A few lines about the Watford Central School and Pupil Teacher Centre - to give it its full title, from an aged ex-pupil.
I frequently receive The Watford Observer, and I am always surprised at the interest shown in the old Central School.
Always considered by all its pupils as second best to the Grammar School, its success in lifelong results has been creditable. It must be remembered that, prior to 1946, a third of pupils at the Grammar School were fee-payers, who need not have been anywhere near the quality of Central School intakes.
Thank you for awakening so many memories for me. I send you a few.
Boys Intake, 1936:
Adams, Allen, Beasley, Bray, Brown, Canvin, Corderoy, Coult, Dexter, Hare, Hilton, Robinson, Simmons, Smith and so on. Sorry that, 64 years on from there, memory falters. Suffice to say, those 40 rosy-cheeked 11 year olds entering that year full of optimism were to become a group of boys whose education would be interrupted more often and who would lose more fellow pupils later, during the war, than I believe any other intake.
From just those I have mentioned, three perished. There were others whose names I cannot recall.
In fact, due to the air-raid warnings being so frequent, when it came to the school certificate results that particular year, we were allowed a reduction in pass standards from maths, English language and four other subjects - phew, what luck.
It was no misery during air-raid alerts because shelter was taken by other pupils but fifth-year boys were made, in true chauvinistic manner, to look after the girls in the domestic science block.
Despite the school having boys and girls, never the twain should meet, except at morning assembly in the hall and during the air raids when the girls needed our protection. Oh, oh, let the sirens sound - Beryl S and classmates, we love you still.
The war was declared and school was delayed for some weeks because of uncertainty about the raids and also uncertainty about the staff because some had been called up for military service.
School commenced again in dribs and drabs, and it was thought the third years and above should have priority but, unable to fill the day, odd lessons were popped into the curriculum. The science master tried to inform us about the facts of life, perhaps because he knew all about birds and bees. Great hilarity.
Pre-war instruction, doubtless good, tended to be by present-day standards a little odd. The PT teacher doubled with poetry lessons. Poetry has done nothing for me since. As homework, we would be given a poem to learn - words, capital letters and punctuation. Next lesson would be to write it out and then have it marked by another boy from dictation, including all the commas, full stops and capital letters. Capital O, Oh comma to be in Capital E England comma, and so on. Try it.
The poem seems to lose something. When marked, a line of boys was formed with best at the left and worst at the right. The three worst received four strokes of the slipper. Lesson over.
Roll on next week. Literature in the Shakespearean sense consisted of Mr Morgan, or, as he called himself, Prute - a driver of donkeys, just rapidly writing on the blackboard notes on the play for us to copy. We rarely saw a script, as there were not enough to go round.
Punishment was arbitrary and frequent. Led by the head, Joe Lilliman, each teacher had their own ceremony. Joe would keep boys waiting outside his office for long periods. From time to time, one could hear him approach the door and often see the door knob start to turn but no - two or three feints would come before he emerged with his cane and ... Just a few memories.
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