Wednesday 19 March 1975
Up again. French exam, O.K and Maths and Geography. Lunch, pies, steak had seconds. (Last Wednesday at school). Makeup for senior play. Went quite well. Mr T, took many pictures of play. Too many adults involved in play, unimpressive. 9 up. Flute for Bonnie Dundee tune. Dorm feast, have with Dom, Good! Mr T watches (mirhen), go to sleep, restless night.
My last Wednesday at school
There was a precise countdown to my departure, to something that had been my life since I was eight years old coming to an end. An awareness that the routine I’d become familiar with for each school day was ending. Wednesdays were different, midweek, with games in the afternoon but no further lessons before our evening meal. The other days of the week, we had formal classes after games.
Mr T was a keen amateur photographer with a dark room. He took pictures of us all growing up at the school.
I don’t know what tipped the balance, but the productions felt too dependent on the adults. Although they didn’t perform, keeping them together must have been crucial.
Dorm feast
This was a treat that the ‘best’ dorm won. I’d won it at least twice as the DC and had received it as a boy in Beamish dorm a few years before. The lights stayed on for half an hour, and the matron brought in a tray of orange juice and cake.
Restless night
The restless night would be the cake!
That countdown to leaving led to a mix of emotions—anticipation, a bit of anxiety, and that strange sense of going through the last of everything.
Wednesdays had their own rhythm. They were a mini-holiday, with no afternoon school—more like a school Saturday.
That dorm feast tradition. Winning it multiple times felt like a real achievement, but it came at a cost. I was the disciplinarian, not a teacher or Matron.
Cake before bed!
It was a guaranteed way to mess with sleep. The sugar high would have made us restless and talkative. There’d be jealousy from the other dorms, so a potential ‘dorm raid’ would be later. Boys would sleepwalk. One or two would have wet the bed.
The DCs prize for me and the cake for ‘the boys’ was a handy way to have older boys like me take charge when adults were absent and keep order, such as having ‘hospital corners’ for beds and an adequately made clothes bundle. During the school day, ‘no running in the corridor’ was probably the most frequent cry. Being like a Sergeant Major, a ‘right Hitler’ or ‘Granny’ because I had the authority to boss boys about made me complicit with the teachers and the system.
Even without adult involvement, kids knew where they stood: as leaders or to be led, younger or older, knowledgeable and experienced.
Dorm Life Explained
A scene in the dorm includes several phases: getting out of our school clothes to put on pyjamas, slippers, and a dressing gown. We made a bundle of clothes by placing everything inside our jumper, rolling the clothes together, and firmly tying the arms. Then we went to the communal washrooms in a crocodile down the corridor when it was our turn. Here, we cleaned our teeth and washed our faces. Some nights, Matron filled a footbath with water and Detoll, and we used that, too. We had a towel and wash bag on a peg by our school number. Each term, our number changed.
Then, back to the dorm, the boys chatted, and some read. It was time for lights out. Matron put her head around the door, called out, and flicked the switch. By this time, she would have expected everyone to be in bed.
If you had won the Dorm Prize, instead of lights out, you would have received a ‘dorm feast’ as described. I don’t recall ever returning to the washrooms to clean our teeth again. Once the Matron had taken everything away, we had lights out, but there would have been more chatting or storytelling than usual.
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