www.albiestales.co.uk part one

WHEN ALBIE ARRIVED at the Paston School that September morning in 1952, it was obvious from the start that this was not to be an ‘easy ride’ for him, nor any of the other first-formers from Sheringham. On the contrary, they were all soon to discover that a harsh regime ruled the Paston School with a rod of iron or, more appropriately, as time went on, with an well-aimed blackboard rubber! Here, like nowhere else, discipline was the keyword, orders were to be obeyed without question, which the Headmaster quickly made very clear...

THE PASTON SCHOOL on Grammar School Road, in North Walsham, was at the end of a long tree-lined gravel drive, set well back from the road. The gaunt red-brick school house dominated the view, overlooking a well-kept oval lawn, adjacent to the form-room block.

First-formers’ Albie, Victor and the rest of the new intake for 1952 cautiously made their way up the shingle drive to be ‘welcomed’ at the form-room block by a solitary teacher wearing a flowing black gown. Indicating he was ‘in charge of the first-form’, he brusquely ushered them into the building.

“Get a move on, will you,” he told them, with a degree of impatience, “don’t take all day about it!” This, they discovered, was Mr Lamb, the Master of the first form.

“You, boy,” he shouted, singling out Albie, “leave your coat and cap in here – and be quick about it!”

“Yes, Teacher,” Albie replied, politely, doing as he was told.

“And never, ever, address me as ‘teacher’,” shouted the red-faced Form Master. “You will always address me as ‘Sir’, do I make myself understood?” Albie indicated that he did and ran off to join the other boys of Form 1B.

ALBIE MEETS SIR WILLIAM PASTON

The first day at Paston started with a service in the Assembly Hall, which Albie discovered was a regular everyday feature of the curriculum from the first form through to the upper-sixth. Albie and the other new boys were directed to the front of the assembled school: first forms to the front, followed by the second and third, and with the ‘old hands’ of the fourth, fifth and sixth to the rear. A line of prefects were seated at the front, with the Head boy at their centre, who Albie noticed was distinguishable by the double yellow bands on his blazer sleeve.

Sitting with the rest of his year on a wooden bench in the Assembly Hall – which doubled as the School Canteen – Albie became aware of the awesome sight of the Founder of the School, one Sir William Paston, bedecked in his traditional black robes, transfixing all around from his lofty portrait high on the wall.

Glancing around the hall, Albie also noticed the impressive portrait of Horatio Nelson. But why was he there, he asked himself? Wasn’t he that famous Admiral of the Victory? Surely, he never went to school here, did he? So many questions went through Albie’s mind that day, but would he ever discover the answers, he asked himself?

“School will rise,” shouted the Head boy.

All the scholars dutifully rose to their feet as the Headmaster, with a swirl of his black gown, entered from the Common Room, followed by the other Masters.

All was quiet as the Headmaster, Lieut. Col. K N Marshall, an ex-Army man with an exemplary war record, made his way to a plain, wooden lectern, whilst his entourage positioned themselves on a row of seats behind him.

“Firstly,” began the Headmaster, clearing his throat, “I’d like to welcome you all back from what, I trust, was a useful summer break.” Some of the pupils smirked to themselves as, for the past six weeks or so, schoolwork had been furthest from their thoughts.

“I can assure you that this term will be harder than ever for you,” he continued, “and, as usual, I expect nothing but the best!”

Albie gulped silently, it sounded all too familiar to him.

Then, looking along the line of new boys, and focusing on each and every one in turn, the Headmaster continued with his address.

THE HEADMASTER DEMANDS LOYALTY

“It’s good to see some ‘new blood’ in our ranks,” he declared, clasping the folds of his black gown tightly around his neck. “As the cream of Norfolk youth, you have been endowed with a solemn responsibility here today. I accept nothing but hard work, good manners and a smart appearance, and, above all, an unstinting loyalty to the Paston School. Do nothing to disappoint me!”

With that, the Headmaster then began scanning the sallow faces of the first-formers as if to commit them to memory, or so it seemed to Albie. Then, with his stern eye affixed on the lad, he said:

“Here, we are all known as Masters, not ‘teachers’ and, as such, you will always address us as: ‘Sir’!”

Then, from high in the organ loft behind them, musical sounds were heard and the Headmaster, in a truly-fine baritone voice, led the singing of Psalm 50.

“...The Lord, even the most mighty God, hath spoken;
And called the world, from the rising up of the sun,
Unto the going down thereof...”

This was the first time Albie, and many of his chums, had even heard of psalms, let alone had been expected to sing one, if that’s the right word, as chanting springs more readily to mind. From an early age, Albie had followed in his parents’ footsteps, having been brought up as a Methodist – although rather Primitively!

“I really carn’t git th’ hang o’ this, kin you, Victor?” Albie asked his friend, giving him a quick nudge in the ribs to attract his attention. His friend, from the big house at the top of Avenue South, in Sheringham, took no notice and continued singing in a most melodious voice.

“Don’t worry, Albie,” Victor eventually whispered, when the singing subsided at the end of the first psalm. “You’ll soon get the hang of it.” But, after all, he was a choirboy at St Peter’s church in town!

When it came to hymns, Albie knew most of them, of course, and, in particular, he liked those by Charles and John Wesley, but then being a good Methodist he would, of course.

After the psalms and hymns the Headmaster preached a brief sermon in an attempt to ‘guide the wills’ of his scholars.

A LETTER FROM BRITISH RAILWAYS

“Today,” he began, “I would like to remind those of you who travel on the school train from Sheringham the importance of good behaviour at all times!” Then, reaching inside his jacket pocket he produced an official-looking document, which he held up aloft for all to see.

“I have in my hand,” the Headmaster declared in time-honoured fashion, “a piece of paper. It is from British Railways and in it they have outlined examples of not only unacceptable behaviour but also wilful damage to their property.”

“It is with a heavy heart,” he continued, holding the letter for all to see, “that I read of the many items damaged, or even missing, from the school train over the course of the previous term...”

“Twenty-five lightbulbs, six armrests and ten pictures, three broken windows, communication cords pulled... and, I’m appalled to say – one complete seat!” The list seemed endless.

With echoes of approval from the Masters sitting behind him, the Headmaster continued: “There will be no peace in our time for the perpetrators responsible for these mindless acts of vandalism. You shall be caught and made to answer for your actions, make no mistake of that!”

Albie duly took note, as he recalled the framed pictures to be found in most carriage compartments: colourful panoramas of Edinburgh and seaside resorts like Skegness with its bracing air, or Whitby in the North East. He had to admit to quite a liking for them and, at one time, had even thought of starting his own collection!

Back in 1B’s form-room, Mr Lamb took the roll call: “Blanchflower, Betts, Bond, Charman, Curtis, Dennis, Dimsdale...” To which each boy was expected to reply: “Here, Sir!” No first names were used and it usually followed that even the boys themselves took to calling each other by their surnames as well. How different this was to Sheringham Primary School, thought Albie.

After a while, the bell sounded and a different master appeared to take the next lesson. During the day they studied Mathematics with Mr Grantham-Hill, History with Mr Burrell and English with Mr Skerret-Rogers, who had a broad Norfolk accent like Albie’s, and he told them about someone called Shakespeare.

PHYSICAL TORTURE FOR THE NEW BOYS

Their last lesson before the lunchtime bell was ‘physical training’, or PT as they called it. Mr Magdaleno, was the Instructor, who everyone called ‘Maggie’ – though not to his face of course! As it turned out, he was quite a hard man and would take no nonsense from the boys, so when one of their number ‘misbehaved’ by falling off the wall bars, the entire form was in for some punishment.

“Line up, boys,” shouted Maggie, brandishing a rubber plimsoll, “and touch your toes... go!” Then followed the sound of plimsoll on thin games shorts as the PT instructor made his way along the line, accompanied by: “Ouch...ouch...ouch...ouch...!”

Another painful initiation, thought Albie, rubbing his painful backside, but then came the luxury of a good long ‘soaking’ in a lovely hot shower to ease his pain – until Maggie turned off the hot water supply and on came an icy-cold deluge from the spray heads. Even the ‘bravest’ member amongst them shrank to next to nothing!

Then came the bell for lunch, and Albie and the rest of 1B quickly finished dressing then made their way to the Assembly Hall, which was now laid out for lunch.

Joining the orderly queue winding its way to the serving hatch Albie patiently waited his turn.

“Pick up a plate,” ordered a woman behind the hatch, “an’ pass it here!” Doing as he was told, Albie handed a plate to her and she proceeded to ladle out a vast mountain of a slimy green substance, later identified as cabbage, followed by a scoop of lumpy, grey mashed potato into which she dropped a rather blackened, greasy-looking sausage. Her final touch to this culinary delight was to drown it in gravy as weak as dishwater – or perhaps that’s it really it was!

“Prunes an’ custard for afters!” she announced, wiping her nose of her sleeve. “Next!”

“God!” Albie exclaimed, putting his plate down on the table, “I can’t eat this here slop...”

“You will eat it and you will clear your plate as well,” replied a patrolling Prefect, overhearing Albie’s remark, giving the lad a quick cuff around his ear into the bargain. “And I shall remain here until you do!”

Forced to comply, Albie did his best although it took all lunchtime, but how he managed to ‘keep it all down’ was a complete mystery! In future, he would bring sandwiches like other, more-sensible boys, he told himself!

HONOURED TO BE IN NELSON HOUSE

Later in the day, all the boys were allocated to various school ‘houses’ for competitive purposes. Albie was picked to join Nelson House and felt quite honoured, and looked forward to wearing the yellow and black colours on the sports field.

Just before the afternoon bell, Mr Lamb, their form Master, gave them all a little book containing the words to the School Song.

“Before you return, tomorrow morning,” he said, handing out the little green book, “You will be required to learn the words of the School Song off by heart!”

Albie met up with his friend, Victor, on North Walsham station platform as they waited for their train, both silently hoping to avoid a repeat of the ‘initiation’ that had so plagued them on the morning journey. But, they need not have worried as, the homeward journey was completely uneventful.

Back at Sheringham Station, following his first day at the Paston School, Albie was in a jubilant mood and felt quite proud of himself. After all, he had learnt so much in just one short day that he just had to pinch himself in case it was all a dream, or a figment of his imagination. But it wasn’t, of course, and he could hardly wait to get home to tell his mum and dad all about it – not that he would mention his more painful experiences.

When his father arrived home from work, after turning his back on the Co-op for another day, Albie excitedly began to relate his day’s experiences. He recalled how much he’d wanted to know about Paston and how, in a few short hours, he’d discovered the answers to many questions.

“This is here’s the school motto,” he proudly declared, pointing to the colourful blue and gold embroidered badge on his blazer. “De Mieux En Mieux Pour Tout is French, an’ it means ‘From Good to Better Everywhere’!”

Then, showing off the gleaming brass buttons on his blazer, Albie drew his parents’ attention to the date on them – 1606.

“Tha’s when Sir William Paston founded our school,” he revealed, and then remembered the most famous ‘Old Pastonian’ of the lot, Horatio Nelson. “An’ you’ll never guess who went there an’orl.” His parents sat spellbound, they were so proud of their son and they just knew he would do well at his new school.

Nanny Edie sat knitting a fisherman’s gansey and craunching Sugared Almonds, taking little notice, as Albie talked and talked of his first day at Paston and all the lessons to which he’d been. She heard him, of course, and took it all in and could hardly wait to tell all her friends in the Mothers’ Union about ‘her Albie’!

The lad spoke at some length about the new language he was about to learn: Latin, and enthused over Geography, Mathematics and Shakespeare. He didn’t like the Physical Training too much – with its cold showers, or being seen with no clothes on – he had to confess, but he was eager to learn about most things, such was his thirst for knowledge.

So excited was he that he hardly noticed his large plate of beans on toast steaming away on the table. His favourite meal, too!

“Eat ya tea up, there’s a good boy,” said his mum, dishing up the evening meal to the rest of the family. “We can hear more arter we’ve hed tea!”

Later, after tea, Albie made a start on his homework, whilst his parents listened to the radio. Soon, it would be time for him to listen to Dan Dare, Pilot of the Future, on Radio Luxembourg, 208 Metres.

“Only if you finish your homework first!” said his dad. Albie did, of course, then listened to Dan Dare saving the world from a fate worse than death, before sitting down quietly to learn the Paston School Song.

“Ooo-oohh,” yawned Albie, putting away his books and gathering up his satchel, “It’s been quite a day, I think I’ll go up to bed now.”

“Goodnight then, Albie, dear,” his mother called after him, “I'll be up in a minute to tuck ya in.”

Closing the living room door behind him, Albie made his way upstairs, pausing as a colourful panorama of Whitby fell out of his satchel and uncoiled on the landing.

“Now, where on earth shall I keep this?” he said, looking at the first of his collection!

NEXT: North Norfolk faces its biggest disaster, in living memory, since the War!

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sculthorpe Spyplanes

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