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Lydney Grammar School Magazine 1967.

Image : Tenete Fidem

SCHOOL YEAR, 1966-67
Editorial Committee

October Revolution Greetings Comrades on this the fiftieth anniversary of the Glorious Marxist/Leninist Revolution (1917). Think what changes have come upon us in these fifty years (1917-1967). This year (1967) sees us at the end of an era of world shaking change:
the stunning achievements of our technicians have delivered us from the age old bondage of Roller Duty, and this past year (1966-67) has seen a 200 % increase in waste paper production, 100 % increase in Merchant shipping tonnage (with the acquisition of a new canoe) and the purchase of a new notice board for the Boat Club. The tone of this heroic period of achievement (1966-67) is well captured in the expression of socialist endeavour and determination on the face of one of our editors, in the illustration opposite of the parade to mark the anniversary of the Revolution. Such determination to assert the Triumph of Dialectical Materialism against the lackeys of capitalism and imperialist paper tigers has shown itself throughout the year (1966-67) and this world shaking epoch (1917-1967), and thus we extend our fraternal greeting to all the revolutionary peoples `Ow bist, ole butt.' In conclusion, we exhort all of you to help in the construction of our new way of life by reading the Works of Marx and Engels and keeping away from the bike sheds and walking on the left hand side of the corridors.

Mr David Stevens left in July to become Head of Department at a larger school in Fareham, Hampshire. He had been at the school for six years and because of his ability, patience and sense of humour was most popular with staff and pupils. We shall all miss him. Miss Judith Powell left the staff at Christmas and returned to teach in Jamaica. She was a former pupil of the school and had been with us, teaching biology and games, since Easter 1965. She has our very best wishes for the future. Her place has been taken by Miss Kennedy. Before coming to Lydney Miss Kennedy had a varied career. She was brought up in Dublin and went to Dublin University where she gained an Honours Degree in Natural Sciences. While at University she captained the tennis and squash teams. After three and a half years' teaching in Bournemouth she joined the Voluntary Service Overseas where she was posted to Chittagong in East Pakistan. Unfortunately she arrived during a period of local unrest and rioting and was therefore reposted to a school in Singapore. The opportunity of teaching biology, geography (an unusual combination) and some games brought her to Lydney. M. Bernard Nicot joined the staff for a year as French Assistant. He was sociable and well liked and became very fluent in our language. He is now continuing his studies at university in Brittany.

Head Boy: D. SVENDSEN (Sept-Dec.) J. D'AUBYN (Jan.-July)
Deputy Head Boy: J. D'AUBYN (Sept.-Dec.) R. PACE (Jan.-July)
Deputy Head Girl: MOLLY KERNUTT

-----Boys ------------------------Girls
R. DAY -------------PAULINE HUNT
A. DREW -----------JUNE LEE

Rugby: V. REEKS
Hockey: J. D'AUBYN
Cricket: V. REEKS


No Staff Changes.
Mr Culton and Mrs Charles absent all term.

Sept. 9 Term begins.
Oct 4 -6th Form visit to Oxford Playhouse.
Oct 5 -6th Form Parents' Evening. (6th Form Careers Interviews this week.)
Oct 6 -4 T.C. Careers visit to Gloucester. (Hospital and Training Centre.)
Oct 10 -Visit to concert by Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra at Lydney Girls' Secondary School.
Oct 14 -Annual Prizegiving. Guest speaker Police Commander Pennington.
Oct 26 -5T and some 6th Form boys visit to Commercial Motorshow.
Oct 27 -2nd Form visit to Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham.
Oct 28 -Governors' meeting.
Oct 31 -6th Form visit to Stratford.

Nov. 4 -5th Form visit to Stratford.
Nov 10 -4 alpha Careers visit to Fielding and Platt and Land Registry.
Nov 11 -School Remembrance Service.
Nov 15 -Talk to School on National Savings by Mr Trainer.
Nov 23 -6th Form visit to French play at Chosen Hill.
Nov 25/26 -Weekend Music Course at School.
Nov 28 -6th Form visit to Englehards.

Dec. 2-Film and talk to 1st Forms by Dr Hunt on Smoking.
Dec 6 -Dental Inspection begins.
DEC 9 -Visit from Inspector Craven, Police Schools' Liason Officer.
DEC 13 -1st Form Christmas Party.
DEC 15 -3rd Form Christmas Party.
DEC 20 -Staff' meeting.
DEC 21 -5th and 6th Form Social.
DEC 22 -End of Term.

Miss G. R. Kennedy takes the place of Miss Judith Powell.
Mrs Studley and Mr Sumner, two Bristol Students, begin teaching practice.

Jan. 9 -Term begins.

Feb 6 -Talk to 4th Form boys by Mr Edwards of Ranks.
Feb 7 -Talk to 6th Forms by Mr Polack.
Feb 13 -G.C.E. Mock Exams begin.
Feb 20/21 -Half Term holiday.
Feb 22 -Mr Bramley and Mr Richards, two St. Paul's students begin teaching practice.
Feb 24 -Governors' meeting.

Mar 2 -4A visit to J. R. Crompton's, Lydney.
Mar 7 -Talk to 6A and 6B by Inspector Craven (Police).
Mar 9- Talk on business studies to 4th Form girls by Mr Lever.
Mar 22 -End of Term.


Apr 11 -Term begins.
APR 17 -5th Form interviews by Careers Officers this week.
APR 18/19 -Lydney Schools' Music Festival in Town Hall.
APR 24 -School Medical Inspection begins.
APR 26 -4 alpha visit to Lanchester College, Coventry.

May 1-Miss Stewart and Miss Taylor, two St. Mary's Students, and Mr O'Brien and Mr Walker, two St. Paul's Students, begin teaching practice.
May 23 -6th Form visit to 'Othello' at Cheltenham Cinema.
May 24 -3rd Form visit to 'Julius Caesar' at Cheltenham Cinema.
May 26 -Athletics Sports.
May 29 -

June 2nd: Half Term holiday.
June 6 -4A visit to Hartpury Agricultural College.
June15 -3rd Form visit to Three Counties' Show.
June16 -Junior Girls' visit to West of England Tennis Championships at Bristol.
June 22 -3rd Form Parents' Evening.
June 29 -4th and 5th Form Parents' Evening.
June 30 -Governors' Meeting.

July 14 -School Concert.
July 17 -School Service Preacher: Rev. W. H. Hopkins.
---------lst and 2nd Form Parents' Evening.
July 18 -Swimming Sports
July 20 -Cricket v. Old Boys XI and Girls' Tennis Finals.
July 21 -End of Term. Mr D. Stevens leaving Staff.

Rush, hustle, push, bustle,
Presents buying, tempers flying,
Children crying, Fathers sighing Is this spending never ending?

Stretching, banging, chains hanging,
Time taking, tinsel shaking,
Mother's baking, pies making,
Much delight for Christmas night.

While walking through the wood one day,
I. saw a hedgehog on his way,
He scurried along the rugged track,
With wicked spines upon his back.

His eyes were grey and very dim,
And the slightest noise would frighten him,
His legs were stubby and very short,
A very queer animal, I thought.

Whether you are a genuine music lover, gossip lover or simply a leisure lover, the Record Club on Fridays during second lunch is the place for you if you belong to the sixth form. Last season the attendance was perhaps the greatest ever. The great attractions were undoubtedly Mr Stevens' cryptic comments and the wide range of music. The former were in great abundance and varied from pointed remarks about late arrivals to pained expressions as we dissolved into hoots of laughter or rustled our crisp packets. The music itself ranged from Sibelius to Gilbert and Sullivan via Mahler and Rachmaninov. Mr Stevens, Mr Northam and several members of the Club kindly loaned their precious records to provide us with a greater selection of music. Occasionally a late arrival jarring the record would bring a shriek from the anxious owner. Record Club provides a most stimulating background for so many things: last minute revising, yesterday's homework, general exchange of scandal, eating and occasionally listening. Laughter was by far the most dominant feature and usually at some point or other during the sessions drowned even the most magnificent crescendo. One or two members even had to rush for the door to contain their mirth. I would thoroughly recommend Record Club to anyone, whether interested in serious music or not!

After the first Monday, canoeing on the murky black water of the old stone quarry at Cannop, we were asked to assemble at Bell's on the following Monday to try our hand at capsizing on the swimming pool. One of us fell out straightaway and emerged spluttering, laughing and gasping for breath. After that little episode the thought of capsizing didn't seem too bad. It must have seemed like hours though to Pete, our instructor, after he had given the O.K. for us to go over, before we plucked up our courage and submerged. Next week was the real thing, down on the river Wye at the Biblins. We now had to compete with the current and yards of water weed, but before we could even start we had to carry canoes, paddles and life jackets from the youth centre to the river. Once there we ran through the strokes and turns; the most unsuccessful was the emergency stop, where we either went careering into the bank or the nearest canoe. There were complaints of wet seats caused by leaking canoes, and wet arms when streams of water ran down the paddles. Unfortunately, we missed the next week of canoeing as the exams were on the following day and there was last minute swotting to be done (although by our exam results I don't think any of us gained much by it). That week I believe, as there was a smaller number of enthusiasts than usual, they went down to Symonds Yat and shot the rapids. Now that most of us had got the idea of the strokes and turns we were allowed to practise on our own. This by no means meant solid work, for if you were within a few yards of another canoe you were splashed until you were saturated and sitting in a massive pool of water. And that was if you were lucky; if you weren't, two people, one on either end of the canoe, rocked it gently to and fro and with one almighty twist you were over struggling to keep hold of your paddle and at the same time trying to get a mouthful of air. After three or four weeks of this torture, the final Monday came when we were taking our novices' test. Being one of the first three on the water I was able to get the test over and then sit back and watch everyone pass or fail as the case may be. It turned out to be a very successful evening with everybody except one passing and the examiners remarking on our high standard of canoeing. This was thanks to our two instructors, Pete and Olympic canoeist, John Richards.

By Christmas 1966 all steam locomotives on the Western Region of British Rail had been withdrawn so bringing to an end a piece of Forest history covering one hundred years. In 1864 the first locomotive to operate on the Severn and Wye Railway, a mere 0-4-0 tank, was bought for the handsome sum of six hundred and ninety-five pounds. This and subsequent locos had such romantic names as Robin Hood, Little John, and Friar Tuck. At this time there was no universal track gauge, i.e. width between the rails, and the original gauge of three feet eight inches was first changed to the Great Western broad gauge, then to the now standard gauge of four feet eight and a half inches. It may surprise those who come to school by coach that up to 1961, about one hundred of our pupils came by train. They came from Berkeley and Sharpness over the Old Severn Bridge and they walked up to school from the Town Station, now disused. That ended when a section of the bridge was destroyed after a tanker had collided with one of its pillars in dense fog. Up till then young train-spotters could travel from Lydney, over the river, to the Midland Region main-line station at Berkeley Road for as little as one shilling and eightpence return. At this time a total of seventeen locos were shedded at Lydney comprising 0-4-2 tanks and 0-6-0 tanks. It was one of the latter type which, on June 20th, 1964, pulled a special train along the whole of the still existing old Severn and Wye Railway. The Special, named `The Severn Bore', was sponsored by the Railway Enthusiasts' Club and ran from Gloucester through to Cinderford, Lydney, Coleford, Speech House, down to Severn Bridge station and back to Gloucester. In December of the following year the very last steam locomotive pulled a train through the Forest on an appropriately dull, grey morning.
Image : Steam (39k)


One July morning this year at 7.20, a party of sixth formers assembled at Lydney Railway Station in accordance with Mr Laycock's injunction to `Get there on time or Heaven help you'. Here I should point out that we were on the first stage of the annual educational trip to London. Eventually we arrived at Paddington, the six people in our compartment having whiled the time away with philosophical discussion, practice for the school concert next day and someone else's horrible sandwiches. After another journey by Underground, we reached the Houses of Parliament. As we toured .the Houses we were given an intriguing lecture on aspects of the constitution, such as Woolsacks, the Union Jack and Cromwell's warts. Outside the Houses we were assembled in Old Palace Yard and given instructions to be at St. Martin's by 11 p.m. and avoid places of ill repute. We were then released on unsuspecting London.
I and three others ate a desiccated and exorbitant midday meal in a cafe nearby, and then set out to see the sights. First destination was Downing Street where, after standing for fifteen minutes waiting for the imminent appearance of the Rt. Hon., we gave up and went away. At Horse Guards' we saw the strange sight of a Life Guards Trooper, resplendent in top boots, armour, scarlet tunic, helmet resting on nose and sabre on shoulder, marching up and down on his own. He looked as if he was cooking in the heat, and his temper was not improved by someone remarking "Poor little man's lost his horse". We progressed to St. James' park, where some patches of grass were visible between sunbathing office workers, and then we emulated Christopher Robin and Alice by seeing the Guard change at Buckingham Palace. At the Victoria Memorial we spent about ten minutes in a one-sided battle with the London motorists, and then went to Westminster pier, where we boarded a boat for Greenwich, mainly to keep cool in the afternoon heat. On the way one of the crew gave us an "entirely impromptu" lecture on the sights of the river, and at Greenwich held an entirely voluntary collection among the passengers, to which we entirely voluntarily failed to contribute.
During. our short stay in Greenwich we saw the "Cutty. Sark" and considered removing the prime meridian for a trophy in the sixth form room. We then boarded the boat for Westminster, and found ourselves deck cargo with about two hundred Italians. We commandeered a life-raft for seating and spent the rest of the trip being defiantly British amid these excitable foreigners.
As we had an hour to spend before going to the cinema we contemplated (a) playing hopscotch (b) feeding the pigeons, but eventually visited the British Quality and Reliability Exhibition, where a notice said, "Do not stand on these bathroom scales".
We emerged from the cinema at about 11 p.m., and like four Cinderellas rushed to St. Martin's church, expecting to be left behind. The party reassembled and journeyed back to Paddington, where we found that the train was due to leave at 1.30 a.m. The intervening time was spent in playing cards, watching a loud argument with some person who had appropriated one of our compartments, and seeing how many examples of "Swinging London" we had seen. The score came to five mini-skirts, one floral tie (worn by one of our party) and six guardsmen's jackets (all worn by guardsmen). On the journey back home we tried to sleep, gave up, and watched the dawn at Gloucester gasworks. At last, at five o'clock, we staggered from the train into Swinging Lydney, feeling very tired and very apprehensive about the concert that evening.

Despite all the practice put in during the usual period of preconcert choir-practice-mania, the members of the senior choir may have felt a little apprehensive the morning before the great event. This apprehension may be accounted for partly by the ambitious choice of Vaughan Williams' "In Windsor Forest"', and partly by the fact that the sixth form members of the choir, who had just returned from the annual school trip to London, must have had a maximum of three hours sleep.
The concert opened with items performed by the junior choir. Mr Phillips conducted with his usual vigour, and his performance must have been made much less disconcerting for all concerned by his decision to wear his braces. And the Noddy car pattern on them was greatly admired by those who could see it. Pianoforte solos by Pat Vedmore, Susan Ridler, Stephen Thomas and Martin Rice were met with the usual appreciation, and if the audience were aware of certain impromptu variations on a theme by Chopin, they were certainly less painful to them than to the virtuoso in question.
Lawrence Clarke brought the first half of the concert to an end by singing "Christopher Robin is Saying His, Prayers" and "Where'er You Walk" with a choir-boy innocence quite incredible to those who had made his acquaintance when on prefect duty.
The second half of the programme was introduced by the school instrumental ensemble. Their performance showed a marked improvement and sustained the impression of increasing confidence and maturity created by the junior choir. We greatly appreciated our audience's enthusiastic participation in "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" as our concerts are intended to be informal occasions.
Finally the senior choir's great moment came. Those whose lack of sleep had overcome them were rudely awakened by their friends while Mr Phillips explained to the audience that Vaughan Williams' cantata, written in five parts, tells of the activities of the Shakespearian figure, Sir John Falstaff.
Our four tenors must be commended for their valiant efforts during this performance, and Dr. Howells too, our accompanist, though he, unlike them, had Miss Bayliss's help.
It is quite possible that we derived more pleasure from the concert than did the audience, for the gradual acquaintance with a piece of music, and the comprehension of its aims and achievements gained through performing it is a very satisfying experience. We only wish, for the sake of our audience, that our talent equalled our enthusiasm.

On Saturday mornings I play rugby for the School, and although this upsets my homework timetable and deprives me of extra sleep, the trips around Gloucestershire and district are well worth while because of the enjoyment I get from the games. After making sure that all my kit is jammed into my duffle bag I go into Lydney to meet the rest of the School team. Here we either play cards while waiting for the opposing team or board the coach to travel to meet them. On first seeing the opposition it is customary to pass comment on their superior stature so that we have a ready explanation for any possible defeat.
When both teams have changed we go out onto the field to warm up, hoping to dispel any queasiness we might have so that we can concentrate all our efforts on breaching the enemy defence. My position is prop forward in the front row where I prop up the set scrum and transmit the push from the pack of forwards. I also help the hooker gain the ball in the set scrum, which often lays the foundation for an attack, and protect the jumper and scrum half in the line-out. Otherwise I provide my weight and strength whereever it is needed.
At half time, when we get a piece of orange to refresh us, I begin to wonder why I am chasing a leather bag of wind around a field, and glancing at the cuts and bruises I have already sustained I question the motives of the opposition as well. Playing in the front row can be unpleasant at times especially if the opposing player has not washed his hair for a month and has not got the Colgate Ring of Confidence either.
When the game is over we give our opponents three hearty, if not well-meant, cheers. We troop off to the changing room to wash away the mud and fatigue under a hot shower, and then it is a race to get to the refreshments before some greedy beggar eats the lot. Here we like to think that we are in greater danger from the food prepared by the sixth form girls, than we were in the match itself, but I doubt if this is true. Afterwards we make our way home singing such old favourites as "Bread of Heaven".
IAN LEWIS, 5 alpha.

In January, a group of five sixth formers heard of a night exercise organised by the Army. It was held in the Forest, and youth organisations had been invited to pit their skill against that of the soldiers.
One Saturday evening, Robert Pace, John Pingree, David Hankin, Peter Selby and I arrived at the Cinderford T.A. centre with, about one hundred and fifty others for a briefing on the exercise, appropriately called "Operation Last Fling"'.
The Army would be trying to catch us during the first part of the exercise from Cinderford to Cannop, and we were given a "password"' which we were not to reveal and which one of the team promptly wrote down in his notebook.
As we had been the first to arrive at Cinderford, we were called Team 1 and were consequently the first to set off towards the objective at Cannop. Perhaps our map-reading was rusty because we achieved the feat of losing ourselves within five minutes. However, a hostile native with a friendly dog directed us back on to our path, and we emerged on the road only to see another group trudging along a hundred yards in front. As we were Team 1 and the competition was against the clock as well as the Army, we had to do something to regain our position. We solved this problem with a cheeky practical joke. Three of us, wearing denims supplied by the A.T.C., the organisation we represented, bore a surprising resemblance to the Army, especially in the dark. So, trusting to luck, we charged down the road shouting and flashing our torches. The ruse worked beautifully and the speed at which the group navigated a ditch and a barbed-wire fence filled us with admiration.
Brimming over with confidence, we continued on our way, diving into the ditch at the first sign of approaching headlights. It is difficult to say who was the more surprised, the Army or us, as we bumped into them coming out of the Speech House. The result of this meeting was that we scattered into the forest where two of our team were caught and the remainder spent a rather damp period lying low before setting off again for Cannop.
Much to our annoyance, we too were caught in sight of the objective and were escorted into an old ruined house described as the "interrogation centre"'. It must be pointed out that our chances of a quick interrogation were considerably hampered by one of our members singing "Kiss me good-night, Sergeant-Major" at the top of his voice and making personal remarks about the heredity of the soldier guarding the door. Someone would periodically appear with a torch (there was no light in the house) and shout questions
`What's your name?'
'Ivan the Terrible.'
"Get your boots'n socks off quick!"
The "interrogation"' continued and a large pile of assorted footwear accumulated on the floor.
After the Army had extracted as much information as it could, and taken a barrage of insults, we were "released" and sent on the Assault Course. This was designed solely to get us wet. A slippery tree trunk across a brook was the first major obstacle followed by a swinging rope as the means of return. This rope was set so that anyone over four feet tall just had to go in. The experience of wading up to one's waist at 12.30 on a cold January morning in freezing water is never to be missed, but we could well have done without the ensuing walk to Coleford. There we were revived at the Youth Club with hot coffee and soup and we also met the group we had first chased after leaving Cinderford.
Despite our dripping condition, we decided to complete the exercise with the final leg back to Cinderford and eventually reached the T.A. centre just five minutes before the 5 a.m. deadline.
Looking back on that night, I think we were all glad that we had gone, although during the last ten to fifteen miles our views were somewhat divided to say the least.
M. WALKER, 6 Sc.A.

Fire in the classroom, fire in the school,
So fetch a bucket of water boys . . .
Thus, or somewhat similarly, goes the well known ditty of `Fire down below'. It gives the impression of energetic hurrying to deal with that ancient enemy of man, fire. How different is the situation in school. The fire-bell goes, Fred looks up from his desk, thinks `It's off again', and settles back down to struggle with his Latin.
Since the new fire-alarm was installed last year, about twenty years overdue in a school which is obviously a great fire-risk, it has never ceased to amaze me how unconcerned one can be about what should be impending disaster. Unless the Headmaster announces a fire-drill and everybody is told to go outside, nobody moves. Not that this is a situation of `Crying Wolf' too often. It could be explained that way at the end of term when some frolicsome youngster or other always manages to obey the orders of the fire-alarm and `Break Glass', bringing hordes of teachers and prefects to the scene of the crime, only to find themselves confronted with a row of blank and apparently innocent faces.
Even the first time it was set off nobody took any notice, so it could therefore not be familiarity that bred contempt. It is also hardly likely that school-children are so attached to school that they will not leave it whatever happens.
It is therefore obvious that, whether there is a fire or not, for some reason every time the alarm goes in future, everybody will think of Hamlet and utter the question `To flee or not to flee'. Back will come the answer to stay put and laugh while some small boy pleads with the teacher, `Please sir, I didn't mean to break the glass.'

Most people today want to learn to drive as soon as they are seventeen years old, but few can really afford it. Ten of us accepted an offer to join an R.A.C. Junior Driving Course which consisted of lectures on the working of a car and ten hours of driving. Surprisingly the girls out-numbered the boys two to one.
On the day of the first lecture we went to the Silence Room clutching writing pads and pencils. An hour later we slowly walked out dazed. What is a carburettor, a distributor, and what has a sump to do with oil? After a few more lectures we had some idea of how a car worked. A week before our first driving lesson, three of us were picked in turn to change the wheel. A succession of fellow pupils thought it highly amusing that sixth formers should be lying half under a car one minute then struggling to pull the wheel off the next. Our final appearance would have done credit to the Black and White Minstrel show.

The first driving lesson was conducted on the school playing field, both for our own safety and that of other road-users. Our aspirations of being ace drivers were soon quelled when we tried to master the controls. However, we progressed by leaps and bounds, literally. The following week we went on the road. Most of us found steering a problem and to our horror we often found ourselves on the right-hand side of the road, hoping that no other vehicle would appear from around the next corner, As we gained knowledge and confidence, so we mastered such skills as the three point turn, reversing, and giving hand signals, all at the expense of our instructor whose hair was turning a whiter shade of grey.
One of us managed to puncture a tyre. While driving up Primrose Hill she started to turn the corner but, unfortunately, did not turn the wheel far enough. The car mounted the kerb and the tyre burst. Worse was to come! When the instructor had struggled to change the wheel he found that the spare was flat too. The garage in Newerne is a long way from Primrose Hill when it comes to pushing a car there.
We would like to point out that we are not hopeless at driving indeed we are all eagerly looking forward to the day when we can take the test and prove it.

Should younger readers obtain the rank of prefect, one of their privileges will be the use of the Prefects' Room, a right now generally usurped by all members of 6A. The Prefects' Room, next to the Domestic Lab., is tastefully decorated with pink walls, empty milk bottles, and group photographs of former prefects. (Whole lessons can be whiled away trying to put names to slightly familiar faces and wondering whether Mr Pitt has let his beard grow any longer in the meantime.)
If you are lucky enough to be the only person there, the room serves its intended purpose of being a place where you can work quietly without being disturbed. However, if a few of you are present the room becomes a forum for profound argument about religion, sex, and metaphysics, and equally as often for more frivolous arguments about football results or the merits of various pop songs. The room's great height gives your voice a curiously authoritative tone which further encourages argument.
These distractions do not only take the form of discussions. I have conducted hypnosis sessions and experiments in levitation (did Stephen Thomas really float out of his chair?) and have seen someone skip non-stop for six minutes without a rope to prove a point at issue. Quite often in Summer respectable prefects climb out onto the roof of the Sixth-form Room to take the fresh air.
Towards the mock and `A' level exams, however, these activities are no longer tolerated and the atmosphere changes completely. If you even open your mouth six pairs of unfriendly eyes turn on you in a silent warning. A second offence brings the threat of expulsion. (It was always a non-prefect who attempted to throw me out.) I did spend most of my free time there, however, even if we did not get a bar installed as at least one of us wished.
A. PREFECT, 6 Sc. A.
(Next year our dynamic reporter of the month John Biggins will disclose the secrets of life in the Staff Room).

Mr Guest crammed the last tin into his ex-army stores rucksack. He mentally ticked off all the items that would be required for the day's fishing. He made sure he had his flask of coffee and his sandwiches which he had somehow forgotten on his last expedition. With pride of place, sitting right on top of the bag in all its colourful glory, was the new seat that Mrs Guest had bought for his birthday. He had meant to take it the week before but the weather had made him forget the idea of fishing for that time.
With a last look round to make sure, he set his spectacles on his nose, kissed his wife goodbye and marched out of the door. It was early in the morning and only a few nightworkmen returning home and the milkman were to be seen.
At last he could hear the steady drone of the breaking surf and he fancied he could taste the salt in the air. He quickened his pace; it was still a good mile to go before he would reach the cove and he wanted to be there for that magical moment when the sun rises over the dancing waves, and welcomes a new day.
Then he was at the top of the little path leading down into his secluded world, where one could stay all day and never see a soul. He eagerly scrambled down to the patch of hard sand where he proudly placed his new seat. He sat down for a few minutes to regain his breath before setting up his tackle.
After all had been prepared he stood up and with a glorious swish of his rod sent the lead streaming out over the water.
After about one and a half biteless hours the feeling of expectation left him. It was not usual for him not to have caught anything by this time. `Perhaps if I tried a bit further round I would do better,' he thought. And so, gathering up his bag and seat in one hand and clutching his rod in the other, he struggled over the broken rocks to the big rock about a hundred yards out to sea. It was quite flat on top and was known as The Table.
The new seat was set up and the bait sent flying out again. After a few minutes his rod tip gave that funny little premonitory quiver that signals the interest of a fish. Then it really bent down and he heaved back.
After catching six fine, plump codling he was quite tired. This was his best catch for three years. It was quite unusual for that time of year he thought. He settled down to eat his food and drink the coffee.
After having fed himself he settled back in his chair. It was a bright sun now and no more bites were forthcoming. Far out to sea a yacht was slowly moving across the horizon. Above, the gulls wheeled and glided, squealing at each other. Huge, fluffy, cottonwool clouds floated in the sky.
Suddenly he woke up. Water was gently lapping around his feet. He jumped up and looked back at the shore. Where there had been a stretch of rippled sand, broken by rocks, there was now only the grey water, rising steadily yet quickly. Half the rock was now covered. Shouting was of no use; he always liked to be as far from other people as possible.
With a grim look of determination he took off his jacket and boots and slung them round his neck. Picking up his rod and seat he waded into the cold, swirling water. With strong strokes he set out for the shore but the rod and seat were too cumbersome and he was forced to drop them. Without them the going was easier but Mr Guest was an old man and swimming was not his usual pastime.
With a gasp of relief he felt the sand underneath him and he crawled out on to the beach panting. As he sat drying himself off he could see the brightly coloured seat floating away out to sea.
M. BAILEY, 3 alpha.

As the Autumn Term passed by, the 6th Form were faced with the annual problem of decorating the School Hall for Christmas. As usual a large centrepiece was to be suspended from the roof with the rest of the decorations reflecting this theme. The choice of the centrepiece was somewhat tricky. We found that we had two main camps: one favouring a Yellow Submarine; the other, the soccer fraternity, World Cup Willie. Eventually it was put to the vote by 6A and the submarine won.
None of us engaged on building the submarine had ever had anything to do with previous creations - a giant cracker, a whale, Gemini spacecraft, Christmas Pudding or Santa Claus on a bikeand we little realised the problems that would present themselves.
Problem number one was designing the thing. Perhaps designing is too flattering a word to use because we were sure that any resemblance between our creation and a real submarine would be co-incidental.
Problem number two was where, and how we were to build it. Mr Perkins very kindly allowed us to use the end room of his Pottery Shed and by knowing who was likely to have what, but not be using it, we acquired most of the equipment needed.

Image : Elanor Rigby and crew (48k)
The Hall was measured, as were all relevant doorways (except one), and on Friday evenings an enthusiastic group of five to ten sixth formers crowded into the Pottery Shed and a rather nondescript pile of wood was screwed, nailed, bent and sometimes broken into place.
Eventually the skeleton was completed, and then our biggest problem arose. The major difficulty in making such an object is that when covered the framework shows through the skin giving a rather `starved' appearance. Somehow we managed to avoid this; how we shall never know. Because of its size-overall it was some sixteen feet long and seven feet high-it took up most of the space in the room so that we could only cover one half at a time. Taking our courage in both hands we slapped on layer after layer of slimy newspaper and then turned it upside down to do the bottom (sorrykeel). We were rewarded with the sight of an hour's work peeling off the frame and lying in a soggy heap on the floor.
Having covered the submarine it took on a more or less recognisable shape, or so we hoped. There were those cynics who said that the best way to dispel rumours that the centrepiece was in fact a submarine would be to let the School see it. But they usually left under a hail of Mr Perkins' clay.
Another failing with past centrepieces, we felt, was that in going for a large thing there were inevitably bare spaces. Accordingly various slogans were suggested and some of them painted on the submarine. Various items, bath plugs, `L' plates and a strategically placed chain, were acquired and these too found their way on to the hull. Then came the great moment--the journey from the Pottery Shed to the Hall. During construction we had decided that in order to put the craft out of reach of inquisitive hands we would take a foot off the `conning tower'. Had we not done this our submarine would probably be resting in the Pottery Shed to this day. We had measured every doorway through which we had to pass except for the double doors in the Pottery Shed itself. As it was we had only a few inches to spare.
With a sigh of relief we hoisted our precious craft up into the roof-facing across the Hall instead of the usual lengthways position -and looked back on five weeks of hectic but none the less enjoyable work. The thought that our submarine would end its days on a bonfire was far beyond the Christmas horizon.
M. WALKER, 6 Sc. A.

In the spring the fourth forms, accompanied by Miss Bayliss, Mr Northam, Mr Jones and assorted sixth formers, visited the Odeon Cinema at Cheltenham to see Sir Laurence Olivier's antique production of `Richard 111'.
After an early lunch we boarded the coach for the Spa City, arriving in time to take our seats in the circle of a cinema packed with unfamiliar uniforms, particularly the nauseous green of the Ladies' College.
After a thirty-minute film on airlines (severely criticised by A.T.C. birdmen in the row behind us) came the film. This showed some Shakespearian influences, but the painfully imitation stonework and seven-a-side battles could only be appreciated when enlivened by irreverent comments and magnificent audience participation at crucial moments.
Sir Laurence cackled and lurched very ably as the villainous Richard, assisted by a younger and slimmer Andrew Cruickshank whose every appearance brought forth drolleries like `Will ye have a wee dram, Dr. Cameron ?'
The film wound its way through murders, riots and executions, aided by a star-studded cast including such notable figures as Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Who. Eventually it reached its climax in the Battle of Bosworth Field. On the night before the battle, Richard suffered horrible dreams which someone behind me cited to his comrade as an example of the dire effects of pickled onions. Then came the long-awaited battle, a small number of men scurrying about a piece of landscape as unlike Leicestershire as anywhere on earth. At last Richard was encircled and carved up in glorious Technicolor. The end of his lengthy death convulsions was greeted with a storm of cheers, hoots, whistles and ribaldries; the last of the Plantagenets. As the crown was placed on the head of some unemployed Welshman the exodus for the doors began.
We re-boarded the coach and arrived back at Lydney after a visit both memorable and enjoyable, though perhaps not in the way intended.

Last autumn a sixth form party went to see the Royal Shakespeare Company's revival of Tourneur's 'Revenger's Tragedy' at Stratford. This play is one of the best known examples of the revenge type, very familiar in Jacobean times, where a hero avenges some wrong and usually dies in his triumph.
This kind of play resembles a modern thriller in its use of suspense and its casual attitude to a rapid succession of violent crimes.
`The Revenger's Tragedy', set in Renaissance Italy, concerns Vendice's revenge of his lover's murder. The plot develops rapidly into a bloodbath, in which the murderer's family is finally annihilated. Vendice boasts of his success and is himself executed.
For sheer intensity the play has few equals. This fieriness redeems it from mere `blood and thunder'. The play transported us to a macabre, nightmare world where ordinary values did not apply, where honour and faith were unknown, and where corruption and vice in all their forms were regarded as normal. The costumes, entirely black or silver, were nightmarish in effect like a thin veil of refinement over basic savagery and squalor. The play's culmination was the horrific Masque of Death (a scene corresponding to the last scene of `Hamlet') in which the remainder of the Duke's family were slaughtered at a banquet.
My overall impression of `The Revenger's Tragedy' was that of a play of hate, corruption and violence of a sustained intensity quite new to me; at any rate, as someone said, it made a change from `A Midsummer Night's Dream'.

Early in August, David Kelsey, Stephen Rowbotham and I with seventeen other members of Gloucestershire Wing A.T.C., went to Windermere in the Lake District for an Adventure Training Course which consisted of a week spent fell-walking and climbing.
We arrived on the Saturday, eager to start running up the mountains, but on Sunday were sent on a `gentle, warming-up walk' of some twelve miles. A mixture of trickery and duress ensured that I had the honour of reading the map and so in the natural course of events, we got lost. On arriving back at the Centre, .we were duly subjected to a scathing lecture, delivered by the Course Commander as he peered over his large, white moustache. (We did our own cooking and towards the end of the week he was observed chewing it avidly).
However, on the next day we were sent over our next obstacle which was the tiny (2,635 feet) Old Man of Coniston, a mountain overlooking Coniston Water. We had greater success with map and compass and eventually reached the summit where even the ache of our feet and legs could not prevent us from appreciating the beauty of the lakes and hills below.
On Tuesday morning we packed our haversacks with camping equipment and set out to walk over the hills to our camping site in a nearby valley where we spent the next two nights, despite a storm which almost succeeded in flooding us out. On Wednesday we had intended to climb Scafell Pike, the highest peak in England, but low cloud prevented this and instead we set off up the slightly lower Bow Fell, a well-known magnetic mountain. We climbed up and were able to swim in a tarn at 2,000 feet which was even colder than Lydney Baths. We reached the summit but the cloud clamped down and the expert guide who led us on this occasion was forced to stop and wait for it to clear before we could descend. On the same day though, a man was .lost in the fog and this led to our being called out the following day to take part in one of the largest Search and Rescue operations ever mounted in the Lake District.
The search was centred on Grasmere, from which the man had gone on to the hills alone, leaving no indication of his route. Police, troops, airmen and an R.A.F. helicopter augmented the local mountain rescue team. The size of the task which faces these men so often in the year really must be seen to be believed. Anywhere the man could have walked must be searched, and for the searcher this countryside soon loses its its rugged beauty and becomes just rough and difficult. We helped in the search for two days covering acres of rock and fern, high and low, but found nothing. Then on Saturday we left to return home, having very much enjoyed the week, though our memories of it are now clouded by the knowledge that the man we searched for was later found dead.
Cdt. Sgt. P. SELBY.

Last April I attended an A.T.C. gliding course at R.A.F. Swanton Morley, in Norfolk. The aim of these courses is to train cadets to the standard of the `A' and `B' certificates of the British Gliding Association?that is, qualifications to fly solo in gliders. The course began on the Monday morning with a brief welcome from the O.C. 611 Gliding School, followed by an introductory lecture, after which we were taken out onto the airfield. It was at this point that I first met my instructor, Flying Officer Easton, a man with a ribald sense of humour and a disconcerting habit of beating on the side of the aircraft. At such tense moments as take off and landing he would sing R.A.F. songs. My first flight was a rather startling affair. (Although I have several hours flying time in powered aircraft, I had never before flown in a glider.) The aircraft bumped forward over the grass and climbed unsteadily and surprisingly quickly to about eight hundred feet. This being the optimum height, I released the towing cable. There was a loud bang, and we were floating gently above the airfield. The only sound was the slightly eerie whistling of the airflow over the wings. On being told by my instructor, who was sitting in the rear cockpit, to turn the aircraft gently to the right, I pushed the stick over and trod heavily on the rudder. The horizon came vertical, and the noise of the wind was loud in my ears. When the instructor had recovered the aircraft from this distinctly unorthodox attitude, we came in to land, with him in control for a demonstration landing. The grass rushed by on either side as the glider swept in, hesitated a moment, and settled on the ground. `I shall expect you to land like that in future.' The rest of the week went by in much the same fashion. I gradually learned the necessary delicacy of touch on the controls, the dull but very necessary pre?flight checks, and how to deal with emergencies such as cable?breaks and stalls. Recovering from a stall was a most harrowing experience. The instructor would bring up the nose of the aircraft until it lost airspeed and seemed to come to a sickening stop in mid?air. (A bit like going over a hump?back bridge, but very much worse.) `Get out of that one, then,' he would say, gleefully. The only solution was to point the nose of the aircraft straight down, wait for the airspeed to build up, and then pull out to level flight. On the Thursday morning came my first solo flights. (Three solos must be accomplished in order to qualify.) This was obviously something of a tense moment, and as I sat waiting in the cockpit, my instructor came over and joked with me for a few moments, ending with some words of reassurance and advice. Take?off was exactly the same as on all previous occasions and before I was half?way round the circuit I was positively. enjoying myself. Previously I had been concentrating so much on the business of flying that I had had little time for enjoyment. The glider floated over fields and woods. In the distance the village of Little Snoring was just visible. Landing was fairly successful, although I managed a long hop before the aircraft finally settled. My two remaining solo flights were uneventful, and as my fellow pupils had qualified also, there was great rejoicing that night in the Naafi Club. The following morning we attended a parade at which we were formally presented with our certificates and `wings' by the C.O. A successful end to an anxious week.
Cdt. Cpl. D. KELSEY.

The Duke of Edinburgh's Award scheme was initiated in 1956 to give teenagers an opportunity to make the best use of their leisure. It offers a balanced programme of subjects both active and creative. Although it is not a competitive scheme it gives an incentive to improve by setting standards which should be within the reach of any young person providing he shows willingness and makes the effort. Although there are not any opportunities to undertake this scheme through the school (but let us hope that in future something can be done to remedy this) several of us are participating through outside channels. Several of the sixth form girls are taking -part through the local Guides and working up from the Bronze stage. I took part in the scheme through the local police cadets, but because I joined at an older age I started at the Silver stage. The award is split into four sections three of which are common to both boys' and girls' awards. The first section is one of service where one is asked to train in some subject that will help the com- munity. Here we were all lucky in having a good St. John's Am- bulance Brigade through which we could qualify in first aid. For the first stage we went to lectures given by several doctors, and passed the examination in first aid and re-examinations at further stages. In addition to this, at the Gold stage we were asked to undertake some form of public service. I did this by working in the hospital for a certain length of time and the girls became qualified guide instructors. '- In the second section the participant is asked to undertake a hobby or pursuit to last six months at the first two stages or a year at the Gold stage. The hobbies available cover a wide range. Annette Charles, Pat Wilcox and Linda Williams took music, Carol Wallis took canoeing and .1 took bellringing. Other subjects undertaken by the girls included driving, natural history, and Arts and Crafts. At this stage the awards tend to diverge with the accent on the active side for boys and the more practical and creative side for girls. For the next section, the expedition, I had to undertake a camping walk of increasing degrees of difficulty ending at the Gold stage with a walk of seventy to eighty miles across Dartmoor. The girls in the easier stages had similar but smaller expeditions and at the Gold stage were able to undertake an alternative to the expedition when they worked at a camp for under-privileged children. The last section is different in the two awards with physical fitness for the boys, where I was asked to attain certain standards, and `Design for Living' for the girls where they undertook homecrafts such as flower arranging and cookery. A week's residential course is also part of the programme. Upon attaining the awards a certificate and badge bearing the insignia of the Duke of Edinburgh are presented to the successful candidate. Upon succeeding at the Gold stage you are invited to Buckingham Palace to be presented with the award. When you go, as I did last July, you are amazed to find that there are hundreds of others there also. We were told by the Duke that up to that point thirteen thousand had been successful in the Gold awards. This shows how much interest has been taken in the scheme. The scheme is open to any teenager over fourteen and membership of a youth organisation is not necessary. Information is available through the County Youth Organiser and I would advise any teenager to have a go because at the end it gives you a feeling of having done something worthwhile. ROBERT PHILPOTT, VI Arts A.

One day Mr R. E. Jones came into our English lesson and asked if anyone was interested in acting as secretary to a team who were going to build a motored vehicle or machine for a competition. It sounded interesting and not too difficult so I agreed to do it. Mr Jones explained that I would be responsible for writing letters and for making a detailed report on the planning and building of the machine, explaining the progress of the design, the difficulties involved, etc., etc. The report was to be submitted with the machine and was judged together with it. The other members of the team, Grantley Cleaver, Leslie Biddington, Gary Wildin, Norman Abbott and various members of form 4T, all had special jobs to do including photographs, sketches, plans, and the actual construction. We were going to build a motor-mower for an elderly, partially paralysed person. This of course gave us a great number of problems before it was even begun. The machine had to be simple to operate, easy to mount, safe, inexpensive to run and easy to maintain. These, together with mechanical and other problems, proved to be quite a task. The first thing to be done was to plan and design the machine and obtain the components. I wrote to various firms and gained various pieces of advice and gradually a pile of parts began to grow in the metalwork shop. Gradually our motor-mower began to take shape. To me it seemed that gear boxes and engines were joined together with rotary blades, steering wheels, and axles to make what vaguely resembled a machine. Mr Jones spent hours advising and helping and without his help I doubt if the mower would have been completed as successfully as it was. However, towards the end of the summer term the mower was (although not yet finished) ready to be tried out. The last jobs were the paintwork, which was blue, and the seat, which was covered with studded imitation leather, and the finished product was very professional. Then there was a fight to see who was to drive it first and everyone wondered if it was simple enough for the .most incapable of sixth form girls to drive. Which it was. WENDY WESTGARTH, VI Arts B.
The mower has since been successfully used for the job it was designed to do and is to be entered in December for a competition, organised by the English Electric group of companies (who make Canberra bombers as well as kettles). We may have something for the mantelpiece.-ED.

`En you lovely, my dear?' was one customer's reaction to having a student serve his afternoon tea. However, not all the people I encountered during the five weeks I spent as a waitress were quite so appreciative. Some seemed determined to squeeze as much value as humanly possible from their meal; unfortunately, this usually involved squeezing the last ounce of patience and energy from the waitress. Sometimes, of course, there was some cause for complaint. One customer was served with soup which had a drowned fly floating serenely among the cream and parsley. She was rather taken aback, however, when the waitress to whom she complained replied acidly, `Aren't you lucky? We don't usually serve meat with it. *' However, service was wonderful on days when customers were few. No sooner had the customer sat down than his water and roll were put in front of him; rather different from busy days when he would be lucky to get a roll at all! He would hardly have time to breathe between courses, and would be forced almost to eat his meal in two mouthfuls by the waitress standing over him, waiting impatiently to descend like a vulture when he left, hoping for a large offering under the plate. On quiet days we were sometimes sentenced to an afternoon in the murky depths of the kitchen, preparing sandwiches. We would happily butter the first few dozen, but after having split, buttered, filled and wrapped over six hundred and seventy rolls, the very sight of ham was nauseating. One of the pleasantest jobs available was serving outside in the ice-cream kiosk. Whilst rejuvenating a fading sun-tan, I managed to devour one or two `accidentally' squashed or seriously misshapen ice-creams during the quiet moments of the afternoon. These, I might add, were not just any run-of-the-mill ices, but the `special' varieties! Also on sale in the kiosk were cartons of orange squash which were rather exorbitant in price for their volume. One disgusted gentleman grudgingly paid up his shilling muttering very crossly about `writing up to the Prices and Incomes Board'. Ice-creams were not the only means of supplementing one's meals. Not infrequently a waitress would emerge from the stores scoffing the remains of a cream cake, and hoping that she had removed all guilty traces from her cheeks. Tea-cakes were another favourite tea-time tit-bit, tying with `chip-butties' and cheddar cheese. We certainly took advantage of working in a restaurant. In general life was very enjoyable in the restaurant, and thoughts of future riches did much to help the time pass. At the end of my term of duty I felt really quite sad at the prospect of leaving; on the other hand I was pleased to be coming back to school-for a rest!
* By kind permission of the Alhambra Palace Music Hall, without whom this remark would not have been possible.

The newest of the new universities began in 1965 with one large concrete college, five hundred students and staff, and several hundred acres of Kent countryside. Nearly two years later its size has doubled and these very raw materials have already begun to take on a character of their own. A new university has no traditions to give it stability or unity, so being one of the first students is tremendously exciting. We may have to wade through the Kentish clay of the building sites in wellingtons but we do have an important share in deciding what kind of buildings future students will live and work in. We may not be able to breathe in an atmosphere of Learning amongst the dreaming spires, but we can shape the very adventurous course of study we are pursuing, and we can form our own traditions instead of following someone else's. To decide to go to a new university is to take a certain amount of risk, but it's the stimulating risk of never quite knowing what's going to happen next. I think the buildings of `U.K.C.' have had a great influence on the university's character. They settle proudly on a hill dominating the ancient cathedral city and they are impressive and unashamedly modern; but despite their grandeur they are compact and the plan of each college, centred around a cloister court, emphasizes the smallness of the infant university. The two colleges, each with five hundred students, are entirely self-contained with study-bedrooms, lecture theatres and common rooms. Each is close-knit and very friendly. Everyone knows everyone else at least by sight, so whenever you wander into the Junior Common Room there are always other people there to chat to, and this intimacy gives even the most timid fresher a feeling of `belonging'. On the other hand, I often long to see some fresh faces and nearly everyone is periodically overcome with claustrophobia and flees to home, Margate and London, just to meet `some ordinary people'. Within each college cliques abound, and, shut off from the world, it is easy to lose a sense of proportion and get overemotional over relatively trivial matters. A too journalistic journalist once christened U.K.C. "Oxbridge by the Stour" (the Stour is a muddy stream which people fall into during Rag Week). Perhaps long ago in 1962, the vice-chancellor had a hazy vision of a `new Oxbridge' where the peaceful surroundings would engender a studious atmosphere. If that was so, he has since been gravely disillusioned! Most of us are, when not working, deliberately and often violently anti-intellectual and the cosy rooms which were perhaps planned to house earnest discussions are usually noisier with the sound of guitars and arguments about the football results. The staff think this indicates a failure of the collegiate system but the students, not unnaturally, disagree. One thing which we are supposed to inherit from Oxbridge is a close link between students and staff. Certaintly we are very lucky in having an extremely young staff (it is often difficult to distinguish a lecturer from his students) and a student who is hysterical, neurotic, or just homesick has plenty of shoulders to cry on-though there is a growing volume of protest that the staff are too paternalistic. No university could have a more idyllic or secluded setting. Conditions on the crest of the Kentish downs may be arctic in winter but in summer it would be hard to find a more luxurious holiday camp. Any essential work is left till the evening and we spend long, hot, sunny days sunbathing in the hayfields and playing croquet in bikinis. Radio London blasts cheerfully from every open window and the occasional tutorial group retreats to a shady corner of the orchard to discuss philosophy. Lost in the blue haze in the valley a mile away, Canterbury is small and quiet (except when invaded by. Americans in the summer), so the university has to rely almost entirely on itself for entertainment, in the form of endless very lively societies. Politics mean very little and I sometimes feel the university could drift happily through a world war without ever having heard about it. I haven't said anything about Rag Week, exams, the Summer ball, or any other landmarks of my first year of university, simply because, for me, they are not very memorable. What I will always remember is the view of the cathedral from the entrance to Eliot College, the sound of croquet being played outside in the evenings and the friendliness of life at Canterbury.


SCHOOL RUGBY 1966-67 -
With a nucleus of seven old colours returning, the 1966-67 rugby fifteen were looking forward to a good season. After a rather shaky start the side settled down to be an excellent all round team. During the season the players established an excellent team spirit which attributed to the side's success but as always, a lot of the credit must be given to Mr Parfitt, who spent so many after-school hours training the team and Mr Morris, who must be congratulated on coaching an unbeaten under fourteen side. R. Beddis proved to be a very good pack leader, encouraging younger members of the forwards, by his own experience and excellent play. The school was also fortunate in having two good, fast, wing three-quarters who scored many points between them. During the season, eight games were won and three were lost. All the team would agree that the best match of the season was against our old rivals Marling who beat us by the smallest of margins and so spoiled an unbeaten home record which we had set up the previous season.
Representative Honours:
V. Reeks, R. Beddis, M. Walker played for N. Gloucestershire and Bristol Schools. P. Hall, reserve.
B. Dovey-Final England Trial. J. Morris-Reserve England Trials.
County-T. Wintle, Captain. East Midlands-B. Dovey and J. Morris, both captains of Gloucestershire.
T. Braybrooke-Hampshire. J. Hampton, Captain of Rosslyn Park.
Colours were reawarded to: V. Reeks (Capt.), R. Beddis (ViceCapt.), D. Svendsen, M. Walker, P. A. Purvis, P. Harris, P. Hall.
New colours were awarded to: A. Drew, A. Goss, N. Halford, G. Davies, I. Lewis, J. Pingree, P. Selby, M. Baker.
Half-colours were awarded to: P. Kingston, J. Dunsdon, C. Grindle, G. Wildin.



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