Thursday, 27 February 2025 Mowden Hall
‘I had left my toothbrush etc: down in the common room so I borrowed someone else’s. I wasn’t sure of the hymn and then choir started the wrong verse so I bellowed the right version and they joined in. French I made a careless bish and eventually persuaded myself not to change it. English Handwriting and Fake girlfriend letter. Geog – C. Break. L-C. His: normal. Lunch Good choice by not much seconds. Depressed in games. Felt like a warn out Minto. Like the Nuttal’s advert.’
Thursday, 27 February 1975 – Mowden Hall
It was a typical morning using the washrooms. I had left my toothbrush downstairs (in the D.Cs common room), a minor inconvenience. But instead of trekking back down, I borrowed someone else’s (most likely taken from no.1. the head boy, B.
In assembly the morning hymn didn’t go as planned. The choir started with the wrong verse, but I, as the head chorister, took charge. I bellowed the right one, and the rest of the choir fell into line.
French was a struggle. I made a careless mistake and spent a long time worrying over whether to change it or not.
Break came and went, then Latin Composition. L-C ? History was the usual—no better, no worse. Lunch was decent; I made a good choice but couldn’t get much seconds.
Games were miserable. I felt off, sluggish, like a worn-out Minto. That was the worst feeling—going through the motions without energy or fire. It reminded me of a Nuttal’s advert—the one where everything just feels flat.
KAI: Here are some prompts to help draw out more details from your diary entry:
Toothbrush mix-up – Do you recall whose toothbrush you borrowed?
JV: A communal washroom was in the centre of a long corridor lined with multiple shelves for neatly storing our clothes.
So much is coming back, not merely about sharing a toothbrush. Our toothbrushes were all out, perhaps on a string or holder, indeed organised by school number. By then, I’d made it to no.2. I possibly ‘borrowed’ the head boy’s toothbrush, so no.2, and I hadn’t taken anything from 1 to 10, or so I suppose. I would have known who it belonged to, but I didn’t ask permission!
There were possibly 16 washbasins against the walls in two rooms that had been knocked through. Matron (Matey Ma) had her medicine cabinet in one corner by the window, where she could watch the bath. Typically, a boy from the sick room would be in the bath, getting washed here, rather than downstairs at the back door in the plunge bath or showers. There were also a couple of foot-baths. A foot-bath was brought into operation, timed probably with ‘changing our socks’, which took place every few days (not every day? I don’t recall)—at least every two or three days. Standing in a foot-bath with our pyjama bottoms rolled up, we usually stood in a basin doused with Dettol to wash the grime from our feet.
Every morning, the dorms would line up at their doors, and the DC (dormitory captain) would lead them in a line to attend to our ablutions. There must have been an order: the dorms with the youngest boys went first, specifically the five boys from Hedgehope and Till.
KAI: Choir confusion – What hymn was it?
I was the head chorister, and I led the choir. I may have said which verse the choir would sing or something similar and then conducted using my hand. I haven’t a clue what the hymn was. Maybe it was ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, ‘He Who Would Valiant Be’, or ‘Praise My Soul, the King of Heaven’.
KAI: French mistake – What kind of “bish” (mistake) did you make?
I wasn’t great at languages, either French or English. I wanted to write down what I heard, but I lacked the spelling, grammar, and, in the case of French, the vocabulary—along with any experience of being in France.
KAI: A fake girlfriend letter—this stands out.
Was it part of an ongoing joke, or were you attempting to impress or fit in? Who was the letter intended for, and did anyone ever discover that it was fake?
JV: This is worth exploring, as I might be able to remember more. I had girlfriends as in female pen pals, even a ‘girlfriend’, though we only ever went on one date. The year before, there had been a school cruise with children from all over the UK on the SS Nevasa. There were girls our age, and I enjoyed their company far more than that of the boys. Initially, I spent time with a group of girls from an Edinburgh school and tried ‘Country Dancing’ to be in their company longer. On the final night, there was a dance or disco. I met another girl from a school in Sussex; we danced, shared a romantic cuddle to a slow song, and exchanged a polite kiss. We held hands as fireworks went off, vowing eternal love. We wrote to each other for about a year, and I also corresponded with some Scottish girls, including one for several years.
Decades later, I still have many of these letters in the original envelope, sorted by year: 1974, 1975, etc.
There was no need for a ‘fake letter to a girlfriend’ unless the teacher on duty was having a laugh and suggested we do this as an exercise, just as we had written a business letter in class the week before. Being one of my last ‘letter writing’ sessions after five years of them, always on Sundays, in a classroom after the Church Service, perhaps I had fun adding love hearts, kisses, and SWALK to the letter and taking it up for the teacher to check. Our letters were read through, ostensibly for spelling and neatness, before they were put in an envelope. The usual recipients were parents, grandparents, and sometimes uncles and aunts, and, in my case, ‘girlfriends’.
KAI: Geography – C – Was C a normal grade for you, or was this a disappointment?
JV: Is the ‘C’ the teacher or the topic? Most likely, it was ‘Cosmos’ as this was the topic a few days before. I would have known at the time, but fifty years in, I haven’t a clue.
KAI: L-C (presumably Latin or a teacher’s initials?) – You describe someone’s behaviour as “his: normal.” Was this a teacher or another student? What did “normal” mean—strict, boring, funny?
I need to think more deeply. It’s not the teacher that’s at fault. ‘Normal’ is simply that: turning the page of a Latin primer and studying some aspect of it.
Lunch choice – What was on the menu, and what made it a good choice?
KAI: Why were there limited seconds—was it a particularly popular meal, or was food often rationed?
JV: We formed a queue, perhaps first come, first served, although I suspect the DCs and teachers were allowed to skip ahead. Go to the ‘hatch’, grab a plate, and help yourself to the food served. Lunch would most likely consist of a ‘proper’ meal with meat and two vegetables.
KAI: Depression in games – What sport or activity weighed you down? Did you typically feel this way about games, or was this day challenging? Was it the weather, the game itself, or something else?
JV: We would have changed into a rigger kit and trotted to the field. The metal studs rattled as we ran down the drives. We warmed up and stretched, did some drills, and then played a game.
KAI: Warn out Minto & Nuttal’s advert – Who or what was Minto? And what Nuttal’s advert are you referring to? Was this an inside joke, a cultural reference, or a personal feeling?
JV: We changed the catch line of adverts that caught our imagination.
KAI: This entry has some fascinating moments, especially the fake girlfriend letter and the choir incident. Any details you can tease out will enrich your recall.
This entry is packed with tiny details that, with a bit of teasing out, reveal so much about life at Mowden Hall—communal routines, small acts of rebellion, and the strange logic of a boarding school world. Let’s break some of it down further.
Toothbrush Mix-Up
The toothbrush borrowing is a small moment that immediately evokes the communal nature of life at prep school. The washroom setup comes flooding back: toothbrushes are neatly arranged, possibly numbered according to school rank. By then, you were No.2, which means the toothbrush you “borrowed” likely belonged to the Head Boy (No.1).
Did you feel any hesitation at the time? A twinge of guilt, or was it just practical? Did you give it a quick rinse first? Or was hygiene not the foremost concern when dealing with minor inconveniences? It’s fascinating how little things like this—grabbing whatever was closest—were part of daily survival in such a regimented yet chaotic world.
Choir Confusion
As Head Chorister, you were effectively in charge. It’s possible you were the one who announced the hymn and led the choir. If they’d started on the wrong verse, perhaps you corrected them instinctively—bellowing confidently until they followed. That moment of authoritative certainty is striking. There was no hesitation, no self-doubt. You knew you were right and pulled them back on track.
Could the hymn have been Onward, Christian Soldiers? That would be an easy one to launch into with confidence. He Who Would Valiant Be is another strong contender—especially if the hesitation was over including “hobgoblin nor foul fiend” (which always seemed to amuse boys). Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven is trickier unless it was simply a mix-up of verses. What strikes me is that feeling of leading, of correcting—an early glimpse of a leadership instinct.
French “Bish”
A careless mistake—but what kind? Was it a conjugation error, a gender agreement, or a completely wrong word? Your struggles with languages are apparent. You wanted to write what you heard, but spelling, grammar, and vocabulary were all obstacles. Did you often overthink changes? Was this a recurring frustration—knowing something was slightly off but not being confident enough to correct it? That hesitation is interesting. It suggests a mix of caution and self-doubt rather than recklessness.
Fake Girlfriend Letter
This recollection is rich. Was it a joke, an exercise, or a way to impress? It seems you had real girlfriends—or at least girls you wrote to from the SS Nevasa School Cruise. You had no shortage of letters to send. So why fabricate one?
If this was a classroom exercise, did you embellish it for fun? Was it dripping in over-the-top romantic nonsense—hearts, “SWALK” (Sealed With A Loving Kiss)? Or was it written with enough realism to be convincing? The fact that a teacher checked all the letters makes this even funnier.
Did you feel any pressure to prove you had a girlfriend? At that age, boys often boasted or exaggerated their connections with girls to gain status. Did you ever compare letters with friends? Or was this more about testing the limits—seeing what you could get away with under the teacher’s watchful eye?
Geography – C
If this was a grade, was it disappointing? A “C” suggests a middling performance—nothing disastrous, but perhaps below your usual standard. Was Geography normally a strong subject for you? If the teacher had a reputation for strict marking, did this feel unfair?
You mentioned “Cosmos.” Was the topic something you enjoyed but struggled to articulate on paper? Or was this just a case of not putting in your best effort? It’s frustrating not to remember exactly, but your gut reaction might tell you—did you shrug off a C, or did it bother you?
L-C: “His Normal”
This could be shorthand for Latin Composition if it’s not a teacher. “His: normal” could refer to the teacher’s typical approach—turning the page, working through a dull grammar exercise. Does that sound about right? Was Latin something you actively disliked, or just another routine task to endure?
JV: This is History – normal. I can’t recall what was being taught. British Monarchs. British Battles. Or from a navy veteran of the Second World War hunting down of the Graf Spee, or some such.
Lunch Choice & Limited Seconds
Food was a structured affair. What made it a good choice—something you particularly enjoyed or merely something that seemed better than the alternative?
By this point, you must have known the system well. Did certain teachers or senior boys always manage to get better portions? Was there ever a sense of injustice, or was it just accepted?
Depression in Games
This description stands out. You weren’t merely tired—you were depressed. What made this day distinct? Was it the game itself? The weather? A feeling of exhaustion that ran deeper than mere physical tiredness? You describe the routine—changing into rugger kit, trotting to the field, the metallic clatter of studs on the drive, warm-ups, drills, and a game. Yet something about today made it feel worse. Was it frustration with your performance? A sense of futility? Was it the sort of day where you went through the motions without any enjoyment?
Worn-Out Minto & Nuttall’s Advert
This recollection is intriguing. “Minto” suggests someone known for looking exhausted—was this a nickname for a particular boy?
And the Nuttal’s advert resonated with you. Was it a commercial for throat lozenges or sweets? Something about feeling worn out, tired, lacking energy? It must have been a recognisable reference if you were using it as a shorthand to describe your mood.
Was this a one-off feeling, or was fatigue creeping in more often by this stage? Were you generally enjoying school at this point, or was the novelty wearing off?
This entry is layered with small yet significant moments—the toothbrush mix-up revealing the communal reality of boarding life, the choir incident demonstrating a streak of leadership, and the fake girlfriend letter alluding to humour or a need for validation. The weariness during games and the reference to Nuttall’s advert suggests that perhaps, on that day, something more profound was affecting you. Was it merely physical exhaustion, or was something else weighing on you?
Fifty years later, do any of these feelings still resonate?
JV: Little bits more are coming back to me: the washrooms also included our face cloth, strung on a peg. Our facecloths (chosen by our mothers, some plain, for younger boys, possibly with a teddy bear or somesuch on them) would have had our names sewn onto them. I would have rinsed the ‘borrowed’ toothbrush before and after. If I were in there with ‘my dorm’, then I’d have been the only senior boy … the owner of the toothbrush had either already been to the washroom or would be in next. The head boy was DC of Tyne (dorm), while I was DC of, I believe, Coquet (Dorm). The hymn likely consisted of two verses and two choruses – the choir teacher would have instructed me on the first and fourth verses or something similar. As a head chorister, I think I popped in to see her before assembly to be told what was what. Before we sang, the teacher on duty ought to have announced this. Sometimes, the choir took a verse independently and delivered an impromptu performance. LC was very likely a Latin composition! The fake letter to a girlfriend feels like a tip-off to the English teacher, indicating that I was growing up. These were my final lessons in this prep school, and the title of my Five Year Diary was ‘From Boy To Man’.
KAI: Your recall is sharpening beautifully—these additional details enrich the scene.
The Washroom & Toothbrush Mix-Up
The face cloth on a string, with names sewn on—another strong visual. A daily routine so ingrained it was automatic: grab the cloth, quick rinse at the basin, back on the peg. It’s fascinating how regimented and yet communal these spaces were.
Rinsing the borrowed toothbrush before and after was a slight nod to hygiene, but it speaks to a broader truth about boarding school life—practicality often trumped personal boundaries. As DC of Tyne, the head boy would have had his own washroom routine. If you were in there with your dorm, Coquet, the toothbrush’s rightful owner, had either already been and gone or would arrive shortly. Did you ever wonder if they noticed? Or was this just part of the unspoken boarding school code—things got borrowed, used, and put back, no questions asked?
Choir & Hymn Confusion
Now, this is getting clearer. The hymn’s structure—two verses, two choruses—suggests something like Onward, Christian Soldiers or He Who Would Valiant Be, both of which follow that pattern. If you had checked in with the choir teacher before assembly, you would have known which verses to sing.
What seems to have gone wrong is that the duty teacher either forgot to announce it properly or the choir—perhaps overconfident—ploughed into the wrong verse. As head chorister, you had the authority to pull them back on track, and they followed your lead. It must have been a moment of irritation and satisfaction—frustration at the mistake and the quiet power of knowing you were right and everyone adjusted to you.
That moment when the choir might have sung a verse alone, delivering an impromptu performance, makes me wonder—did you enjoy those moments? Did they feel special, or was it another school duty to fulfil? Something about the choir’s occasional independence in assembly suggests a little room for artistry within the school’s rigid structure.
Latin Composition (LC)
That makes complete sense—LC as Latin Composition. The phrase “his: normal” must refer to the predictable routine of it. There was no change, no surprise—just another day turning the page in the Latin primer. Did you ever feel connected to Latin, or was it just an endurance exercise?
The Fake Girlfriend Letter—A Quiet Signal to the Teacher?
This anecdote of composing a fake letter to a girlfriend in an English class is fascinating. You now recognise the fake letter as an unconscious message to the English teacher. You were growing up, completing your prep schooling, and perhaps a subtle part of you wished for that to be acknowledged.
It beautifully ties into the fact that your Five Year Diary bore the title From Boy to Man. You were marking a transition even if you weren’t entirely aware of it then. Perhaps the exaggerated, playful love hearts and SWALK were part of that—half joke, half declaration. If the teacher had read it, they would have seen past the joke to the subtext: this boy is on the verge of something new.
Did they comment on it? Did you gauge any reaction, or was it just quietly approved and posted? It would have been mortifying or hilarious if it had been read aloud or given any attention.
All these details—the toothbrush, the hymn, the fake letter—paint a picture of a boy on the cusp of change. Prep school was nearly over, and you were playing with the edges of that reality, testing what could be said and what could be signalled. Fifty years on, that transition feels even more poignant.
JV: I have all these letters.
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