From All Quarters

© Richard Gibbs

A biographical look at OBs who joined the Royal Navy in the 1950s

When you entered the Senior School in the 1950s, one main choice was either to join the CCF or not. This was in Army uniform and summer camps were with Army Units. Who can forget how the School CCF uniquely marched some 50 miles to reach summer camp?! There was no naval unit. Until Autumn 1958, there was National Service. So, despite the ‘land-locked’ nature of Berkhamsted, quite a good number of OBs did their National Service in the Navy; rather fewer opted to become career naval officers by applying for entry as an officer to the Britannia Royal Naval College, Dartmouth (BRNC). In September 1957, I was one of four Bees who joined the Navy simultaneously – Chris Grace, Rob Forsyth, Alan Lawton and myself. Possibly a record from a single house? Add some of our predecessors and how did their careers develop? Naval manpower was 128,000 in 1955 versus the current numbers in 2021 of 34,000. Bearing in mind the fact that the Navy was then bigger, and so offering wider career options, how did the OBs fare? I think you may be a little surprised.

We begin with Rear Admiral Sir John Garnier, Flag Officer Royal Yachts, and who could resist mentioning one particularly distinguished sailor, the Round the World sailor, Sir Robin Knox-Johnston, who served in the Royal Naval Reserve? One or two have ‘crossed the bar’ and, with the help of their widows or relatives, the accounts of their careers rely heavily on their obituaries. In the old days, cadets joined the Naval College, Osborne aged 13. The entry age was raised to 16 in 1948 and to 17½ in 1955. On joining BRNC in 1957, pay was five shillings per day! ‘Blue line’ cigarettes were two shillings for 300 per month! I hope you will see that the way each person’s career developed is interesting – and perhaps surprising – in its diversity. The Royal Navy and Royal Naval Reserve may not be as big as they were but service in either could still be extremely rewarding. Tony Wolstenholme (Be ’57) Rear Admiral Sir John Garnier KCVO CBE (Ad ’50)

John Garnier was born on 10th March 1934 and completed his education at Berkhamsted School in 1950, when he joined the Royal Navy as a 16-year-old officer entry to the RNC Dartmouth. His initial training was completed in 1955 and he joined HMY Britannia as Assistant Navigating Officer (ANO). Promoted Lieutenant in 1956, he served as the Boatswain in HMS Tyne during the Suez operation before returning to the Royal Yacht in 1957 as ANO. 1958 was spent as the Navigating Officer of HMS Undaunted (frigate), before attending the Long Navigation Course at HMS Dryad in 1959.

Fully qualified as a Navigating and Operations Officer, John served from 1960 to 1961 in HMS Puma (frigate) (UK, Africa, South America, Europe and Poland). From the middle of 1961 to mid-1962 he navigated HMS Loch Ruthven (frigate) (UK and Middle East).

In the period from mid-1962 to mid-1965, John was appointed to the Royal Household as the RN Equerry to HM The Queen. In 1964, he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and in 1965 he was appointed Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order (LVO). He returned in 1965 to HMS Dryad to complete the Advanced Navigation Course. Then early in 1966 he was appointed to HMS Ajax (frigate) as the Squadron Navigation and Operations Officer (Far East and Australasia). All on board returned to the UK for Christmas, and this permitted his delayed marriage on New Year’s Eve to Joanna Jane (Dodie) Cadbury, with 1967 being less hectic for both during the RN Staff Course at the RN College, Greenwich.

John was appointed to command HMS Dundas (frigate) for sea training in anti-submarine warfare (ASW) in UK and European waters 1968-1969 when he was promoted to Commander. There followed from 1969 to 1971 experience in the MoD of destroyer and frigate policy matters, before in 1972-73 he took command of HMS Minerva (frigate) (UK and Caribbean waters). A bonus in the latter was the welcome presence

of HRH The Prince of Wales as one of the junior offi cers. Jobs of interesting appeal that followed included another appointment from 1973 to 1975 to the MoD in the Defence Policy Staff dealing with NATO Policy matters, and a return to sea in HMS Intrepid (Landing Ship Dock) as the Executive Offi cer from 1975 to 1976. This involved the overall administration and professional training of up to 160 junior offi cers on three-month cruises to the Caribbean and Scandinavia. In 1975, John was promoted to Captain, then he spent 1976 to 1978 as the Assistant Director of Manpower Planning in the MoD, dealing with the numbers and careers of the RN’s 8,000 offi cers. And 1979 provided a pleasant and interesting break at the Royal College of Defence Studies in Belgrave Square on a course of advanced staff training for senior offi cers and civil servants. From 1980 to 1981 he was commanding HMS London (Guided Missile Destroyer) in waters around the UK, Europe, and the Caribbean.

From 1982 to 1985, John was the Director of Naval Operations and Trade in the MoD where he was responsible for policy for, and oversight of, all naval operations, and liaison with the Merchant Navy. In 1982, he was appointed CBE in the Falklands Honours List.

In 1985, Sir John was promoted to Rear Admiral and there was a short spell as Commodore Amphibious Warfare with responsibility for the operational readiness and training of the RN’s Amphibious Forces. Until 1990, he was Flag Offi cer Royal Yachts and in Command of HMY Britannia, in the meantime appointed Extra Equerry to HM The Queen in 1988. In 1990, he was appointed KCVO and then from 1991 to 1995 he was Private Secretary and Comptroller to HRH Princess Alexandra. TW

Rear Admiral Anthony Wheatley CB (Sw ’49) 3rd October 1933 – 21st August 2016

By any standards, Anthony’s career was glittering. He rose to the rank of Rear Admiral having been Captain of HMS Collingwood, Naval Attaché in Brazil, to name but a couple of his appointments, and then had a highly successful career in the National Health Service.

His naval career was initially traditional, going through Dartmouth, the training cruiser, with time at sea as a midshipman. There the tradition ends, as for some unknown reason he had joined as an engineer. He didn’t want to be an engineer and spent considerable effort trying to change to the Executive or Seaman branch, to no avail. It is to his enormous credit that he achieved as much as he did, and once he had got through the dirty bit of getting a watchkeeping certificate down below in among the boilers and engines with steam and oil gushing forth, he was able to specialise as an ordnance engineer which entailed guns and boots and gaiters. This suited him far better! The one thing that the Royal Naval Engineering College Plymouth gave him was plenty of time to play cricket and squash, both of which he excelled at. He came near to playing for the Navy at both sports. I cannot see him playing in today's fashion, as it would have been anathema to him to fall about and get his whites dirty! He was one of the smartest men I've ever known, always dressed impeccably with shoes spit and polished. We used to ask them round for a drink when they were living in Bath – ‘Come in gardening clothes,’ we’d say. The snag was, I don't think Anthony had such things, as he would appear looking immaculate. The only conclusion one could draw was that gardening was not his thing!

Anthony's primary attribute was attention to detail. No stone was left unturned and this was where he achieved his great success. He had a number of staff jobs which suited him perfectly – once in Washington, twice on the staff of the Engineering College where, the second time, he was the Commander responsible for the smooth running of the establishment. These types of job were right up his street and enabled his administrative talent to shine forth. Allied to this, he spent his fair share of time at sea in a number of ships, but there is no doubt that admin was his forte, which was reflected in many aspects of his work. Luckily the appointers got this right and he was rewarded with jobs that avoided the technical and concentrated on staff issues at which he was brilliant. To add to his many talents, he was a fine pianist, specialising in classical and jazz – he loved Fats Waller.

HMS Cambrian in January 1964 – jackstay transfer with HMS Centaur

His final job was as Flag Officer Portsmouth, an appointment which suited him down to the ground. Anthony was a ‘people person’ and was much respected by all who met him. He was particularly good with sailors, loved their sense of humour, and I can hear him now chuckling away at something they had said or done. On leaving the Navy he had a stellar career in the NHS, but one element of his career which cannot be missed was his Chairmanship of the Army & Navy Club, or RAG as it is known. He was Chairman for three years and steered the club through difficult times with firm but fair leadership. Through this he gained the respect of all. This, combined with his work for the NHS, made for a very busy life. Iona Wheatley, Anthony’s wife

Probably no one knew him better. I succeeded him as Weapon Engineer Officer and Sports Officer of HMS Cambrian, a ‘greyhound of the deep’ in 1964 and saw his meticulous attention to detail at first hand. Our paths crossed from time to time, finally on the steps of the RAG one fine day in about 2013 – always courteous and so elegant. TW Rear Admiral Richard Burn CB AFC FRAes FBIM MIMechE (SJ ’54)

Richard came to Berkhamsted School in September 1945 and we were in the same class, LVI Science, when he left in December 1954 to join BRNC Dartmouth. He was some 16 months older than me, joining up at the age of 16, while I joined at the later age of 17½. Our paths crossed – if memory serves – only once, perhaps at RNAS Yeovilton. From our joint school days, I recall a boy of slender build, very fair-haired, with aquiline features, and a natural runner who excelled in the Long Run and was a member of the Athletics team (running the mile) and the Long Run team in 1954. Before joining BRNC, he reached the dizzy height of Lance Corporal in the CCF!

After Dartmouth, as a potential Marine Engineer Officer, he trained at the Royal Naval Engineering College, Manadon and became a fully qualified Marine Engineer Officer (MEO) by gaining watchkeeping tickets aboard the destroyer HMS Broadsword in 1958. Richard must have made a crucial career decision at this time to specialise as an Air Engineer and as a pilot, which

was really very unusual and meant he would have had to pass the most stringent medical examination. He qualified as an all-weather fighter pilot in 1961, flying the Sea Vixens of 890 Squadron aboard the carrier Ark Royal. In 1962, in the Manila Bay area of the Philippines, he and his navigator in their Sea Vixen had to use their ejector seats and survived intact.

In 1966, Richard married Judith Sanderson, the widow of a flying colleague. The same year, he qualified as a maintenance test pilot in 1966 and went on exchange to the US Navy at Patuxent River, Maryland. While here, after a gruelling course, he won the prize as the outstanding student at the US Navy’s test pilot school.

Serving in the Ministry of Defence (Procurement Executive), he was responsible for the introduction into service of the Sea Harrier and its successful trials aboard HMS Invincible. When, at last, his rank and seniority precluded any more flying, he had flown more than 100 types of aircraft, both fixed and rotary wing, in some 2,975 hours of flying.

Richard picked up a number of awards including the Air Force Cross in 1971, a fellowship of the Royal Aeronautical Society in 1984 and the CB in 1992. Once retired, he was a record-breaking fundraiser for the Royal British Legion as Chairman, RBL Branch, Chelsea and Kensington for more than 20 years. He died on 4th October 2020, aged 82. TW

Lieutenant Commander James Ashby Royal Navy MA MIEE C Eng (Lo ’56)

I was born in New Zealand in 1938, where my father, a serving Royal Navy officer (also an OB – Adders in the early 1920s) was helping to set up the RNZN. Remember that, at the Battle of the River Plate, the cruiser, the Achilles (on which I was christened) was about 60% manned by kiwis and she became the flagship of the RNZN in September 1941.

On leaving Berkhamsted in 1956, I joined Dartmouth as an Electrical Officer for two terms and then the Summer term in the Training Squadron (HMS Venus). I completed a mechanical sciences tripos during three years at Cambridge University, with courses around the various naval ‘schools’ in the long summer vacations. Then I was based in Singapore for a year, mostly in HMS Crane (Bird class frigate) and a short time in HMS Cavalier (Ca class destroyer). Because Crane could not keep up with the fleet, we were sent on diplomatic visits (which used to be called showing the flag – perhaps we shall see more of this as, post-Brexit, we project ourselves as Global Britain): Bangkok, Penang, Manila, Hong Kong, Tokyo.

HMS Taciturn, 1965

Then it was home to complete training at HMS Collingwood, some nine months of experience in defence industry followed by submarine training at HMS Dolphin. In September 1962 I had married Sue, having met her at Cambridge in 1958. I could hardly believe my good fortune with a married accompanied posting to Sydney from 1963 to 1966 with service aboard HMS/M Taciturn, based at HMAS Platypus, Sydney Harbour. Much of the time, we worked with the RAN and RAAF in anti-submarine warfare exercises. There were visits up the Australian east coast, to New Zealand and Papua New Guinea. I was sorry this appointment came to an end; I shall always remember friends made and places visited.

In Dec 1966 I joined HMS/M Odin (still a conventional diesel-driven submarine) at Faslane. Then, in early 1968, I undertook the Nuclear Reactor course at RNC Greenwich and Dounreay and this led to me joining HMS/M Valiant (a nuclear powered hunter killer submarine or SSN) towards

the end of 1968 as Weapons Electrical Officer (WEO). Highlights of this appointment were visits to the Mediterranean, the east coast of America, and participation in the Torbay Review in 1969, before going into refit in Chatham Dockyard in the Spring of 1970. I then joined the Polaris force – HMS/M Renown (Starboard) as WEO and Senior Nuclear Engineer Officer (SNEO) in 1972 for a couple of patrols before refitting in Rosyth Dockyard. After the post-refit work-up and missile-firing exercise I joined the shore-based Submarine Sea Training Team at Faslane in 1974 (first shore job but more sea time than the sea jobs!) This was followed by joining the staff of the Base Engineering Officer at Faslane as the Weapons Electrical Officer, and I left the RN in early 1979.

I was keen to find a job that would not involve moving from Helensburgh and was fortunate that the MoD was recruiting engineers for the Polaris Improvement programme, so I joined the RN Supply and Transport Service at the RN Armament Depot, Coulport. There followed a most interesting and rewarding ‘second career’, being involved with the phase-out of the early Polaris programme, the introduction of the Chevaline and subsequently the Trident programmes. We worked closely with our US colleagues and visited the US roughly every year.

A noticeable aspect of being a civilian was having time for hobbies! Inshore/offshore sailing and hillwalking/climbing took me to all parts of Scotland, completing all the Munros and Corbetts between 1987 and 2002. I launched my musical career aged 41 by learning the (bass) trombone, playing in the local orchestra and the HMS Neptune Volunteer Band (no longer the former but the latter is getting going again post-Covid).

A great sadness was losing my first wife to cancer in 2006. I have been so lucky to fall in love with another Sue, who was a pal from many walking trips, and we married in 2008.

The visit of the Dartmouth Training Squadron to Ullapool in May 1957 was a forerunner of many trips there and beyond, having fallen in love with the west coast and mountains. My ‘new’ Sue (we reckon we’d walked over 1,000 miles together before we were married) and I keep active by volunteer gardening work at a local National Trust Scotland garden. I also help with unskilled labour at a nearby woodland, the municipal park and with the upkeep of the street trees. JA

Captain Alan Lawton Royal Navy BSc (Eng) FIMechE (Be ’57)

The School was an excellent launchpad for a diverse naval career, full of variety, fun, intellectual challenge, responsibility and travel at sea and ashore, at home and abroad.

The variety involved living in England and Scotland, as well as Singapore and Wellington, New Zealand. It also involved the Falklands Conflict and directing the naval logistics activity for the 1991 Gulf War. How different from seeing the wildlife in South Georgia or escorting a group of MPs to visit the Royal Marines in Northern Norway; wargaming in Rhode Island or safari-ing in Kenya and Botswana; tracking terrorists with Gurkhas in the Malayan jungle.

All of this followed from ‘passing out’ at Dartmouth (1st in the Order of Merit, December 1959) and the Royal Navy Engineering College (BSc Eng London). After gaining suitable experience at sea, I became a Chartered Mechanical Engineer.

I then served as the Marine Engineer Officer of HMS Antelope and of HMS Bristol (during the Falklands Conflict).

These seagoing appointments were interspersed with responsibility for training apprentices; as the Director of Marine Engineering in Wellington, New Zealand with the RNZN, and as the officer for conducting acceptance trials of machinery in new ships.

Having commanded the naval engineering base in the Falkland Islands, I served in the Directorate of Naval Plans in the Ministry of Defence.

HMS Bristol – Type 82 destroyer

In 1988, I attended the internationally renowned Royal College of Defence Studies. Back in the MoD as the Director of Naval Logistic Planning/Staff Duties in the rank of Commodore, I chaired a NATO committee convened in various European capitals and co-chaired a joint RN/USN logistics committee involving numerous meetings in the Pentagon, San Diego and Rhode Island.

Once retired from the Navy, my base was in Glasgow. I joined British Aerospace to develop and manage the ‘Logistics Engineering’ capability of the collaborative Anglo-French-Italian ‘Horizon’ frigate programme and subsequently I became a non-executive director of the Scottish Ambulance Service with particular responsibility for chairing the clinical governance committee. AL Commander Robert Forsyth Royal Navy – Submariner (Be ’57)

When my father returned from service in the Royal Navy at the end of WWII in his uniform, I was just five years old, but I decided there and then that I wanted to join the Navy. Aged 16, I won a naval scholarship and two years later I joined Dartmouth Naval College in September 1957. Another two years after that, I was let loose on the sea-going Navy to serve first in minesweepers then a frigate. From here my CO, who was a very good judge of character, sent me off to become a submariner which he felt would better suit ‘my informal approach to discipline’. He was right. I found the more informal, but highly professional, way of life under water suited me. After serving in three submarines based in Nova Scotia, Scotland and Singapore, I qualified for command of HMS Alliance (now a museum in Gosport) on the Commanding Officer’s Qualifying Course aka ‘The Perisher’; so-called because failure to pass ends your submarine career.

I subsequently went ‘nuclear’ to become Second in Command of the Polaris submarine HMS Repulse from where I was promoted to Commander and appointed as the CO of ‘The Perisher’ with the challenging, but very satisfying, responsibility for first training and then assessing an officer’s suitability to command. Following this I was given command of a nuclear-propelled attack submarine HMS Sceptre, conducting exciting cold war intelligence-gathering encounters with the Soviet Navy*. Our main focus was tracking Russian submarines. The Russians would come down through the Iceland-Faroes gap to get into

the Atlantic, where SOSUS (a chain of listening posts on the seabed installed by the Americans) would give a warning that they were coming through. Maritime aircraft would find out roughly where they were, signal to us, and we would follow them and collect intelligence on where they went and what they did. Inevitably there were close encounters. After I left her, HMS Sceptre came back off patrol with most of her fin missing because she ‘had hit an iceberg’. It has since been admitted that she came up underneath a Russian submarine and the (Russian) screws carved great big gouges in her hull, so she was very close to being lost.

Two years behind a desk at MoD convinced me that I was not cut out to be a ‘Whitehall Warrior’ and I retired from the Navy to work in industry, becoming, in due course, Marketing Director of GKN Westland plc – helicopters and aerospace – thereby completing a career on, below and above the sea.

I married in 1963. Maureen and I had three children – now have six grandchildren – and we live in North Oxfordshire. Like Richard Burn, I am the Chairman of my local branch of the RBL and raise funds every year for the Poppy Appeal.

* For those who are interested in the Cold War, my experiences along with three other nuclear submarine COs can be read about in Hunter Killers by

Iain Ballantyne. RF

Captain Anthony (Tony) Wolstenholme RN BSc (Eng) MIET C Eng (Be ’57)

I was almost seven years old and living on the North Yorkshire coast when my mother took me and my sister, Susan, to visit the cruiser, HMS Diadem, at anchor off Whitby Harbour in September 1946 as part of the Victory celebrations. It was quite choppy – and remember that the beaches had been barbed-wired against possible invasion – and so even getting to Diadem was exciting enough. Exiting the harbour entrance in a boat, climbing the gangway onto the quarterdeck, glimpsing the 5.25-inch twin turrets, the ‘awesome’ power… by nightfall, I had decided to join the Navy and ‘see the world’!

At this time, entry to BRNC was at the age of 13 but, each time I closed in on the entry age, it extended – through 16 to 17½ to 19.

In addition, worried about less than perfect eyesight, I saw Mr Curwen, then Maths and Careers master, who gave me booklets about different branches of the Navy – Seaman, Supply and Secretariat, Engineering and Electrical. I ‘fell’ for the latter – a branch only formed in 1946 with developments in electrical power and electronics. I applied successfully and, with three others from Bees, joined BRNC in September 1957.

I have much to thank Berkhamsted for. In the Science stream, I had won a state scholarship, played a couple of times for the 1st XV before injury, been in the School fives VI and played in the Public Schools Fives tournament, played 2nd XI cricket as a wicketkeeper, been captain of the tennis team, and – like every other Berkhamstedian – ran the Long Run and swam the swimming standards. For several years, most of the holidays were spent at the Berkhamsted Lawn Tennis Club and playing in local junior tennis tournaments. I will not record my 35 years’ service but recount how innumerable ‘volunteering opportunities’ have enhanced my life!

I went to the BRNC Rugby Fives courts and saw a new form of the game and was taken ‘in hand’ by a Rugby Fives player. I was soon playing for BRNC. More than 20 years later, I lived near Winchester College and was asked if I played. I happily learned a third form of the game and played for another 35 years.

In our third term, we went to sea as ‘seamen’ and slept in hammocks. There was a call for

volunteers to man HMS Carron, nominated as the escort to the Tall Ships Race, during August leave. We accompanied these beautiful ships from Brest to Corunna and then on to the Canary Islands – a magical day, sailing along the coast of Madeira. A relaxing week in Las Palmas and Tenerife.

I had three years of Electrical Engineering Studies at Royal Naval College, Greenwich – lots of sport plus the fine Chapel and the Painted Hall. In the summer leave of 1959, the choice was several weeks at a dockyard apprentices’ school or apply for an exped. Our bid was successful – to borrow an RM folbot/canoe and spend eight weeks canoeing in Germany: down the Moselle, up the Main, across to the Neckar at Heidelberg, northbound to join the Rhine and on to Bad Godesberg before a final stretch on the river Weser between Munden and Hameln. The only conditions were two terms of learning some basic German, some capsize drills under RM instruction and a weekly report to our course officer.

In 1961/2, I was still under training aboard HMS Loch Lomond, based in Bahrain and operating in the Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean. At the Sultan of Oman’s request, the RM detachment plus the ship’s doctor and I were asked to survey the route of a new coastal road, which would be less vulnerable to guerrilla attack and provide medical aid to local villagers. I was the doctor’s assistant: many young and not so young suffered seriously from trachoma, which could be treated with an eye ointment; many had dreadful dental problems – I held the patient firmly to a rock, while the doctor extracted the offending teeth and all the elderly with aches and pains were offered local anaesthetic injections!

In the Christmas vacation of 1962, I volunteered to spend some time in a fishing trawler. I was sent through deep snow to Lowestoft on Boxing Day and joined the MT Hazlehead for two weeks’ fishing in the North Sea – eight days of which were Force 8 or more! Even in 1962, the bed of the North Sea was severely polluted. I was left with the impressions of an antiquated UK fishing industry and the arduous life of our fishermen.

I have covered little of my naval career but will end with one of the most significant opportunities of my life. I was serving in HMS Cambrian (having taken over from Anthony Wheatley) in the Far East. We were visiting the island of Penang. The ship’s Education Officer, Taff, a chum, Chris, and I all played in the ship’s rugby team and we were off on a ‘run ashore’. Taff told me that his current quarterly education return was thin – why didn’t I begin a correspondence course? I claimed to be too busy. He pushed, and after browsing his courses catalogue, I did agree to begin an O-level biology course, having been unable to combine Biology with Maths, Physics etc at school. My application soon bounced back as not permitted, because the course required access to live specimens. Taff asked me to think again. I mentioned my interest in Russian. Chris had done O-level Russian at school and offered his help. I applied and so began a correspondence course. Before long, I left HMS Cambrian and was posted to Aberporth to fire Seaslug surface-to-air missiles at targets over Cardigan Bay – the last phase of the missile’s development. While there, I met a former RAF Russian interpreter/teacher, who offered to help me and then I saw a Defence Council Instruction (DCI), which called for volunteers to learn one of four ‘difficult’ languages – Russian, Chinese, Arabic and Japanese. I applied, and others supported my application. The appointer rang me: ‘I have your application. This coming September we are due to place one engineer officer on the Russian interpreter course. We only do this once every seven years, and you are the only volunteer’!

I studied Russian for 17 months at the Army School of Education, then with a Russian émigré family in Paris. I qualified. In July 1970 I joined the British Embassy in Moscow. I had a memorable 15 months in the Soviet Union and Poland before being expelled in October 1971. Expulsion felt like the shutters coming down, but the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991 and my life has been enormously enriched by learning Russian. I worked on a Humanitarian programme in the Russian Far East and Eastern Siberia. I worked for a while in Ukraine with the British Executive Service Overseas. I have worked for two aviation companies – one involved working in the Ilyushin factory in Tashkent and, in another, I was the TU 144 supersonic flight trials manager, before it was decided that Concorde and the TU 144 were both much too noisy for the world’s airports. A language skill as well as a chance to explore the rich arts, literature, music and culture of Russia!

One of my chief post-naval occupations has been with a charity, Child Health International, whose principal aim has been the improvement of cystic fibrosis healthcare in the countries of Central and Eastern Europe, including Russia, Ukraine, Moldova and the Baltic states. In most of these countries, Russian has been a viable working language.

Lastly, would you be surprised that, as a one-time Bee, I have kept bees for 45 years?! TW

This series of insights ends with a short contribution by one of our most distinguished Old Boys, Sir Robin Knox-Johnston.

Honorary Captain Sir Robin Knox-Johnston RNR CBE (SJ ’57)

I joined the RNVR as a Boy Seaman while at school to ensure my National Service would be in the Navy. In August 1956 I joined HMS Vanguard, our last Battleship for two weeks’ induction. I was dismissed by the Navy on joining the Merchant Navy the next year and then accepted as a Probationary Sub Lieutenant Royal Naval Reserve List 1 after obtaining a 2nd Mate’s Certificate in 1960. Then I spent the next four years on Indian Ocean and Gulf routes with the British India Company.

I completed Sub Lieutenants’ Courses in 1965 as a Lieutenant, having obtained a Master’s Certificate. I then served for five months on an Anti-Submarine Frigate, HMS Duncan, as Communications Officer and watchkeeper in 1968 and spent a short time in the submarine HMS Oracle.

On leaving the Merchant Navy in 1970, I was downgraded to List 3 RNR and spent the next 12 years minesweeping with various reserve establishments. I volunteered for the Falklands but was not required.

Finally, in 2015, Admiral Sir George Zambellas, then 1st Sea Lord, made me an Honorary Captain RNR and gave me back my hobby – the Royal Navy! RK-J

Robin was the first man ever to circumnavigate the globe non-stop in his 32-foot yacht Suhaili in April 1969. A sailing legend, in 1994, he set a new record for the fastest global circumnavigation. In 1995, he was knighted. One of Berkhamsted’s most distinguished sons, he is honoured by giving his name to the sports centre at the Kings Road Campus of Berkhamsted School. Read more in his autobiography Running Free, published by Simon & Schuster. TW

Cuthbert Machell Cox and ‘The Family Budget’

I am not an Old Berkhamstedian, but I have a fascinating connection to the School which may well interest you. My grandfather, Leslie Machell Cox, started as a boarder in 1920, and his uncle (my great-great-uncle) was Cuthbert Machell Cox. Cuthbert was a schoolboy at Berkhamsted from 1892 to 1900, then went to Oxford before returning to the School in 1905 as a master. He then became Housemaster of St John’s in 1919, then Second Master, then Headmaster in 1930. He was about to retire in 1939, but agreed to stay on for the War, before finally retiring in 1945, although he then served as a Governor until 1962. Today it is unimaginable to us how someone could choose to spend their entire adult life at one school. But Cuthbert never married, and Berkhamsted meant a great deal to him.

Number eight out of 10 siblings and the youngest of seven sons was Cuthbert’s position in life. He was teased by his older siblings (and known as ‘Tuckey’) and his adult family nickname was Uncle Tum. But the remarkable thing about Cuthbert and his siblings is their letter-writing skills. In 1906 they started writing to each other, calling it ‘The Family Budget.’ These letters circulated between the 10 siblings, enabling all to read and comment on each letter. After each Budget had been round they were stored in a wardrobe, and the next Budget started on its travels. It circled the world several times a year, as siblings lived in England, Canada and Africa, although surprisingly few Budgets were lost in the post.

The Machell Cox siblings continued writing the Budget for the rest of their lives. Their letters describe all the family news, as well as commenting on many subjects, including world politics, suffragettes, boy scouts, accusing Winston Churchill of being a liar, votes for women and both wars – providing a fascinating snapshot of life from the point of view of one family. There are first-hand accounts of famous events: the funeral procession of Edward VII (1910); the coronation procession of George V (1911); and the very first Armistice Day (1918).

Cuthbert died in 1962 and the last sibling, Vera, died in 1974, but by then their children were writing the Budget. It continued on its travels until the last poignant letter was written in 1987. Two of the cousins were Oxford professors and they asked the Bodleian Library if they were interested in this huge and interesting archive. The answer, of course, was ‘Yes!’

Although I was born in England and retain a thoroughly British accent, I now live in Australia with my husband, who is an Anglican bishop. But I managed to get a few days at the Bodleian in 2019, where I took very many photos of the first few decades of letters. Once back at home in Brisbane, I began to read, quickly becoming enchanted with these fascinating stories. During lockdown last year I began a podcast, reading the Budget letters and telling the story of this remarkable family in 100 Years of Cox, which is now being downloaded around the world.

Although the rest of the family are fascinating (a hockey professional, a CBE, an OBE, a Sir, another Headmaster etc), Cuthbert’s letters make interesting reading from the Berkhamsted point of view, and I intend to collect them together into a book – although I first have to decipher his handwriting, which was continually criticised by his family.

Cuthbert’s letters provide a snapshot of the School from his point of view for more than 50 years; a catalogue of everyday events as the School grew and developed, as well as his opinions of Dr Fry and Dr Fry’s wayward son (an assistant master who Cuthbert nicknamed Ulysses), and the tantalising weeks leading up to the election of the next Head. Would Greene win or not?! (Don’t worry, Cuthbert was always oh-so-polite and never rude or defamatory).

Considering the world is so interested in epidemics, illness and quarantine at present, I thought you might find this 1928 letter of Cuthbert’s interesting. He is Head of St John’s,

and the house is in quarantine, having had measles, mumps and diphtheria. There are only a couple of masters, who have to both teach and occupy the boys all day long, and then Cuthbert goes down with diphtheria as well. (If Cuthbert was still here today, he might very well be whispering in your ear – ‘And have you had your vaccination yet?’

St John’s House Berkhamsted School Nov 6th 1928

Dear Family, I am sure that when you hear my tale of woe you will forgive me for being late with my letter. At the present moment we are in quarantine for diphtheria – only my house, not the whole school. Four boys have got it and two maids and we have just had to send a third maid away for another disease. However I will tell you the story of our troubles from the beginning.

Two or three days after term started in September we had a case of mumps, followed a week later by a case of measles. The latter was a delicate boy and was really ill so we had to get a nurse as he was too ill to move to the sanatorium. The very day we were free from infection from the latter we had a case of diphtheria, and had to go into quarantine for a week, and wait to hear the report on the swabs taken. Unfortunately we only had the boys tested, as it turned out afterwards.

We were reported clear and returned to school, and two days later I had leave of absence for 5 days to attend a large conference at Croydon on the Welfare of Youth. The Budget arrived whilst I was there. In my absence one of the maids developed diphtheria and the swabs were taken of all; the kitchen maid turned out to be a carrier though she was perfectly well herself. They were to be carted off to hospital last Monday week, the day I returned. So we went back into quarantine. On the Wednesday another boy got it, on Thursday another, on Saturday a fourth, and now today the 7th case. To add to Miss Johnstone’s troubles a third maid has just had to be sent away at a moment’s notice because she developed places on her hands which the doctor says definitely are scabies. So here we are trying to run the house with 3 maids short. Fortunately the nurse we had for the measles boy has stopped with us, and she is a perfect marvel for work and splendidly cheerful.

Meyrick-Jones and I are working very hard to keep the boys busy and happy. Of course at first they loved the novelty of it all, but that has worn off a bit now, and it will be hard to keep them from getting bored. Mr Jones and I and one of the prefects take the classes, and our programme is as follows:

8.45-10.15 work

10.30-11.30 soccer sixes 12.15-1 dinner 1 – dinner 2-2.45 work 2.45-4 walks or parade 4 – cocoa and a bun 4.15-5 indoor games 5-6.30 work

6.30 tea 7-7.45 prep

7.45 till bedtime is occupied with rehearsing our play, glee singing, gym or gramophone concerts.

Soccer sixes is a very strenuous form of exercise. I have been playing myself every day; by the time the day is over I have seen quite enough of the boys. 4pm – I have just been interrupted by the Doctor to whom I mentioned that I had an uncomfortable feeling in my throat which had come on in the last half hour or so. He has looked at it and says it is the disease – sensation!

While he is ringing up the hospital I will try to finish this letter, as I am feeling perfectly well. I expect we shall now try to get parents to have their boys home for quarantine. I don’t see what else can be done.

I must stop now, though I have much still to tell you all. I have been up in an aeroplane for example.

Love to you all, Cuthbert

I share pictures and stories from the Machell Cox siblings on Twitter @CoxLetters

If you are interested in my podcast, just type 100 Years of Cox into any search engine, and you will find it. Alternately, my podcast is available on all podcast apps on your phone, laptop or smart TV. Frances Thompson machellcoxletters@gmail.com buzzsprout.com/1155872

The march to Camp

Prompted by the last issue of The Old Berkhamstedian, my brother Robin Stanier (Lo ’57) and I began reminiscing about the peculiar Berkhamsted tradition by which a CCF contingent would march annually for three or four days to reach the CCF Camp. Our memories of this were hazy and I wondered if any other Old Boys could answer the following questions:

n When did the tradition start? n Did any other schools do this? n Did we all get blisters? n Where did we spend each night when we were on the march? n If a car came up behind us, did we all break from our three lines abreast and dive into a ditch to let the car go by? n I marched to Camp in July 1959. Was this the last ever march?

In the January 1960 edition of the School magazine, George Grace wrote, ‘Camp next year will be in Scotland, from July 26th to August 3rd, and we hope to perpetuate our tradition of a four-day march.’ But future editions make no mention of this Summer Camp taking place. Does anyone know the answer? Any further abiding memories?

The School Archivist Lesley Koulouris sent me the photo of the first march, and I discovered what I had completely forgotten – that I had written a poem about this in 1958.

Camp Fever (with apologies to John Masefield)

I must go down to the Camp again, to the camp at St Martin’s Plain.

And all I ask is a pair of boots, and a winding country lane. And a lusty wail from the bugles flat in the blistering noonday heat, And a lusty oath, when the march is done, for the blistering soles of our feet.

I must go down to the Camp again; for the call of the RSM

Is a wild call and a clear call that no one can contemn.

And all I ask is a noggin of tea to set me back on my legs – A godlike treat, a nectar meet for ambrosial cold fried eggs.

I must go down to the Camp again, for the clean tough, soldier’s life Where the sun beats down like Hades’ fire, and the nights cut through like a knife. And all I ask is a bolster stout, and a palliasse not too prickly, And wistful dreams of my old school bed, and a ticket home quickly.

T.B.S. (The Berkhamstedian, September 1958)

Tom Stanier (Lo ’59)

If anyone can answer Tom’s questions, or has similar stories to share, please get in touch at ob@berkhamsted.com

The 22nd Graham Greene International Festival

October 2021

The 22nd Graham Greene International Festival was held at the School during Graham’s birthday of 2nd October. Owing to the virus, 2020’s four-day festival was postponed and carried over to 2021. Despite fears that far fewer people would attend and overseas visitors would struggle to enter the country, it was a great success. Like the first Festival in 1998 – when Tony Blair was in his first term as Prime Minister and Boris Johnson was a journalist – it included talks by eminent speakers, films based on his books, and tours where Graham trod inside and outside the School, the places and experiences which were formative in his later work.

A star attraction was the session by Richard Greene (no relation) from Toronto, Canada on his acclaimed new biography Russian Roulette: The Life and Times of Graham Greene. The book’s title refers to Graham’s story in his memoir A Sort of Life in which he took his brother’s revolver from School House and spun the loaded chamber in Ashridge Beeches as a thrill to pass the test in manhood. However, the late Berkhamsted Housemaster John Davison thought the story was fanciful.

Richard said that no understanding of Greene’s work is possible without an understanding of the places he visited and the people with whom he became involved. In Greene’s own life, much of the history of the 20th century is written, and his life is a lens through which to see a troubled world and to meet some of its most marginalised people.

He paid tribute to Greene’s daughter – the late Caroline Bourget and the main Patron of the Graham Greene Birthplace Trust – supporters of the Festival and other biographers before him for their research and inspiration, and he justified the role of writers and scholars in exposing (as Greene did) the injustices, miseries and cruelties inflicted upon so many people in far-distant lands during his long life.

Other speakers presented sessions on how and why they undertook work inspired by Graham. The playwright Ben Brown spoke on his new play A Splinter of Ice. It features an imagining of the historic encounter between Graham Greene and Kim Philby in the latter’s apartment in February 1987. The writers Richard Hough and Ben Morales Frost spoke on their new Cuban Rhythms: A musical version of Our Man in Havana.

William Boyd, making his second appearance at a Festival, talked about his film adaptation of The Captain and the Enemy. When Graham Greene placed a hardback copy of William Boyd’s The New Confessions on his coffee table in Antibes in 1987 (the year in which Greene published The Captain and the Enemy), he could never have imagined that one day Mr Boyd would be delighted to accept a commission to adapt Greene’s final novel as a screenplay for a film. Since growing up in West Africa and reading The Heart of the Matter, William Boyd has been an admirer of Greene’s work, which showed him how the personal and sensory experiences of his world could be turned into fiction and art.

Continental European perspectives were provided. Andrei Gorzo, a film scholar from the National University of Theatre and Film in Romania, spoke on the reception of Graham Greene’s novels in the former Socialist Republic of Romania, while German theatre actor Maria Jany talked about her stage adaptations into German of Our Man in Havana.

A late change in the Festival Programme fortunately provided the opportunity for the six-time Festival Director Mike Hill to interview Graham’s grandsons Andrew and Jonathan Bourget about their mother Caroline and grandfather Graham. Both were eager to point out their ongoing commitment to the work of the Birthplace Trust here in Berkhamsted and to its annual Festival in the spirit of Caroline’s dedication and patronage which has been much missed since her recent passing. They gave the Birthday Toast to Graham in the School’s magnificently transformed Deans’ Hall.

Other talks were given by Creina Mansfield, on Greene and Basil Dean, and Mike Hill, on the Greene novel A Gun for Sale, and there was a panel discussion on three other Greene novels by Baroness Claire Fox, playwright Nick Warburton, and Creina Mansfield. This year’s films were The Stranger’s Hand, from 1954, and the 1961 CBS TV film of The Power and the Glory.

The Festival was supported by Berkhamsted School and sponsored by Greene King. Giles Clark (Be ’72)

A poet for life

At the Girls’ School in the 1940s and 50s I was Alison Edwards – and I’m Alison Edwards again now, in my second marriage. A long story, my post-school life – not all happy. I went to work in Yorkshire and stayed 45 years. Now I live in Gloucestershire near the Forest of Dean, and I can look out of my study window at the Severn. I’ve become happy with that.

Wherever I’ve lived, happy or not, I’ve written poetry. I was already writing at school, but my only claim to fame as a Berkhamsted Girl was a limerick I wrote in about 1955 when we had some very slow builders on site, not getting on with the job:

Though of builders we’ve fifteen or twenty, With massive great girders in plenty,

They’re not very quick

Placing brick upon brick, For their motto is Festina lente.

This was of course in the School magazine, and Miss Russell recited it to the audience at that year’s prize-giving.

It’s not the kind of poetry I write now – though after a couple of decades of English-teaching I find it quite hard to abandon regular verse patterns and write freely. After I retired – early, since teaching is an all-consuming job – I began to write more seriously, and because my first marriage had recently ended I chose an ancestral name for my writing: Alison Mace. I didn’t want to write under a divorced name.

BSG women of my generation may recall that I had lost my mother, even before I came to the School. It was a trauma that was never discussed because she had taken her own life, a victim of the stresses of wartime and the difficulty of adjusting afterwards. Now I was no longer giving all my creative energy to pupils, I began to write

about that time, that event – a cleansing and liberating thing to do. I believe that freed me to write more maturely.

Moving back south – even though I’d become an honorary Yorkshire-person and it was a wrench – gave my writing another boost, and now I belong to two regular poetry-writing groups, and co-run one of them.

But I’d never been published. I can’t say I’d tried very hard: one or two poems in magazines, a third prize in an international sonnet competition, fairly regular appearances in the journal of the Philip Larkin Society, About Larkin. But suddenly, after submitting a few poems to The High Window, an online magazine and publisher, I was offered a full collection, and this came out in 2019, entitled Man at the Ice House. At the same time I’d entered Dempsey & Windle’s annual pamphlet competition, which I didn’t win – but nonetheless that resulted in another offer, and we worked on Last of the Cake, a slimmer volume, in 2020; what a wonderful antidote to lockdown!

Both publications happened after I was 80, though I’m not sure their publishers realised that; many publishers will only take an interest in writers who can be expected to keep on laying golden eggs for them. I’m not sure that I’ll ever lay another; those two books contain most of the good poems I’ve ever written. I keep writing, but you don’t produce 80 pages of good poems in a couple of years!

Now I want to make my usual statement about luck: so very many people write poems today, and indeed there are many small presses. But good poets may never be published – there is always luck in it, and I had some. I was lucky, and it gives me pleasure to be called a published poet; but it doesn’t mean I’ll ever be famous (or make Berkhamsted famous!) Nor does it mean I’ll sell many copies, certainly not while Covid is with us and most readings happen on Zoom; I’ve given away most of my 150 copies of Man at the Ice House. If you’re interested you can have one for the price of the postage. I reason that it’s better if they’re read than if they stay clamped between their covers, gathering dust.

Now I’ll leave you with two samples: first, the sonnet to my mother which won that substantial prize, and secondly the title poem of my pamphlet. I really hope you enjoy them.

Wartime picnic

The hole in the hedge is thorny, but we’re through sitting together in long rough grass, a bright blessing of sunshine everywhere, and you lying back, laughing, making it all feel right, forgetting the bombs, your flags across the map, our house half-full of strangers, and our man somewhere unknown in Europe. You unwrap tomatoes, bread – doing the best you can with home-grown, queued-for, scarce; for me it’s bliss

unbounded, the perfect day. Later I see how brave you were that morning, and why this is almost my only unstained memory of you, of us. How soon it came about that you stopped laughing, and the sun

went out.

Last of the cake

Their faces brightened because I’d brought a cake. We’ve all enjoyed it. ‘More?’ I ask, looking at them in turn.

They smile again. The elder, deaf, and with deficits of other kinds, that come with being ninety-six, accepts a quavering sliver with ‘half a cup – enough.’

His brother too; no halves for him, though. ‘That last bit –think it wants eating up –

Let’s have it.’ And he does.

There isn’t much.

Even a crumb is good.

On becoming a Licentiate of the Royal Photographic Society

As a photographer I am self-taught, and, although I have done a small amount of professional work, with pictures published in various papers, magazines and books, and I have had, in Italy, two exhibitions, nearly all my pictures would be classed as amateur, though perhaps I now rank, as Canon will have it, as an enthusiast?

Anyway, after a lifetime of snapping, I began to wonder about some kind of qualification, or mark of recognition. I joined the Royal Photographic Society to see how I could develop my skills and realised that they have three grades of Distinction – Licentiate, Associate and Fellowship. To paraphrase the RPS, to become a Licentiate of The Society, applicants must show variety in approach and techniques but not necessarily in subject matter. Demanding but achievable for most dedicated photographers.

So, I had an aim, and eventually I submitted 10 pictures for a panel to assess. The first picture in my panel is of my wife, Amanda, on the beach at Holme-next-the-sea in February last year. She has a winning mischievous look, but the scars on her nose tell a tale of disorientation and pain. We moved to Norfolk in January and she was completely lost. We resorted to medication to keep her calm, but unfortunately this contributed to a fall and damage to her face. And this, I think, gives the portrait some depth, with her trusting eyes and cheeky grin contrasting with the discoloured skin and scabbed nose.

© Richard Gibbs

The layout of the 10 pictures is actually an 11th image in its own right, and so I chose three other portraits to balance and complement the one of Amanda. In addition, to show variety, I included two wildlife shots and four urban/architectural pictures. I particularly liked the one of the kestrel, as it is unusual to be on the same level as a bird

© Richard Gibbs

of prey in the natural environment, and I liked the way he looks at me, enquiringly.

I lived in Italy for 20 years, in and near Rome, and I am still awestruck by the city. This is a view from the terrace bar of the Mecenate Palace Hotel, where we have stayed on recent visits. Yes, there is quite a bit of dark sky in the picture, but that Roman sky is so velvety…

So, that’s it. Not a race nor a competition, but a selection of pictures offered up for considered

judgement against a set of criteria, which are: Camera work and Technical Quality; Visual Awareness; Communication; Overall Impression; full details of which can be found on the Royal Photographic Society website.

I think that, as with so many things, there is bound to be some subjectivity in any judgement, but having been through the process I have to confess to feeling a sense of achievement and satisfaction that my submission has been recognised as being of a certain standard. No, my pictures won’t suddenly fill the pages of National Geographic, nor feature on the cover of Vogue; I am not (yet) a member of Magnum; and yes, there’s a long long way to go before I can be compared to Ansel Adams or Henri Cartier-Bresson et alios, but, hey, it’s a step…

And the next step will be to aim for the Associate Distinction, (which requires a body of work/project of a high standard and a written Statement of Intent. Strong technical ability using techniques and photographic practices appropriate to the subject).

We’ll see.

Richard Gibbs (Fr ’68)

What is a great headmaster?

Two distinguished alumni of the Lancaster Royal Grammar School, Professor Martin S Alexander and Judge Christopher Critchlow, have decided that their former Head, John Loraine Spencer, qualifies for this title and they have co-written an account of his time at the school (1961-1972) to make their point. Looking back in their late 60s as people who have undertaken significant leadership roles themselves, they see in Spencer a man who was the ideal leader for the times at Lancaster, the ‘Swinging Sixties’ when a revolution in social attitudes swept through the western world and young people were encouraged by their peer groups to break away from perceived respectability and experiment with new norms of behaviour. Some leaders at all levels bent before this storm but John Spencer did not. Tall, with a patrician bearing that in itself commanded respect, he had fought with distinction as a very young subaltern in the D-Day landings and their aftermath, as the authors discovered when they loyally followed his tracks in Normandy, an exploit recounted in the first part of the book. After the war Spencer returned to Cambridge to ‘pick up a couple of firsts’ as he once told me, after which he became Head of Classics and a housemaster at Haileybury as well as OC the CCF. He arrived at Lancaster as Head in 1961 at the age of 38.

With origins in the early 13th century, the grammar school was endowed by a local benefactor in 1469, rebuilt in 1682 and moved in 1852 from its site by the priory to its present, less central, location and granted the royal title by Queen Victoria. It grew in numbers and importance, survived two wars and by 1961 it was a maintained boys’ grammar school with some 800 pupils, a small number of whom were boarders in School House under the care of the Headmaster himself and his wife, Brenda. There was no Bursar at this time so Spencer was responsible for much of the school’s financial administration and he also constructed the timetable. By 1964 the sixth form numbered 244 and that year 15 boys went off to Oxbridge, so academic standards were high and good results were also gained in rugby and cricket. When in 1965 the LEA began to impose pressure on the school to comply with its comprehensive policies, the Head and the governors together managed to stave off the threat for the best part of a decade: Spencer was content for the school to be, as he put it, socially comprehensive while being academically exclusive.

What the authors so admire about their Headmaster, as they make clear, is the steady and unruffled way he ran the school, ‘like clockwork’. Never one to be at all chatty or chummy, he was in many respects remote yet his remarkable memory for facts and faces made it clear that he knew exactly what was going on. Moreover, he was perceived to be shrewd, wise in his judgements and honest, as well as kindly. So the school flourished under his leadership, which reached a climax with the visit of HM the Queen to mark its Quincentenary in 1969.

In 1972, aged 49, Spencer moved to be Head of Berkhamsted School, changing sides at half-time, as his Times obituary put it. Berkhamsted was HMC and independent and the Headmaster (and especially his wife) did not have to run a boarding house. The number of boys from ages 11 to 18 was smaller than at Lancaster and the academic results not quite as good. About a quarter of the pupils were boarders, but in his first year Spencer had to close one of the three boarding houses through lack of demand. There were financial constraints during the 1970s and Spencer saw one solution as being the amalgamation of his school with Berkhamsted School for Girls. In this he was truly ‘ahead’ of his time because the plan was met then with a resolute ‘over my dead body’ attitude from most quarters, though today the merger has taken place and Berkhamsted is a very impressive co-educational school of some 2,000 pupils.

Foiled in this grand vision, Spencer concentrated on running Berkhamsted as a very tight ship in the same way as Lancaster and he left in 1983, having survived a heart attack, possibly brought on by years of remaining outwardly very calm in the face of constant challenges. When he left, numbers at the school were buoyant and there was a healthy balance in the bank for his successor, ‘Jonty’ Driver, to spend. After retiring, Spencer occupied the best part of a decade helping to run the UK’s GAP year programme and he died in 2004, aged 81. An outstanding portrait of him done for Berkhamsted by David Poole certainly contributes to the notion that he was a ‘great’ headmaster. Try reading this book to see if the authors can persuade you that he was. Derek Winterbottom (Hon) Head of History, 1973-79

A Head of his Time, John Loraine Spencer at LRGS (1961-1972) by Martin S Alexander and Christopher Critchlow is published by Carnegie Book Production, Lancaster, 2019. Available from Lancaster Royal Grammar School, £15 paperback, £25 hardback. My first apiary site was ideal. I had inherited it from a senior member of our Association along with a couple of his colonies. It was in a small copse within a horse paddock, with a secure fence all around the trees to prevent the horses and sheep getting in and knocking the hives over. The location was on a small hillock with a couple or three houses a few hundred yards away. Apart from the horses who galloped to the gate to squeeze past me or my vehicle every time I wanted to drive into the paddock, I had few troubles. Mind you, chasing five large hunters across the top of Denner Hill was very exhausting, particularly as they invariably chose to go off in different directions. However, the mobile signal is good up there and I could easily summon the family to come and help. In fact, I usually primed them to expect a call for help before I even went to see my bees.

Apart from the relative security of the site there were other advantages too. A plentiful supply of crops, flowering trees and the extensive flower gardens of the properties close by. There were also quite a few blackthorn bushes around and loads of sloes to be picked at the appropriate time – although I usually forgot to take a container with me and had to make do. I have discovered that a size 10 wellington boot filled to the top will make about one gallon of sloe gin.

My problems began when the owner of the paddock wanted to get into the copse to tidy up some trees that had been blown over. Could I move my bees out for a day or so next week, he asked, as he had organised for some tree fellers to clear up the mess. I protested that I had nowhere organised to go in such an emergency and I certainly would have to remove them two miles or so away and for a lot longer than a day. He was adamant that he needed to be able to clear the fallen trees soon.

I then started to look for an alternative suitable site the minimum distance away. I visited every likely property in the area, some of them twice. There are obviously many more beekeepers in my area than I had realised. Chalfont or Mid Bucks BKA interlopers, probably. However, I eventually found what I thought was the most suitable site. It was in a clearing within a blackthorn thicket on the edge of a field and next to an agricultural contractor’s yard. Brilliant. With the help of a beekeeper friend, we moved the bees in the back of my vehicle down the hill across the next hill and on to the new site.

The bees seemed to thrive, and a swarm filled yet another hive. Then the agricultural contractor had a major theft of equipment and installed a new security fence and gate. Good, an even more secure site for my bees, and also two or more welly boots of sloes guaranteed for me without others picking them before I had had my choice. The site seemed ideal. There was loads of wildlife there – rabbits, buzzards, deer and a badger’s sett about twenty yards away, which was a bit of a worry. However, the badgers have been no problem over the two or three years I have been there.

This particular winter, though, I did have a big problem. Woodpeckers. There must be a family of them, I should think. Soon after the cold spell around Christmas time, I noticed some damage on my oldest hive. It was obvious that a woodpecker had been trying to get to the bees inside. I had made a jacket to go round a hive some months earlier out of the expanded mesh used by plasterers, and I quickly fitted it on and returned home to buy some more mesh to make two more. What with Christmas and family visits, I forgot to do this and in early February I was horrified to find one of my other hives with several penetrating holes and Mrs Bee and her relatives buzzing furiously in and out of the holes in their hive. I rushed home and fabricated some small metal plates from a sheet of ‘stuff’ I had in the garage. Have you ever tried to cut stainless steel with an electric jigsaw? Nine blades and two hours later I was back at the apiary gently screwing some small plates over the holes. The next day saw me buying plasterer’s mesh and making some more jackets.

I was back at the apiary within a few days and shocked to find that the woodpecker(s) had pecked their way in yet again and there were nearly too many holes to count. They had even penetrated some empty supers and brood boxes with nothing in them! However, they had not managed to damage my brood boxes made out of recovered oak floorboards, or the supers made out of Israeli eucalyptus (left over from a night school project). The weather was fine, so I quickly replaced the damaged supers and took them home along with some of the stored but empty brood boxes that had also been holed. There were 13 holes in one of the supers alone and many other trial holes that had been started in other pieces of equipment. Some supers were so badly damaged – particularly where the birds had tried

to get in between the supers and the brood boxes – that I had to abandon them or at least put them aside to work on at the first opportunity.

I eventually found the time to have a good look at the damage and make an attempt to repair what I could. I only had to discard one super in the end. I was able to plate the larger holes with some aluminium I acquired from my neighbour (much easier to cut and drill). The smaller holes on both the inside and outside I filled with various materials. Isopon car filler was easy to use and sand off as was Cuprinol High Performance Two Part Filler. I was only able to fill a few of the very small holes with a mixture of PVA and sawdust as my PVA bottle was virtually empty. Only time will show which material is the most effective. I may keep you informed. Lance Free (Lo ’57)

Some reflections on Greeneland

I appreciate the kind inclusion of some of my past experiences in the OB Magazine, the most recent issue including an interesting retrospective on Graham Greene by Neil Sinyard in his comments on Greene’s biographer, Richard Greene. I have written to Richard Greene in Canada following publication of the biography, Russian Roulette: The Life and Times of Graham Greene.

I had never followed Graham Greene with interest until his then-current book The Human Factor came to my attention in Australia in about 1979. I was amazed at the coincidence when I found that the key character’s residence was not only in Berkhamsted, but – from the description – in the very same location where my mother and I lived in 1946 (confirmed by Colin Garrett of the Graham Greene Trust in Berkhamsted, who kindly sent me a photo of the house on the corner of Kings Road and Clarence Road).

The key character was in British intelligence in London, which stirred my interest further following my earlier experience in Malaya in 1952-1958 as a senior police officer during the long and exhausting 1948-60 Emergency, the counter-insurgency war against the communists’ brutal and ruthless attempt to take over Malaya and Singapore. My main role was Police District Commander and Commander of Jungle Counter-Insurgency Operations. Following a Special Branch training course, I also operated in Special Branch. In Malaya, Special Branch was the paramount secret service of the country and was and remains an extremely powerful force.

I corresponded twice with Graham Greene and one phone call from him inquired if I had known Anthony Burgess in Malaya. I was puzzled by the call but later understood that there was not a good relationship between the two. I made brief reference to his time in Vietnam vis-a-vis my time in Malaya. His brief response indicated little sympathy for the Americans, but I felt did not touch on the underlying real problem.

Much earlier in 1951 Graham Greene left Vietnam and, on his way back to the UK, stopped off in Malaya. He particularly left Kuala Lumpur to explore Pahang State in the very bad areas of Kuala Lipis, Raub, Bentong, Mentakab, Temerloh and Triang. All had been heavily targeted by the Malayan Communist Party’s jungle forces and were still highly active. Very curiously, the State Chief Police Officer in Kuala Lipis at the time was Fred Caldwell, a former Head Boy at Berkhamsted School. And in the following year, 1952, I arrived as Second in Command of Kuala Lipis District and then Commanding Officer of Triang District. One could say perhaps, three Berkhamsted Old Boys all in one hell hole in Malaya!

In simple terms regarding Vietnam, the rescue of South Korea from North Korean invasion in 1950 by the USA and allied forces was regarded as a great success in the era of the dangerous Cold War. The USA believed that Vietnam was an identical problem. Tragically, it was not. The terrain and the circumstances were entirely different and the problem could not be solved with large-scale conventional warfare. The best formula for Vietnam was the exact same innovative modus operandi

formulated in Malaya with high priority to powerful intelligence, food denial and wining hearts and minds. My friend and former intelligence colleague in Malaya, Jack Barlow MBE BEM CPM, was sent by the British Government to counsel the CIA in Vietnam. In a letter to me, he explained that in Saigon he met Daniel Ellsberg, formerly from the Rand Corporation and currently on the staff of General Landsdale. He explained to Daniel Ellsberg that the Americans had got it all wrong and, if they didn’t change their strategy of conventional warfare, they would lose the war. Daniel Ellsberg was extremely shocked and became very emotional about the surprising revelation [letter from Jack Barlow dated July 1995]. This initial warning from Barlow to Ellsberg could justifiably be claimed as the illuminating spark which lit the very long fuse to the havoc created by Ellsberg with the Pentagon Papers scandal in the USA, which in turn led to the accusation by President Nixon that Ellsberg was ‘the most dangerous man in America’ and then the Watergate scandal, which resulted in Nixon’s resignation.

This little item of history could be seen as another case of American imperialism – as Graham Greene would put it – backfiring disastrously. All stemming from US generals’ appallingly poor judgement resulting in massive loss of life and ordnance because they believed they couldn’t lose with such huge financial, personnel and ordnance resources. Personally, I feel that a little imperialism to calm troubled events is a good thing, but not when judgement and planning is bad and solves nothing in the end. Iraq? The alternative British imperialism worked better with far less resources. It made management plan very carefully, think harder, get the facts straight and refrain from impetuous decisions. In the end perhaps taking a little longer to succeed, but with much less loss of life.

Perhaps the Malaysia Trophy donated by Fred Caldwell and me may help jog memories about those long-past troublesome times. David Brent (Be ’48) When I was at the Prep School, Alf Pope looked after the sports fields, tended the cricket pitches, and coached. I think he embodies the term ‘unsung hero’.

He coached me in the nets at the top of Chesham Hill, but he also played for Derbyshire and was a very handy bowler. I remember him saying ‘drop it on a sixpence’ when we were attempting to pitch the ball. He himself would do that unerringly!

He was one of the people who inspired my love of cricket, which still exists today, so much so that I still play and am a member of the MCC.

He was a taciturn fellow, not given to hyperbole, but someone to be much respected. Julian Lyons (SH ’77)

Julian’s Uppers cricket cap

Do you have any unsung heroes from your time at the School? Why not put together a few (or more than a few) words and let us know at ob@berkhamsted.com