Ralph Palmer - Grenville House 1947 -1951
Reflections from the late '40s and early '50s
As we all know, the old school of Shoreham Grammar was founded in the 1840's. It was sited some 500 yards from the Adur river estuary, between St Mary's church and the railway bridge that crossed over the road leading to the playing field. The educational trimmings in the brochure were many when we enrolled a hundred years later, but failed to mention the train spotter's paradise as steam engines passed between Shoreham and Lancing, and the beauty of the ornate lamp post that lit up the bridge from the boundary wall.
Take it from me; global warming was nowhere in sight as the Palmer boys checked in '46. It was the coldest winter on record, but who cares about that at the age of twelve. And to have education on tap if the weather was beastly made good sense, not to mention the necessity to lodge us boys in school following our return from Ascension Island. The turtle shell in the hall at Shoreham College bears witness to that..
Rivalry between us Boarders who numbered around one hundred, and the 'Day Bugs' as they were 'affectionately' called, was always there, and we were usually outnumbered two to one. School fees of forty-five pounds a term for boarders, were reduced by a fiver if your brother was with you, and the Day-fees were minimal at sixteen pounds. At that time girl pupils were nowhere in sight, and were treated as extra terrestrial according to the rules, so we admired them from a distance and rarely got to touch-but that is entirely another story. The number of Smiths' at school was always around the fourteen numbers, but they never came cheaper by the dozen and paid the same as everyone else.
Classrooms, divided by glass and wood partitions were opened up from time to time to form an assembly hall, and the desks that were constructed of proper timber in those days attracted 'woodcarving' students to write their names in the history of Shoreham Grammar-- if chapel pews were not to hand. Strangely enough, they were also used to sit-in and to store the student's books, and conceal the occasional crib sheet that the unprincipled would use at the time of the monthly exams. The Biro pen or ball point had yet to be invented, so the inkwell was king, and the use of pens and nibs was the 'scratch of the day', which is now a remnant of history. TV sets were nowhere in sight, although it was rumoured that Mr Bruder the Head Master had one in his possession, but the actual sighting of such a box was never confirmed.
Yes, we had our greats among the teachers, and the occasional explosion in the science lab did not go amiss. The 'big-bang' theory, we were living all over again in the forties! Our science master, an Ice Hockey icon in his day, was reputed to be the most fearsome forward Brighton Lions had ever produced. His nickname from his sporting career will remain my secret. The Lab at the old school shared the playground with a chilly lavatory block and games court, and a bicycle-shed where milk was dispensed at break time was just around the corner. Should you by chance miss your turn in the queue a smarter boy than the rest would offer a topped-up bottle with dregs and laughter would follow as the punter polished it off.
Discipline was handed out to those who misbehaved, and from time to time I was in this circle with others who shall be nameless! Did such admonishment aid circulation and was it good for the heart? Well, they're still around today and God bless 'em. The flick of rubber tubing in the lab or an ear twisting session in French class could lift you off your seat, and was usually accepted as a welcome break from the learning cycle. And for those who received the 'highest' credentials, 'six of the best' from the Head Master in front of the assembled school, notoriety was sure to follow if the magazine in the seat of their pants was not discovered. Times were tough, and academic achievements were high. "Sinclair" had yet to invent the pocket calculator, so the agility of the mind continued to develop with multiplication tables and the working out of four digit cubes, which was a milder form of punishment that was called Red List, and cancelled your half-day off.
Another jewel in the crown to add to our classroom instruction was the huge expanse of playing field that was but a half-mile from the school, and could easily accommodate four football pitches with grass to spare. Parallel bars, climbing ropes and a 'wooden horse' in the gym, were presided over by Mr Bralesford, an ex army PTI who was in charge of our physical instruction. Mr Chitty the caretaker lived on the premises, and usually helped to map out the annual sports-day tracks to perfection for Grenville House to scoop the cups and shields, or so it appeared to me as their Captain.
In summer, when evening prep-classes ended early we would head for the beaches, where the freezing water made it a lively event. It was a fantastic ending to a long school day that usually began with a chapel appointment across the road, if you couldn't invent an obscure religion to bail you out.
Pocket money; the princely allowance of one and sixpence a week was never a problem to spend. Mind you, in those days it was equivalent to nine new pennies and went much further-- a pot of plum jam; the only jam not rationed in 1950 cost a shilling, and the remaining sixpence was usually squandered on buns from the baker's shop next to the museum. Whatever the philosophy on the subject, it was generally accepted that it was not our role in life to lift the economy of Shoreham town, but the mere notion that we helped the shopkeepers out of the poverty trap was always a pleasant reflection.
Would I have chosen another school to attend-- not on your life? After a year at Shoreham, a bird in the hand was surely worth two in the bush. I rest my case for the best and only secondary school I ever attended. I know what you're thinking, but I wasn't expelled, I finished the course.
With every good wish to the school,
I remain,
Ralph Palmer, Nairobi Kenya.
January 2012