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GOLDINGS LOOKING BACK AND REMEMBERING
With some 200 boys whose ages range
between 14 and 21 years there are bound to be a few pranks Going on,
"here are just a few"
All old boys will
remember the name RONUK. Once a week all the beds in the dormitory
were pushed to one end, and each boy had his own basket, used to
keep his personal belongings in these were placed on top of his bed
Some boys had the task of rubbing the Ronuk into the floor boards,
others used a 'Bumper ' to create some sort of 'Shine'. The problem
was the boy, who in between these two operations was to distribute
the Ronuk. Depending on his temperament and if one those who were
rubbing it in was a friend or foe, a huge "Dollop" was splattered on
the dormitory floor no easy task for the rubbing in. It
has been said that even the most angelic of boys cast their first
swear word on such occasions. When the beds were returned to their
right places the baskets were placed underneath, but not always in
their right places, and so it could be heard that the second swear
word was cast, ! ! !
It is reported that a boy who was a boring show off had his hair
plastered with Ronuk after lights out. (I think he said hair!!!)
One of the most prized possessions was to own a Crystal set. These
were made by a member of the outside staff for a nominal sum ( was
it a 1/s) I suppose with 4d a week pocket money it would be about
right. I was lucky to have one, which I shared with the boy in the
next bed to mine. The trick was to take one of the ear pieces off
the headphone and give it to him. In those far off days only the BBC
could be got by carefully manoeuvring the cats whisker on the
crystal to, get the best reception. Lights out having been played by
the bugler, it was easy to see those who were lucky enough to have a
set, out would come a torch to find a better spot on the crystal.
Going to sleep while listening to the dance band music played in
some posh hotel in London, (was it the SAVOY, and was it Henry Hall,
or Ambrose ). Wakening suddenly to the same tune being played over
and over again "The Teddy Bears Picnic", It was the BBC's best tune.
It was past midnight, but we weren't caught!!!!
Reminiscence of those halcyon days.
Mind you, it wasn't always “halcyon”, there were nice boys and there
were bully boys, My own rather meagre physique seemed to attract
those much bigger than I, resulting in a few unasked for
intimidations. On one occasion a beefy prefect who in the dormitory
demanded to see what comics I had in my basket was some what taken
aback when I dared to refuse, a rather big fist connected with my
jaw was not what I hoped for my defiance. Even today I can still
click that part of my jaw. not surprising, after that I was always
left alone. Having been made Prefect toward the end of my stay, once
again I found myself being intimidated in trying to carry out such
authority that was expected from a Prefect. This was from two
brothers who I had always thought were good friends, especially as
we shared a modicum of praise for our achievements in sport, both
soccer and cricket. But that was part of life at Goldings. One
reason for relating the above incidents is that neither they or
myself, could have known what great effect it was to play in my life
once I was 'outside' on my own. For one thing, although remembering
the incidents, I never bore any grudge, I never reported or told
tales. It enabled me to be a judge of character in other people, to
stand up for myself, which was at times necessary, once again
because of my apparent meagre physique, but there were a few who got
a big surprise from my reaction, I even surprised myself! So thanks
to those who sought to make a name for themselves at my expense, you
made me make a name for myself.
I've always whined I could have been to one of the Goldings
reunions, especially the Print ones, I read about them in the Guild
Messenger.
I can remember when we used to print the Guild Messenger at
Goldings, then it was monthly, now only twice a year but it enables
us to keep in touch with people and happenings in Barnardo's. In
conclusion, I am ever grateful for the time I spent at Goldings, to
those who were not happy there and did not enjoy their time there,
well it could not have been between 1933-37, for despite my former
impressions, most of us had a damn good time, we had plenty of fun,
plenty of discipline (firm, but fair),
plenty of training for the choice of our trade, and plenty of sport.
I can't resist relating to my guidance from Mr, Cruikshank on the
cricket field many years later here in Australia I had figures of 7
wickets for 38 runs.
I could have taken a
bus ride from Hertford North, but the walk to Goldings would
rekindle old memories of some forty‑five years ago. As I walked, I
once again saw the marching columns of boys, headed by the school
band playing 'Colonel Bogey' etc, as we marched to the War Memorial
in Hertford on Remembrance Day. On Saturday’s groups of boys
returning from the 'Film House' where for 3d one could see the films
of the day. Some carrying a bottle of 'Tizer' and a bag of stale
biscuits, for a feast in the dormitory that night.
As I turned into the
drive, I noticed the absence of the sign which read William Baker
Technical School; it had been replaced by a black‑and‑white sign
stating it was now being used by Hertfordshire County Council for
educational purposes. Walking over the two bridges down the main
drive, I looked to the left where the swimming pool used to be, now
it is an overgrown stretch of water. I wonder who can remember Mr
Jenkins, a warm‑hearted and genial man, always willing to listen and
give advice. I took a photo of the house where he lived (just below
the old gym) but could see no sign of habitation. Walking up past
the gym, where physical fitness (plus, for those who were caught
doing what they hadn't ought to, a place for endurance of physical
fitness) was given under the watchful eye of the one and only
Mr
Patch. Outwardly it hadn't changed, but inside it appeared to have
been partitioned off for various activities educational.
New buildings had
been put up on the left of the gym, but I walked on up to where the
workshops still stand. The old clock was still there (but long since
showing the correct time). Mr Millar ‑ who remembers the driver of
the lorry who took boys to the hospital at Woodford Bridge, and
brought back supplies? His house adjacent to the old clock was still
there. The engineering shop, with its big drive wheel; alas, I
couldn't see it through windows that had been painted over, I was
informed it was still there. The iron stairway to the 'Snobs' or
shoemaking repair shop was overgrown with shrubbery. Walking round
to the other side I saw the old printing shops. Here time stood
still, as I reflected back over the years; this then was where it
all began for me as a compositor. How many comps can I remember?
The Guertin brothers, Barkas (also the school goalkeeper) and many
others whose faces I can recall but names escape me. The teachers
too,
Mr Wollen the head, Mr East, Mr Riley, and was it Mr Amos the
reader. In the machine room was Mr Penny, the Purkiss brothers. The
only way down to the machine room was by a winding stairway; who
else can remember carrying a 'forme' down, and who else was caught
by asking for a tin of striped ink for a two‑colour job, and indeed
for a 'long weight'?
And so up to the
house, looking up at the windows where as a boy in Aberdeen House, I
gazed out across the lawns and parade ground. The dining hall, and
the ablutions, the cookhouse, all outwardly the same, but now
forbidden territory. I tried to think of names, Rev McDonald the
Headmaster,
Mr Culver Mr 'Tooty' Jones (would I have thought then,
that his daughter, Iris would one day be my sister‑in‑law). Mr
Cruikshank the sports master, but apart from
Mr Maslin my memory
fails to put other names to pen.
The old staff dining
room is now used as offices. I glanced up to where the role of
honour board giving the names of cricket teams once hung, but that
too was gone. I wonder how many old boys can recall Mr Mac‑ son
(Derek?) a cricketer himself, asking us to help him with pick and
shovel, to cut away the bank and make more room for the boundary.
The cricket pitch is still there, much improved and used by
employees of HCC.
Briefly, the old band
hut and recreation hut are still there, but used for other things.
Was it Mr. Marchant who was the bandmaster then? The parade ground is
now a car park, another car park is situated up the steps leading to
where the football pitches were and I believe still are used. The
old sick bay is now used for social activities. The garden section
where our own vegetables were grown (and 'scrumping' used to take
place) is now a nursery of trees and shrubs, used to supply schools
and parks for the council.
My camera clicked, as
I reminded myself that Australia was too far away to imagine that I
would ever be able to see the old school again. Pictures would be a
nostalgic reminder of those days gone by. I retraced my steps back
to Hertford, this time along the pathway beside the canal, via Port
Vale, and the long walk didn't seem to matter, I had seen what I
thought I would never see again. If any old boys of that era can
fill in the empty spaces, It should make interesting reading.
Charles Hemus
Mount Stephen
Goldings 1933 to1937
Reproduced from The Guild Messenger
Summer 1981 |