting hard work. Then it shouldn’t seem so bad!

The temptation to name the perpetrators of what follows is very powerful, but must be resisted for all sorts of reasons! If you were present you will know; if you weren’t just enjoy the inventiveness, audaciousness, cunning and - above all - sense of fun of those responsible.

We, of course, thought we were hugely original in what we did. Our long suffering teachers must have seen it all before. Sometimes they reacted philosophically - other times they didn’t. King Canute would have sympathised with them.

One day the late Peter Prole brought into school some nylon fishing line. For its time this was leading edge technology and, Peter assured us, it had a breaking weight of 35lbs. Not being a physicist he was vague about exactly what this meant. But it gave him the confidence to try out two wheezes which ended quite differently from how he had intended but, without doubt, far funnier.

The first was to attach the line to the pull cord on a roller blind type map which was fixed to the wall of a geography room. This was then fed round a pipe and across the floor to the front row desk where Peter was sitting. The victim of this particular prank was to be David Jones, the Chemistry master. Having been persuaded by his wife of the virtues of Methodism, David was taking us for R.I. (Religious Instruction). As he read from the Acts of the Apostles the map of Africa mysteriously began to unfurl on the wall. Out of the corner of his eye David thought he spotted something untoward, stopped reading, and looked to his left. The map stopped unrolling; he could see nothing unusual, so resumed reading and the map resumed its downward path.

This, presumably, would have continued for some time but Peter had failed to appreciate that the pipe around which the line had been fed was carrying hot water. As the strain on the line, and its temperature, increased its ‘elastic limit’ was reached and it parted. The map shot up the wall and I’m not sure who was more surprised - Peter or David!

Unphased by this setback Peter appeared a few days’ later with a fresh length of line and a new project. This one required each of us to bring up from the dungeon that was the dining room a dessert spoon. These were then tied in a bundle and the free end of the line thrown over a buttress supporting the floor of Big School above. (This was in the same room as the previous, abortive, project)

Once again during a lesson the line was pulled and the cluster of spoons began their heavenward ascent.

Along with many mountaineers of that era, Peter did not know - unlike those of us who were Boy Scouts - that nylon requires different types of knot to work properly. I don’t know what knot he used - but it didn’t work, and the spoons cascaded noisily to the floor, to the great amusement of the rest of us!

Another prank that ‘went wrong’ was when Charlie ...... took a chemical mixture of his own devising to a dance at a girls’ school. The plan was to let this explode on the dance floor. I don’t know whether or not he was a chemistry student - but it didn’t work. Not only did it fail to produce the desired effect, but it left a nasty mess that became the subject of ‘correspondence’ between the two head teachers concerned!

The story about George Painter’s deafness is, I suspect, apocryphal though it was retold in Watcyn Thomas’s book ‘Rugby-playing Man’, and had circulated round school for years. This was ironic because Watcyn, too, was afflicted by deafness towards the end of his teaching career and suffered at the hands of his pupils. Telling me of this Harry Tyson, that toughest of teachers, commented ruefully on the capacity for cruelty sometimes displayed by schoolboys.

They would mime in front of George, thus making him believe that the batteries in his hearing aid were running down. He would adjust the volume accordingly, whereupon they would shout at him!

One of the constant sources of fun in any school is the nicknames schoolboys accord their teachers. For the staff the aspect of this they found most amusing was the conviction of their pupils that they were unaware of the names they had been given. Many of these have been mentioned elsewhere, but there were others. Their origins were often lost in the mists of time and one could only hazard a guess at them.

A good example is that of ‘Hairy’ Hothersall - a name its bearer never liked. One explanation says it derives from the glimpse of leg ‘twixt trouser and sock that boys had seen; another that he returned from the Great War sporting a moustache. The latter seems less likely, because he didn’t join the staff until 1921. ‘Buggy’ Mayers remained a mystery too.

Some were more obvious. Derek Hobson’s predilection for bow ties earned him the nickname ‘Dickie’ from later generations.

Other soubriquets were less original: Watcyn Thomas was known as ‘Taffy’; Fred Fenton as ‘Froggy’ (alliterative nicknames were not uncommon); Michael Robinson as ‘Cardew’ after a comedian of the day; Dorothy Ray as ‘Dottie’ which she manifestly was not, though she was alleged to be the apple of the art master’s eye - even after the latter had retired (to Longdon of all places!).

Another group of nicknames were ‘ordinary’ forenames accorded in defiance of the Registrar General: the two ‘Ernies’ - one named Joe (Entwistle) the other Ted (Pickering - later generations of schoolboys and staff called him ‘Tedpick’); Fred Pinder was called ‘Joe’; ‘Fergie’ Tye was probably a mis-hearing of Ferdy , and earlier generations had called Harry Tyson ‘Jackie’.

The brothers Tyson required differentiation (in the non-mathematical sense!) for purely practical reasons. Eric Turner endeared himself to Harry by turning up at the Staff room one day and asking for ‘the old one’!

Another time the rest of us did so when his brother Colin, our form master, informed us that Harry wouldn't be coming in because he was ill with 'flu. We cheered this news to the rafters - and Colin told him. Next day, expecting an easy ride with someone else during the timetabled maths. lesson, we were horrfieid to see that - on learning of our joy - Harry had dragged himself from his sick bed just to spite us!

Another good old standby was impersonations of the teaching staff. Some, like Harry Tyson, were fairly easy. His broad Lancashire accent and his favourite phrase ‘Ah may be small but Ah’m tough’ became a stock in trade for the impersonators. Other accents were more difficult, but could be offset by the owner’s favourite phrases. Jim Hyde’s ‘In fact, of course ...’ was well known. Chris Whittaker, junior told me of the time his late father (also Chris) was giving his classmates the benefit of his impersonation of ‘Froggy’ Fenton (rolled ‘R’s included), only to discover his subject standing behind him!

As if impersonation were not enough, Chris Garrett (Aston 1952) even found time to draw cartoons of some of them!

Very few masters in those far off days drove cars. So when ones did appear they became targets for pranks - a potato in the exhaust being considered frightfully original. A visiting master found his Austin A35 lifted onto the pavement.

One morning Tim Morris and I noticed how the Upper Sixth returned from morning assembly, deep in conversation and oblivious to their surroundings. Next morning we ensured that we were at the front and, as we climbed the stairs to our form room and registration, slowed the pace right down to an absolute crawl. To our delight no-one noticed, or so we thought. Our form master, the ever irascible ‘Joe’ Pinder had taken the short way back (denied to us) through the Art room and Gymnasium and was watching from above! This provided him with yet another opportunity - which he never knowingly declined - to administer one of his lengthy and vituperative admonitions. Frank Wolstencroft (Aston 1951) claims to hold the record for being on the receiving end of one of the longest of these: around 40 minutes. Frank also recalls that I used to grin vacuously at Pinder during these and completely disarm him!

Most years the school appointed two language assistants: one in French and one German. They were nationals of those countries who had graduated in English, and were destined to teach it back home. Before doing so they spent a year here teaching their mother tongue. On one occasion someone (a pupil, needless to say) told the French assistant of a quaint Aston custom. When the bell rang, indicating the end of a lesson, he was to stand up and enjoin his pupils: ‘Clear zee decks and zod off’.

One of the more imaginative pranks was recounted to me many years ago by George Pearce (Aston 1947) when we both worked at Aston University. He and his mates had made a study of poisons (of all things!) and would mimic their symptoms, without prior warning or explanation, in classes taught by Miss Linda ‘Baggy’ Barrows. The effects on her can only be guessed at - she married Fred Pinder and left in 1949!

From a much earlier time my father told of their habit of throwing a Rugby ball to one another during the short breaks between lessons. One badly aimed throw struck the chandelier of gas mantles, which progressively fell off during the lesson that followed!

Most classroom furnishings were of a very robust construction, and were well able to withstand the clumsy boisterousness of generations of schoolboys. The doors were probably the best example of this: I have never since seen doors of such thickness outside mediaeval castles! One light switch, however, was unable to resist an assault upon it by John ...... Our form master, the normally mild Colin Tyson, taught us an important lesson. ‘It is only justice’, he explained, that John 'should pay for the cost of replacing the switch. But punishment for the misdemeanour is a separate matter.’ In this way I learnt the distinction between the two - something our legal system seems not to understand!

An annual event in the School calendar was the cricket match Masters vs. Boys. There was an hilarious moment at one of these. Among the spectators was Dr Walther Neubauer, that year’s German assistant. He, of course, had never seen a cricket match before. He was a keen photographer and wanted to record the occasion for the benefit of his pupils back in Fulda, Germany. At the time Gary Tibbles (Aston, 1950) was batting for the Boys. So they persuaded whoever was bowling (for the Masters) to fling one down the leg side so Gary could give a demonstration of a leg ‘glance’ for Dr Neubauer to photograph. They needed several ‘goes’ at it before he was satisfied!

He returned to his seat where he was receiving his own running commentary from the inimitable Jim Hyde. By this time the second innings was in progress and somebody was out. As he trudged disconsolately from the centre Neubauer asked Jim Hyde ‘What happens to him now?’ to which he replied, as only he would, ‘Oh, he can go home’! Neubauer could not get over the idea that nine players of a game could have gone home yet the game still be in progress!

But Dr Neubauer had clearly thoroughly grasped the way in which cricket was conducted. The following summer he brought a group of lads from Fulda on a school exchange. We took them to see a county game at Edgbaston: Warwickshire versus Worcestershire - a real local ‘Derby’ attended by crowds of Worcester supporters from the Black Country. As the game started in a morning mist, Dr Neubauer got up and explained to his pupils, in German, what was going on. The Black Country lads knew what he was doing, even if they couldn’t understand a word of it. When he sat down they gave him an enthusiastic round of applause!

There are, of course, tales told from the other side of the chalk face. Many years later, when reminded, Harold Jessop (1956-88) recalled hauling two of my contemporaries up to the gym. They had been fighting in the playground (knowing the two involved it was probably over a girl!) and Harold made them resolve the matter wearing boxing gloves and the Queensberry rules! He said he had only had to do this three times in his career, so my fellow pupils were members of a very select group!

Geoff Price (1951-56) used to appear at the top of the stairs by Big School en route to our classroom for French. With a view right along the corridor we thus got early warning of his arrival. He once asked us, tongue in cheek, to stop shouting ’He’s coming’ every time he did so!

George Tustin (1952) tells how he and his mates organised a soccer team under the nose of their form master - Watcyn Thomas! Many years later Watcyn spotted George at a Rugby international, went up to him, threw his arm around George’s shoulder and congratulated him on his conversion! To celebrate this in the only way he knew, Watcyn went off to buy some drinks. While he was doing so someone came up to George and, in tones of hushed awe, asked "Do you know who that is?" George replied with the throw away line to end all such: "Of course! We all know Watcyn Thomas"! There must be at least three thousand AOEs who can say this of a man who ranks in Welsh folklore alongside Owen Glendower - or should I write Owain Glyndwr!

Another George Tustin tale relates the time he, a keen Anglican, was attending a Deanery Conference 'somewhere in Stockland Green'. Who should he encounter, from another church in the Deanery, none other but Harry Tyson. As proceedings drew to a close Harry said to George 'When this is over, let's go for a drink'. George recalls thinking, as he stood at the bar, 'Never in my wildest dreams (nightmares?) in 3B would I have thought that I would one day be supping ale with Harry Tyson!'

A daily ritual which no-one seemed to mind was morning assembly, held in ’Big School’. It was not the sort of event that you would associate with, or expect, humorous incidents but I do recall two. In each case the central figure found himself in an unenviable position, though in the latter case unconsciously so.

It was the practice at the end of autumn term, with Christmas approaching, to make a presentation to the catering staff in recognition of their efforts throughout the year. I have referred elsewhere to the generally held view of these! After a particularly bad ‘run’ of school dinners the lower forms of life were in no mood for festive charity on this subject, and made this clear with a rising volume of muttered disaffection. The poor prefect delegated to ‘do the honours’ made the presentation with one hand, whilst trying forlornly with the other to signal to us to ‘button it’. Such presentations continued, but were never again made in front of the whole school!

Another task assigned to prefects at morning assembly was to read a selected passage from the Bible. On one occasion it became very clear that the unfortunate candidate had received no guidance in his task. That morning’s reading was about King Nebuchadnezzar and the fiery furnace. (Daniel, Chapter 3 v.15ff.). The poor lad had obviously never heard the word ‘fiery’ spoken out loud and said instead ‘feery’, to the huge amusement of his listeners. That he was clearly oblivious to this error made matters even funnier.

I was soon to empathise with his situation. In an English literature class I was called upon to read from Shakespeare’s ‘Richard II’. Of course, I was assigned the lead role and required to declaim at one point ‘You have misled a Prince’.

Unfortunately I had never heard the word ‘misled’ spoken, and pronounced it ‘myzulled’. My class mates dissolved into paroxysms of helpless mirth and the kindly teacher, H C Jones, could barely contain his own amusement as he gently corrected me! He had less than 40 minutes before he could rush back to the staff room to confirm the increasingly held view that Perkins really was a ‘clown’!!

For the record, I was witness to - not a participant in - most of the above. My ‘friends’ claim to remember incidents in which I played a part. If half of what they recall is true, and I doubt this, it is not suitable for publication here!

Lest you should think us an unruly and discourteous mob let me tell you about a convention to which we were introduced on our first day at Aston, and which was observed without demur throughout my time there.

When a master entered the room at the commencement of a class, and whenever the Head did so, we were required to stand up. There was but one exception to this rule: if the teacher were already in the room (e.g. from a previous lesson, in laboratories or in the Art room).

The differing responses from teachers to this courtesy were revealing. Knowing that his appearance during a class was disruptive the Head (L G Brandon) always signalled us to sit down again as quickly as possible and without fuss. Jack ‘head in the clouds’ Coventon usually forgot. Jim Hyde who, I suspect, considered the custom past its ‘sell by’ date was well into his first paragraph before he realised we hadn’t. At Longdon, Hugh Brown made it very clear that no such practice was to be tolerated, and teachers visiting for the day from Aston seemed to go along with that. (Brown also refused to appear on class photographs, or to accept Christmas presents from pupils). Harry ‘the hard man’ Tyson would say tersely ‘sit’ and, true to form, Eric Pedley would beseech us ‘Gentlemen, pray be seated’!

So, you see, we weren't all bad!