Past Times

Rupert Birtles (1963-66) during lockdown wrote of his memories of St Paul’s for his grandchildren.

At the end of May 1963 we spent three days sitting the scholarship examination; the announcement of the results was anticipated with little hope and much anxiety, but I was, as they now say, ‘over the moon’ at being awarded a scholarship, plus the little silver fish designating such, to be worn on my blazer lapel. The final highlight of my three years at Colet Court was winning the annual public speaking competition, with the prize awarded by the judge Sir Colin Pearson (1911-18) in his Kensington flat. This success was largely due to my foresight at choosing an easy and popular topic: Sir Winston Churchill.

1963 was a transition year for me: academic expectations and political awareness increased sharply. In January, Gaitskell died unexpectedly; in June the Profumo scandal broke; August saw the Great Train Robbery; in October MacMillan resigned, in November Kennedy was assassinated (the news reaching me in the circle of the Hammersmith Odeon during a school choir outing to see ‘West Side Story’); and The Beatles became a force of nature. The winds of change had arrived, affecting all my later life.

The tutorial system did not work for me; my tutor was Pat Cotter (1917-23, Classics Department 1928-65), revered in the worlds of classics, bridge and croquet but insouciant to the needs of those who did not wish to plough a classical furrow. The portrayals in ‘Mr Olim’ and ‘Sinister Street’ of the school around the turn of the century were equally recognisable in the 1960s – nothing much seemed to have changed for half a century. My first year, in the Remove, led by ‘Jack’ Train (Classics Master 1957-67) (who later became Head of the Prison Service), was focussed almost exclusively on Latin and Greek. I was briefly a member of the choir, the highlight of which was recording “6 Christmas Songs for the Young” composed in 1963 by Malcolm

A good aspect of St Paul’s was that it treated exams as an irritating interruption to the syllabus – exam success, although important, was not the primary and only focus. There were no league tables and pupils of varied ability were allowed to find their own level.

Williamson (later Master of the Queen’s Music) and performing them in St Paul’s Cathedral. The choir was compulsory for trebles and we were all much relieved when nature removed our eligibility. In July 1964 I sat “O Levels” and then had a choice to continue with classics or move to the History Eighth. Without any advice or encouragement from anyone, I chose the latter, where for two years I would study History, French, and a subject known as History with Foreign Texts – mediaeval and renaissance historiography in original Latin, German, and French. This was one of my better decisions. I was fortunate that the teachers of these subjects were scholarly and committed to their pupils.

In January 1965 Sir Winston Churchill died. His body lay in state in Westminster Hall, and for three days thousands of people filed past the catafalque, having queued for hours along Millbank, across Lambeth Bridge, and along the South Bank. Some friends and I joined this queue after school one wintry evening to pay our last respects to the man who was regarded then as the greatest living Englishman.

Beyond academe my principal involvements were debating (The Chesterton Society and The Union), the CCF and the Christian Union. After summer camp and having obtained my marksman badge and Army Proficiency Certificate, I opted to join the ‘Cadre’ leading to eventual higher rank; however, shortly after gaining my lance corporal’s stripe the CCF was peremptorily abolished – perhaps the first obvious nod to the mood of the times that Tom Howarth (High Master 1962-73) made. A great attraction of the Christian Union was the Easter and summer house parties held at various boarding schools in the Home Counties, led by Eric Hayward (1913-15), who founded the movement and Basil Moss (1948-53) who was held in awe for his frequent appearances in TV dramas and soaps. Religious affiliation or lack of was no obstacle – the house parties were popular because of their relaxed social atmosphere and the opportunity to make and enjoy friendships away from home. Still no girls, though.

A good aspect of St Paul’s was that it treated exams as an irritating interruption to the syllabus – exam success, although important, was not the primary and only focus. There were no league tables and pupils of varied ability were allowed to find their own level. I sat ‘A Levels’ in July 1966. The grading system then was completely different from now. I was pleased to be awarded a “B” in each of my three subjects, and enjoyed mild schadenfreude that some of my academically more brilliant colleagues, whilst obtaining “A”s in some subjects, were awarded “C”s in others. Full marks for consistency, my history teacher told me. Thus ended the Summer Term 1966. I was just 17. We in the History Eighth organised annual dinners, this year at the ‘Quo Vadis’ in Soho, which required the purchase of a dinner suit. Then England won the World Cup. I was not much interested in football but everyone watched the final.

Autumn Term was entirely devoted to seeking places at Oxbridge – it was automatically assumed and expected that we would all try for one or the other. I applied to Oxford. There were exams and interviews just before Christmas, and I was offered a place. I could not wait to leave St Paul’s and promptly did so. It was only later that I considered that my good fortune owed much to what St Paul’s had done for me, despite my not having taken full advantage of all the opportunities available.

My shortsightedness, revealed when I began driving lessons, was not just physical. 

With thanks to Rory Johnston (1962-63) for the photographs