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I
have been glad to respond to an invitation extended to me by the
Editor of the Guild Messenger to write a farewell message to all who
have been associated with Goldings, whether as students, members of
staff or in administrative posts at Stepney. As I believe is well
known, there are some few who have served the School in more than
one capacity, first as pupils, and later as teachers. We at Goldings
have understood and sympathised with the disappointment felt by
former pupils of
Watts Naval School and the
Russell‑Cotes School,
when these fine old establishments were closed down. Readers of this
journal will recall that in the April issue an Old Boy of
Russell
Cotes gave eloquent expression to his sense of loss and his emotions
when revisiting the scenes of his boyhood. Now it is our turn to
swallow the bitter pill and we have to reconcile ourselves to what
has been done and cannot be undone.
Much as I would like to use this
opportunity to thank specially particular boys and members of Staff,
past and present, who have given me staunch support, I think it will
be understood that it is better that I do not address myself to
anyone by name, for inevitably I should leave out someone who richly
deserved to be mentioned. I have been moved, and at times not a
little embarrassed, by the very kind references that have been made
to my own services to the boys of Goldings. No one realises more
than I how ineffective my work would have been without experienced
colleagues, who advised and supported me throughout my period of
office. It would be idle to pretend that sharing the same roof and
living surrounded by about two hundred boys and young men did not
entail some disadvantages for the enjoyment of a quiet family life.
One must expect some sacrifice from wife and family to do this kind
of work. This is but one side of the coin and I am a little out of
sympathy with those who will not turn the coin over and display what
is on the other side. Here is depicted a full and interesting life,
with many compensations and rewards. Greatest among these I would
put beyond question the joy of meeting Old Boys, seeing them happily
married and being introduced to their wives and the lucky children,
who will grow up in the comfort and warmth of natural family
affection. Among the pleasures, too, I count thumbing through the
Guild Messenger for scraps of news about them. My wife, our daughter
Celia and our son David, ask me to convey their good wishes to all
who have shared a home with them at Goldings. David, especially, has
always had an affectionate regard for Goldings, for he and the other
Goldings boys had much in common. In his boyhood, he took part in
many of their escapades, a fact which came to my knowledge only when
it was too late to do anything about it, as his pals were too loyal
to betray him at the time.
The very word "farewell" has acquired a
melancholy air of finality, at variance with its literal meaning.
Staff, as well as boys, often speaks of having been "farewelled" at
Goldings. I was reminded of this in a letter I received recently
from a retired and much loved member of staff, always referred to by
his nautical nickname. (There are no prizes for guessing right.)
It is in the true sense of the word that
I wish all my friends farewell, as I hope and trust to meet many of
them again. I have much appreciated the kindness of all those who
have written to me on learning of my retirement. If I may be allowed
to address a word to all those who have been affected by the closure
of Goldings, either materially, or by being wounded in sentiment and
spirit; the way one reacts to a circumstance beyond one's control is
far more important than the circumstance itself. The truth of this
has been demonstrated to me, times out of number, by Goldings boys
themselves. If we view the recruitment to the School in a frank and
realistic manner, we must accept that deprivation and adversity in
early years were invariably the causes which brought them into the
fold. Indeed this was what gave the School its distinctive quality.
Consider then how many have turned their misfortunes to good
account. Instead of bewailing the circumstances, which made them
members of an outsize family, they have made the best of the
opportunities, which this afforded and climbed higher up the ladder
of success than otherwise would have been possible for them. To
speak one's mind without fear or favour is a good thing to do, but
it is most unwise to let feelings of injustice turn to rancour, for
in this event one can truly hurt oneself, by adversely affecting
one's own personality.
I think I should find it easier to write
a book about Goldings than a short article for a magazine. Once I
allowed the flood of reminiscence to carry me along, the whole of
this volume would not suffice. I will conclude, therefore, with just
three incidents from the past, which will provide a little light
relief and end my contribution in a happy, even if nostalgic, mood.
If the participants chance upon these stories, they will not fail to
recognise themselves. I recall one of many instances, in which I was
called to a dormitory late at night to settle a commotion. On
investigating the cause, I discovered that a prefect, out on leave
that evening, had arranged for sandwiches to be smuggled to his
locker, so that he could allay the pangs of hunger in the ease and
comfort of his bed. Unfortunately, some practical joker had
fortified this repast with a few 1 in. nails laid between the "Jinners".
On another occasion a conspiracy was
hatched to deflate a boy, who had bored and aggravated his
companions by what they considered to be showing off and boasting.
After lights out someone plastered his hair with Ronuk. Another late
night for me, of course. Determined to unmask the culprits and
working on the theory that some traces must have rubbed off on the
perpetrators, I went systematically from bed to bed, about 240 in
all in those days. My nostrils were assailed by various odours, but
not a single pungent whiff of polish. Eventually I retired defeated.
Eight years later, in the Goldings lorry travelling to a cricket
match, I was told by an Old Boy exactly how I had been spoofed.
Finally I have a memory of a certain Master B., who rode
triumphantly into the Courtyard one Boxing Day morning astride a
dray horse. How events, which vexed one at the time, have been
metamorphosed by the passage of years into fond memories. Never a
dull moment and, as Skipper was wont to say, "never mind, eh!"
From Mr. R. F.
Wheatley, BSc.
Reproduced from The
Guild Messenger
July 1967
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