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Folio
Folio – Boys’ Own
Theo Hobson looks back at the magazine that embodied the spirit of St Paul’s
Folio was the longest running publication put together entirely by Paulines – and, for most of its life, Paulinas. It ran from 1954 to 1991. A delve in the archives offers a glimpse of the dramatic social changes of these years.
For its first six years, it resembles a broadsheet newspaper of the day – lots of sober stories about school matters crammed together on large pages, with very few images. Gradually the outer world begins to intrude. In 1958 we are told that ‘On Wednesday mornings a calculated 48 per cent of all Pauline conversation somehow concerns [the radio comedy show] The Goons.’ But it only intrudes so far. The summer edition of 1959 has an article headed ’Tiddlywinks at St Paul’s’. ‘Pauline winking is run by two main bodies: the All-Plastic Tiddlywinks Club de St Paul’s and the Oblong Tiddlywink Club von St Paul.’ You can see why the sixties were needed. The format loosened up considerably in the next year or two: by 1961 there were more images, more (rather tentative) irreverence, less sport. And more serious journalism. In 1966, under the editorship of Richard Zorza (1963-67), the broadsheet format was replaced and Folio the magazine was born. The changes were continued by
Julian Manyon (1964-67) over the next couple of years.
And there was a new spirit of earnest political engagement. Political issues included race. In 1966 Julian Manyon wrote a thoughtful piece on racism. Many Britons look down on the recent immigrants, he says, so as a nation we have no claim to liberal superiority. ‘Let us remember that the Americans in Selma and the white Rhodesians are our cousins and we share their guilt – let us not share their sin.’ Two years later Manyon interviewed Richard Neville, editor of the radical hippie magazine Oz. ‘Politicians to me are the most insidious, vile human beings one could contemplate’, said Neville, before being asked about drugs. They ‘show you a part of yourself that you didn’t know existed’. It is unlikely that the school would allow drugs to be puffed, so to speak, these days.
In the same year, 1968, Jon Blair (1967-69) emerged as a socially conscious roving reporter, with echoes of Orwell. In an article on the Hammersmith Palais, then a popular dancehall, he argued that the gaudy hedonism was a necessary escape from difficult lives. He was surprised to see so many homosexuals and lesbians there: ‘one must certainly sympathise with their desire to achieve some degree of normality, be it only temporarily, and a night out at the Palais might well achieve this.’
Blair also reported on conditions at three local state schools. At Mortlake Boys School he found ‘an obvious lack of funds to buy, say a new carpet for the Headmaster’s office, or little items of maintenance that are so essential if a school is to have a decent appearance.’ At St. Hilda’s, a school for children with learning difficulties, he met a boy who had noticed St Paul’s’ ample playing fields and wondered if he could play football there. ‘How does one explain that he’ll probably never play football there, and that he will always be doomed to the asphalt of his state education?’
In the seventies, interviews with big names became more common. In 1972 Enoch Powell doubted that the British people really wanted to join the EEC: “It isn’t the price of
butter that people are worried about, it is independence’. He was asked whether national sovereignty was a dangerous concept: ‘All living is dangerous. So, if national sovereignty were dangerous, that wouldn’t necessarily be against it.’ A few years later John Betjeman was informed by his interviewer that his work now appeared on the O-level syllabus: ‘Heavens! Poor things. I’m flattered and pleased – but sorry for all of you.’ By the mid-seventies, interviewees were as likely to be entertainers and TV personalities as serious thinkers. In 1975 Helen Mirren was featured, and soon after newsreader Anna Ford (she was probably easier to book, being the sister of the SPGS chaplain).
But a campaigning streak also remained, and state education was still a major interest. In 1977 Thurstan Bannister (1973-78) visited Holland Park Comprehensive. It was refreshing to see a school that was ‘a real reflection of what the community is like. Should intelligent middle-class parents overcome their fears and prejudices about “all those rough boys at the comprehensive” and have the courage to mitigate the faults that admittedly exist in Holland Park, it may become ‘de rigeur’ for the middle class to be state educated.’
In 1978 Matthew Burton (1975-80) wrote a piece of investigative journalism that stayed daringly local. ‘Surely we’ve all, in our idler moments at St Paul’s, wondered what went on in that building which so strongly resembles a Scandinavian sauna chalet.’ He refers, of course, to the Swedish school just beyond the railings of the furthest playing field. Though he and his fellow reporter Thurstan Bannister lacked a ‘real appointment’, they ‘were given a very friendly welcome.’ They discovered a co-educational paradise, free of exam anxiety. These students should be invited to share our resources, attend our events, Burton concludes. The article was unimaginatively titled ‘Do Blondes Have More Fun? Scandinavian Ones Do!’
Inevitably, Jonathan Miller (1947-53) was regularly interviewed. The satire show that he co-founded, Beyond the Fringe, was a major stylistic influence on the magazine, with its affectionate ribbing of traditionalism. The influence is evident in an article of 1979 about the inter-club competition, the rugby leagues. ‘Folio reporters attended a game between two sides imaginatively named F and H. It was difficult to decide whether the teams or the crowd were more peculiar.’ After some further witty reportage, the author concludes that ‘it is one of the school rituals unexplained but accepted, it is part of the Public School mythology and thus almost certainly a good thing.’ Our cub wit is Gideon Rachman (1976-80), now of the FT. Inevitably, Jonathan Miller (1947-53) was regularly interviewed. The satire show that he co-founded, Beyond the Fringe, was a major stylistic influence on the magazine, with its affectionate ribbing of traditionalism
In 1980 Griff Rhys Jones, the 26-year-old star of Not the Nine O’clock News, was asked whether he thought women were less humorous than men. ‘Well, certainly not the reverse. It’s a difficult question to answer. I think that women, in general, have a different sense of humour to men. An enigmatic reply!’
In 1982 John Simpson (1957-62) reminisced, a bit sardonically, about Folio in his own day. ‘It was a ramshackle type of newspaper rather like a cut-down version of the Daily Mirror, filled with jokes and embarrassing poems by people, but at 2 1/2p nobody complained.’ As he then read the news at nine o’clock, he was asked what he thought of the aforementioned comedy show, Not the Nine O’clock News. ‘I just wish it weren’t on at nine o’clock, as I can’t imagine anybody with discretion or taste watching us when Not the Nine O’clock News is on.’ Then the interviewer, Philippe Clift (1978-83), suddenly aired a gripe: ‘What was the CU like when you were at St Paul’s, like I mean did you have to be a member of it before being Captain of the School, which might be a present-day criticism?’ Simpson: ‘Really, it sounds like St Paul’s is becoming more like the Soviet Union all the time.’
The habits of ‘the average Pauline’ have always been mysterious, but in 1982 the magazine claimed to have discovered, through a survey, various facts about him, including that he goes to bed at 10:53, after doing homework for 2 hrs 6 minutes and watching television for 1 hr 11 minutes; also, that he spends £1.19 per week on records, 78p on clothes and 40p on cigarettes. In 1983 certain luminaries were asked for their thoughts on school magazines. Bernard Levin guessed that a large proportion of junior journalists go on to become writers of some sort, ‘suggesting that the habit of writing is something we are born with, like haemophilia or a squint.’ He added that a school magazine should not be too school-focused but ‘should aim to be as close to a ‘real’ magazine as possible, and to encourage good writing on a wide variety of subjects.’
In the mid 1980s parochial trendspotting was on the rise. Plentiful photo-collages displayed impressive haircuts, and in-jokes and general silliness abounded. The main impression is that the Folio committee had been having a lot of cliquey fun. By 1985 it was mostly a showcase for poems and art and began to peter out. Other publications have arisen since. For a few years SPA was an important outlet for arty types, and Black and White has been a lively companion to the The Pauline. But to OPs of a certain age, Folio will always be the perfect mix of earnestness and show-off fun.
