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King Edwards Grammar School Camp Hill

Thanks for these pictures, I must have a copy of the original up in the loft. Amazing how many names can be remembered from 62 years ago. Being a school that attracted it's in take from a wide area I didn't stay in touch with many of my class mates after leaving.
 
I left in 1961 and after about 5 years I was down to being in contact with 4 of my year. Then in 2002-3 there was a flurry of activity on the Friends Reunited website when ex-pupils could get in touch with their school friends. This led to a series of reunions (up to 10 attending) with people who entered Camp Hill in 1954. This has tended to fizzle out in the last couple of years mainly due to illness and the fact that we are spread out all over the country.
 
Would the female be Mrs Downing, the school secretary? Appleby, would that be Tony Appleby, art master used to run the Printing Soc.?
Appleby was certainly the art master. I don't think that the lady in #14 is Mrs Downing. I believe Mrs Downing is shown below; centre-right next to Mr. Marsden. (from the 1958 school photo)
 

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I left in 1956 and remember most of the names, including pupils. I am next to 'Sam' Dodd and 'Monty' Meason and we all left that year.
 
I was incarcerated from 1953-1960.....witnessing the move from Gothic splendour to Ersatz little boxes.....some pics the CH old sherrins and prefects may remember......here's an extract from my memories...

That first day was a blur. I knew no one else at the school, living or dead, in this year or those above. I was utterly alone. Just my banana sandwiches and me. I felt like shite, shuffling about aimlessly, but putting on a brave face, determined not to cry. A gawky stiff-upper lipped pioneer on the outside, but a sticky-yellow cowardy custard within. I was not alone of course.

That first day we reported at 10.00 a.m. in the Great vaulted Hall, the rest of the school having already assembled and been dismissed for lessons. Ninety assorted souls from Stechford, Small Heath, Yardley, Moseley, Sparkhill, Sparkbrook, Acocks Green, Greet and Yardley Wood were mustered and formed into three classes of roughly thirty pupils. These were 1J, 1M, and 1S - by age, Junior, Middle, and Senior. I was assigned to 1J being one of the youngest.

Then, to foster sporting rivalry and build team spirit, we were further dispersed into the traditional four Houses of School - Seymour, Beaufort, Howard and Tudor. I got Tudor and soon discovered that like my beloved Birmingham City FC, hope and expectation for the Tudor crew was always more prevalent than achievement. Except when I was House captain in my final year of course, and we lifted the cricket trophy…but what happened to that magnificent silver cup is another story, and only now can be told … later.

So we swapped teachers for masters, lessons for periods, and urban chic for radical conformity. And speaking of which, this was also my first encounter with school uniform. My navy blazer, bought with a provident cheque from Foster Brothers, complete with red badge sown on by proud mother, grey short trousers, navy and maroon striped tie and cap, grey shirt, grey socks, and scuffed black shoes, complementing my grey complexion beautifully.

I did note that short trousers were an almost unanimous fashion item, but this turned out to be more by statute (mandatory until you were thirteen fer Chrissake), than by chance. The few lads in ‘longs’ had either thrown down their maverick marker that first day, or simply not read the encyclical from the Head, but in any event resistance was futile, and they soon succumbed.

The hallowed dark blue cap with maroon rings has a bitter-sweet memory. The once proud symbol of identity, which I slept in on occasions I loved it so much, became an acute embarrassment once testosterone levels achieved critical mass, especially when girls hoved into view. Did Elvis or Chuck ever wear one? Little Richard? James Dean? Did they buggery. Nonetheless, school rules were school rules, so from about the fourth form onwards I spent nearly all my life in detention, as male pride overcame authority at every opportunity. I never made prefect because of this unwillingness to conform, but it was worth it. There was a brief time when I managed to perch the cap on my Tony Curtis special, but when hairgrips became mandatory to achieve stability, I gave in and chucked the bloody cap in the nearest dustbin.

Our very first contact with Authority was with the Headmaster, one Thomas Frederick Rodgers, M.A. Fellow of Merton College, Oxford. Tom to his mates. A woolly haired Quaker and all round Christian democrat, loved and respected by all. Except me, that is. I was soon to discover that a more sexually repressed, anally retentive, latent psychopath would have been hard to find in all the asylums of the Midlands. But not many shared my view.

His biographer, whom I knew as a revered teacher, wrote of him “His whole educational philosophy was based on the concept of competition with oneself rather than with others, and he seemed therefore sometimes reluctant to glorify achievements either in the classroom or the playing fields, which he himself saw as no more than a reasonable level of expectation for that particular person.” Well frankly Scarlet, that’s pure bollocks. He never praised any one ‘cos he was a self serving, card-carrying Calvinist, who would have been better off peddling his cold-eyed Puritanism to guests of Her Majesty’s pleasure, rather than vulnerable eleven-year old lost souls like me. As you will gather, we didn’t exactly hit it off.

But at least he believed in sport and exercise as a healthy antidote to whatever frightened him to death about the distaff side’s influence on our developing psyche. I found him cold, remote, authoritarian and utterly unlovable. He once found a girls’s bra in the upper balcony of the Hall at Kings Heath after a school disco. Saddam’s weapons of mass destruction? Hannibel Lecter’s recipe for liver pate? Hitler’s Plans for the mass extermination of the Jews? None of these would have come anywhere close to invoking the fulminating mask of fury and disgust he displayed at the next morning’s assembly when this horrible crime was revealed, and the devil’s spawn that did it was urged to ‘give himself up immediately’. He stopped just short of ‘unto god’s judgement and mercy’ but the undercurrent of spiritual retribution was unmistakeable. If I’d have had a scourge, I would undoubtedly have been flagellating myself in total sympathy, and have been glad to be of service. Brain Parsons (the lucky swine perpetrator) was wetting himself at the thought of disclosure by forensics, but fingerprints were fortunately on the contents, not the containers, and the owner was next door in the lower sixth. So he kept his nerve, and consequently his gonads, and lived to grope another day as a result. The garment’s owner was blissfully unaware and seemingly unfettered by this missing undergarment. Thank god it wasn’t her panties, for he would surely have perished at the thought of possible full sexual congress.

But Tom also had some very able and likeable colleagues that more than made up for his shortcomings, thank the Lord. But not all was sweetness and light.

Sitting just behind TFR on stage, and also clad in the sinister black academic gowns so favoured by the more senior Masters, were his consiglieri.. They looked like a bunch of black crows. The collective name for a bunch of crows is a ‘murder’ I believe, and the imagery for that taxonomic masterpiece was never better illustrated.

It was also quite noticeable that the older Dark Ones were staring at us like we were prey. In contrast, the younger ones who mostly stared out the windows, no doubt wishing they were on the golf course or in the bookies.

A long dissertation on the history of the school and its hallowed traditions was followed by an equally long list of expectations required from the new inmates. Plus, more worryingly, a shorter and sharper list of what we could expect if these expectations were in any way unfulfilled. Oh yes, retribution promised to be swift and merciless. Then, as if for a bit of light relief (sic) we were introduced to the SCHOOL SONG. And what a belter. Mawkish and sentimental it may be, but so very emotive to its custodians.

When sung at the end of year for those leaving there was an even bigger emotional bolus to contend with, for this was always followed by the end of term hymn “Let thy Father’s hand be shielding, those who here shall meet no more”. Never a dry eye in the house after this combination. Even the most redoubtable cynics were seen ‘brushing away a stray hair from the cheek’ on these occasions. I can still remember every word of the gloriously turgid, fun-filled verses.

THE SCHOOL SONG

Where the iron heart of England throbs
Beneath her sombre robe.
Stands a school whose sons have made her
Great and famous round the globe;
These have plucked the bays of battle,
Those have won the scholars crown;
Old Edwardians, Young Edwardians
Forward for the School's renown.
Chorus
Forward where the knocks are hardest,
Some to failure, some to fame,
Never mind the cheers or hooting,
Keep your head and play the game.


Here no classic grove secludes us,
Here abides no sheltered calm;
Not the titled, not the stranger,
Wrestles here to gain the palm;
Round our smoke-encrusted precincts
Labour's turbid river runs,
Builders of a burly city
Temper here their strenuous sons.
Here's no place for fop or idler;
They who made our City great
Feared no hardship, shirked no labour,
Smiled at death and conquered fate;
They who gave our school it's laurels
Laid on us a sacred trust;
Forward, therefore, live your hardest,
Die of service, not of rust.

Forward where the scrimmage thickens
Never stop to rub your shin;
Cowards count the kicks and ha'pence,
Only care to save their skin.
Oftentimes defeat is splendid,
Victory may still be shame,
Luck is good, the prize is pleasant,
But the glory's in the game.

Always sung at beginning and end of a Term, and always followed by the prefects leaping on to the stage with rolled up school cap exhorting “School, three cheers for the Masters” Hip Rah, Hip, Rah, Hip Rah. “School, three cheers for the Headmaster” Hip Rah, Hip Rah, Hip, Rah, and finally the Head Boy with “SCHOOL, THREE CHEERS FOR THE SCHOOL!” The last one obviously getting the loudest cheers. Except the occasion when some besotted fool got carried away and called for “SCHOOL,THREE CHEERS FOR THE GIRLS SCHOOL”last up. Got the best result ever…but was never seen again.
 

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Dennis, thanks for the memories! Two or three familiar faces in the cricket XI, Dave Bramley and I both played for Marlboro CC while at school and for a while afterwards. Always had a problem with "victory may still be shame". D.I Thomas and "Tony" Appleby introduced me(underage!) to alcoholic beverage in the "Red Lion" after some school event, slipping out by the gate opposite to the pub. What would have TFR have said to that.
 
I left in 1956 and remember most of the names, including pupils. I am next to 'Sam' Dodd and 'Monty' Meason and we all left that year.
I was in the same year as Colin "Sam" Dodd and Michael "Monty" Meeson.
 
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Thanks Dennis for all those memories. I followed you by one year (1954-61). I think I recognise two of the boys in the cricket photograph. Back row, third from left is Keith Nock and fourth from left is Jackson. I saw Keith about 18 months ago in Birmingham.
I hope you didn't get rid of your hallowed dark blue cap with maroon rings. I still have mine but it's only worn on special occasions such as a wedding or christening. Dave.
 

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That photo of our Cricket XI 1957/8 ....l/r back row...Brian Nightingale, moi Willyums, Tony Crump (not Keith Nock), Geoff Jackson, Sam Dodd, and a kid whose name I cant quite remember but became Head of Sport at Birmingham Uni.
Seated l/r Mann, Smith, Bramley ( whom I also played with at Marlborough, living just down the road!) Ron Walker, and Bates....

Phew ....memories....
 
Dennis, interested to see your list of participants in the Grand Charity Soccer Match of Staff v The School. This was played on the 4th April 1960 and on the back of the list are caricatures of the staff. The back row is easy: Swinden, Thain, Cleak, Ridsdale, Matthews and Wright. In the front row I recognise DI Thomas (2nd left), Marsden (third left) and Harry Brown with pipe. By elimination the other three must be Jones, Watson and Tomkinson. I didn't know that you played soccer as well as cricket. I was quite good at chess which did help Howard House win the shield one year. Dave.

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Dennis, interested to see your list of participants in the Grand Charity Soccer Match of Staff v The School. This was played on the 4th April 1960 and on the back of the list are caricatures of the staff. The back row is easy: Swinden, Thain, Cleak, Ridsdale, Matthews and Wright. In the front row I recognise DI Thomas (2nd left), Marsden (third left) and Harry Brown with pipe. By elimination the other three must be Jones, Watson and Tomkinson. I didn't know that you played soccer as well as cricket. I was quite good at chess which did help Howard House win the shield one year. Dave.

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I may know you....but without a name? Hope you are my hero fives player Jim Tunnely....but I think he was above as both.....
 
Soccer? In 1958 there was most unofficial team in Sunday Coronation league. How did you guys effect such a change in just two years?
 
Hello Dennis. I am not the fives player that you named. I was absolutely rubbish at any sport. As far as I am aware, we did not know each other at school and I have only sort of got to know you through this Forum. Dave.
 
Just another thought, wasn't Ron Walker a school boy rugby international?

Yes, he was...and later played for Coventry and of course, was a stalwart for the old boys.....he died last year...had Alzheimers.....his funeral was a blast...so many old friends from all ages to say goodbye.........
 
Hi

I well remember Tom's tirade after the bra incident at the school concert. His words have stayed with me. After the first fusillade
regarding the general misbehaviour at the concert, he added "and Mr Young (caretaker) has handed me an item this morning which leads me to believe that behaviour of a more serious nature took place" He then went into overdrive!
Six of us were to go to his office for the cane that afternoon. Four got six of the best, Peter 'Piggy' Beran (RIP) got 7 as
Tom missed once and caught him on the legs, then it was my turn. He asked me if I could think of any reason why I
should not be caned, and remembering his Quaker beliefs, I said that I thought violence only caused bitterness.
He told me to get out of his office and he didn't want to see me there again!

Kind regards
Dave
 
Dennis and Devon Boy, I never had many direct dealings with Tom Rogers so have no complaints. Dai Thomas was the most aggressive teacher with Buckley for french a close second.
However even today I have a guilty conscience about how we treated Sos Holingsworth who was stone deaf from his experiences in the first war.
I remember getting the slipper off Slade for breaking one of the ex Headmasters busts in the Hall/ Gym. I had 'Dunlop' on my backside for about 3 days after!
 
Dennis and Devon Boy, I never had many direct dealings with Tom Rogers so have no complaints. Dai Thomas was the most aggressive teacher with Buckley for french a close second.
However even today I have a guilty conscience about how we treated Sos Holingsworth who was stone deaf from his experiences in the first war.
I remember getting the slipper off Slade for breaking one of the ex Headmasters busts in the Hall/ Gym. I had 'Dunlop' on my backside for about 3 days after!


Quote: Equally ancient and also profoundly deaf was old Len ‘Soss’ Hollingworth, another of the old pre-war guard. Named after a well-known brand of sausage manufacturers of the day, Soss took science and was also a closet train spotter. Being so deaf it mattered not a jot that any train passing completely drowned out anything he said (not that folks were much moved by that anyway) for a good two minutes, and he would carry on regardless. However, there was nothing wrong with this eyesight. When the hiatus had passed he would mutter to Moggy Moore, his bete noire, “Did you get that number Moore?” Yes sir, “ And were you listening to me as well?”. Yes Sir. “Then would you mind sharing with us all what I just said about Boyles Law?” Moggy, being a good lad and very bright would then mouth the answer, probably correctly, who knows. Soss lip read everything, and was not daft. He would nod sagely, whilst we would fall about. From the class reaction he knew the game was afoot. “Right Williams, repeat what Moore just said.” …Blank stare. Wouldn’t know Boyle’s Law from my arse. Gotcha. “Moore and Williams, write out Boyle’s Law five hundred times in detention.” Game over. Wiped out.
 
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