35 Obituaries

The Old Peterite Club Annual Dinner

The Old Peterite Club Annual Dinner was held on Saturday, 2nd July 1988 in the School dining hall by kind permission of the Head Master. The toast of "The School" was proposed by G. H. Dodsworth. The Head Master, R. N. Pittman, replied and gave the toast of "The Old Peterite Club" to which the President, J. A. Denison, replied. The Club is once again indebted to Mr. Jackson, Mr Wogan and the School catering stafFfor the excellent meal. Those present:

The President (J. A. Denison) The Head Master (R. N. Pittman) The Immediate Past President (J. T Harding) The Hon. Secretary (R. D. Harding) The Hon. Treasurer (S. M. Burn) L. M. Armitage P. S. Atkinson M. Bainbridge R. R. Baldwin H. Belchafnber M. Biller V. M. Black R. A. Brindley A. C. Brown J. Burdass G. R. Burn D. Cole D. G. Cummin E. A. K. Denison R. G. Depledge G. H. Dodsworth F. H. Fearnside G. Gildener C. Gilman G. E. L. Graham R. F. Harding M. G. B. Hepworth R. H. Hubbard W. M. Hudson D. Hughes C. D. Hunter W. G. Huntley J. L. Hyde D. P. Johnston M. J. Kent G. E. King-Reynolds R. G. Langstaff L. C. Le Tocq I. Leedham P. A. Lockwood N. J. Magson H. C. Marshall G. F. B. Mitchell P. H. H. Moreton N. Muirhead L. Nelson F. N. Newdick R. W. Oliver G. D. Parkin D. Pearsall D. Pemberton K. R. Pemberton J. R. Penty T C: Rainford E. M. H. Ranson J. C. M. Rayson J. M. Roden J. C. Rounthwaite D. T Rumfitt S. Ryder C. S. Shepherd D. O. Shepherd P. W. Shepherd G. M. Shuttleworth D. N. Simmons K. F Simpson G. D. Smith R. Stark R. A. Stevens C. W. Thompson E. G. Thompson R. Webster N. M. Wilson F. W. Woodgrove S. J. S. Wroe

Collinson, P. H. Delgado, G. A., on September 19th 1988. Emsley, D. J., Major. Hearn, Sidney., in July 1988. Holgate, Eric, on 7th December 1987. Holliday, W. H. Mountain, Rev. Geoffrey.; Honorary Curate of St. Edward the Confessor, Dringhouses, York; formerly Vicar of St. Paul's, York; on 18th July 1988.

Deaths

Nix, John (Staff, '42^72) died in York on 21st August 1987, aged 82. He was Second Master in St. Olave's, and was elected to Honorary Membership on retirement. Ogilvie, Douglas G., on 20th December 1988. Pick, T. S. (Day Boy, W 1 2) died aged 91. He was the younger brother of Frank Pick. In his will he left a generous amount to the School for a fund to encourage competition among pupils. Rob, G. H., on 15th November 1987. Rymer, A. S. Simpson, G. R. Smith, Walter. Sproulle, M. I. H. Steele P. M. Storey, S. H. (M. '47^52), on 30th July 1987. Thompson, D. C.

Obituaries Major David John Emsley

David died suddenly on June 11th 1988 at his Droitwich home aged 40. He joined the Army from school and was commissioned at Mons into the Green Howards. He saw service with his regiment in Germany, Berlin, Cyprus, Berlize and Northern Ireland. On retiring from the Army in 1985 he became an Employment Consultant.

He was a tremendously keen sportsman, having been a Schools Rugby English international, and excellent Tennis and Squash player and strictly a social Golfer. He had recently been a Wimbledon umpire.

He leaves his wife Mary, and their two young children, Daisy (6) and Joe (3). We extend our sympathy to them all. Neil Sargeant

We have had very sad news of the Sargeant family, Kevin ('64-69), Brendan '65^69) and Keith ('68-71). Their younger brother Neil (St. Olave's '67271) was killed on August 2nd 1988 in a helicopter crash in the Bay of Bengal. Neil, who was 29, was on his way home when the helicopter was caught in a tropical storm. He leaves a widow and two young children, Emma (3) and Mark (10 months). We extend our deepest sympathy to the family.

1.

Notes

Old Peterite Club members are invited to submit to the Hon. Secretary any item which they would like considered by the Committee before their next meeting on Saturday, 26th November. 2. Congratulations to the Pandas Hockey Club on the occasion of their 25th Anniversary (a short report with results follows later). 3. The Annual Dinner at School and all the regional dinners are most enjoyable and convivial occasions. The Club is very grateful to all the area organisers and there are many O.P.'s who are most supportive. Do urge your contemporaries to join you and at least they will know someone there. Sadly, the Annual Dinner at St. Peter's was half its usual strength. If each O.P. present this year or last would contact

two others and persuade them to come along next year then all previous records would be broken! Regional dinners NEED your support. So, if you are reluctant to attend because you think that no contemporaries will be attending, then do contact a few of your old friends in advance. 4. The Newsletter serves a useful purpose, but the Club has run into trouble in the School office with the amount of paper work which this and other literature is producing. The Hon. Secretary is always pleased to hear from Old Peterites and he would like to thank correspondents for their interesting letters on various topics received during the year. 5. The Editor of "The Peterite" is always pleased to receive letters from the Universities.

The following are available from the Hon. Secretary, R. D. Harding, Hall Cottage, Foremark, Milton, Nr. Repton, Derbyshire DE6 6EJ. Please include the relevant postage stamp separately from the cheque, made payable to the Old Peterite Club.

Tie Book Ladies Brooch Centenary Spoon

Ti £3.50 e £3.50 £2.75 £3.50 £2.00 (plus 2 x 18p. stamps)

The O.P. Club formal and O.P. informal ties can be obtained from the school shop.

O.P. Club Subscriptions A financial review of the Club has been undertaken. A significant outcome of this is an increase in the life subscription and a different method of collecting it, now on the termly account during the 5 year period of a pupil's time in St. Peter's. This is giving the Club a larger and more effective income and will allow such matters as our use of the school's administrative and secretarial services to be put on a rational and equitable financial basis.

5. K. Kazerooni (Rise 1930-1935) The Hon. Secretary has been in touch with "Kazzy" in Teheran and besides monthly letters telephoned him on Christmas Day to send greetings from the O.P. Club. In December an open letter was received from "S.K." to O.P. friends and whilst surviving missile attacks from Iraq, his first and last paragraphs read as follows...

Dear Friends, "We have witnessed the passing of another year. Once more we have the opportunity to wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year. In sending you seasons greetings we wish for you and your family joy, happiness, prosperity, and good health in the coming year. (There follows a month by month summary of events of unusual hardship and adversity). Tail piece: "The war continues. Confusion reigns throughout the world. Inflation is increasing and more commodities are scarce particularly medicine, otherwise everything is all right and we have survived another year. If we do survive 1988, we will let you know how we have fared. So let's hear from you!" (Signed) S. K. & A. K. Kazerooni

(Khyaban Bahar, Khyaban Bakhtiar No. 10, Teheran 15746, Iran).

H. W. Richardson (O.P.) (killed in action 13th July 1940)

A letter has been received from a Mr. Groendijk (P.O. Box 24, 9166 ZP Schiermonnikoog, Holland) who asks if any information can be given about Horace Richardson, who is buried in a Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery on an island off the North Coast of Holland.

Mr. J. Groendijk is currently researching for a book and is keen to hear from someone who remembers him when at St. Peter's (Temple 1931-1936).

Club Property Pandas Hockey Club (Old Peterites)

Pandas 6 Pandas 0 Pandas 1 Pandas 2 Pandas 0 Pandas 2

Club Fixtures 1987/88

Thirsk 3 Harrogate 4 York 1 York Trojans 3 York Wednesday 4 Acomb 1 Pandas 2 : Ben Rhydding 1 Pandas 1 : Harrogate 2 Pandas 1 : Scarborough 1 Pandas 2 : Thirsk 2 Pandas 3 : Rowntree Mackintosh Confectionary Limited 2

Easter Festival

Pandas 1 : Cheetham Hill 1 Pandas 1 : Hull YPI 2 Pandas 2 : Bardsey 1 Pandas 1 : Chesterfield 1 Pandas 2 : Clangers 2

A good season for the Club with over 40 old boys and current schoolboys making an appearance for the Club at some stage throughout the Season.

As ever, although the results are important, the enjoyment and entertainment is still as important as ever.

This was the Club's 25th year, the first trip to Bridlington as a Pandas side taking place in 1963 and we were pleased to have an excellent 25th Anniversary Dinner at which there was an attendance of some 50 Members.

The Easter Festival was, once again, a fitting end to the Season and thoroughly enjoyed by all who attended. S. Mark Burn

Easter Holidays 1928

In the twenties, I think, there were no school vacation trips. Three of us from the Manor decided to make one in the Easter holidays: "Pickers" (E. R. Pickersgill), " C D ." ( C D. Trimmer, whom I was to meet twenty-eight years later, with a D.S.O. commanding his battalion in Malaya), and myself "Hossie".

We proposed to set off together and seek such jobs as trench-digging on a building site; but when I wrote of it to my parents, my father replied that it was not a good idea: if we were to get jobs, we should be taking them from working men who really needed the wages, as we didn't. So we changed the scheme: we would tramp the country, living rough - a phrase we hadn't then heard.

The school atlas opened on a table between us, we grasped our hands around a pencil held vertical over it; with eyes closed, moved the pencil about and lowered its point to the map of England. Opened eyes found that our starting point was to be Grantham. On the day appointed and early in the afternoon, we met at the railway station there, C D. from Aberdeen, Pickers from near York, Hossie from near Sheffield.

Each of us had over his shoulder a small haversack, to carry an extra pull-over and spare socks and possibly a small towel, with room left for - say - a pork pie, or a hunk of bread and some cheese. I cannot recall a raincoat, but between us we had a map of the Midlands. That showed, some thirty miles to the south-west of us and beyond Melton Mowbray, Charnwood Forest, which sounded pleasantly rural and sheltering: let's set off towards that.

Now we had come to tramp, to walk, not to ride, along the quietest ways we could find (and in those days the busiest roads had less traffic than the minor roads of today). But after an hour or so along the fairly busy direct road in our set direction, we weren't relishing the prospect of walking into and through Melton Mowbray and out again. Then, while we were buying bread and cheese and some Melton Mowbray pies, a lorry driver in the shop asked us where we were heading, and said we could ride on his load as far as the town! Ecstatically, the load off our yet-untrained feet, we sprawled over his load of sand and were wafted into town. To get away from that, we took a local bus to the first village in our chosen direction. Asfordby is the name that floats from some store of memory like a bubble surfacing from muddy depths of a pond. By the time we were there, daylight was fading: we must find somewhere to sleep.

There were rules for this expedition. We were not going to ride - those rides we'd had so far were just setting us on our way, didn't count. We were not going to sleep in a bed. We were not going to sleep under a roof well, not in a house. So, where to sleep? Let me remind you, it was about Easter and the weather cool. Quite soon we spotted in a field a detached barn of sorts, and warily - not to offend any farmer - we reconnoitred it. It was lush with straw, and along one wall was a manger that would stretch to two straw-filled beds at least. But we thought we oughtn't to occupy it until deeper dusk when the farmer wouldn't be around again, so we turned back into the village to waste time and buy chocolate bars for supper. And, damn it!, as we approached the barn again, we saw at least one real tramp sidling into the half-closed door, and thought there might be more of them, and we didn't want to share accommodation on our first night especially. We turned away.

When we found a haystack about the middle of a field, daylight had gone but the moon was climbing into a clearing sky. From the stack a corner had been cut, so there was a re-entrant angle into which we piled loosened hay for our beds. C D. and Pickers got themselves into the angle; I settled on the outer side. As planned, we'd put on the extra pullovers; the naked sky was over us; this was the real stuff of tramping!

After a time, I noticed a little wind stealing around my end of the stack. The night was pretty cool. The hay was dew-wet and positively cold. That almost-full moon in that bare sky made things seem colder. Pickers and C D. seemed to be sleeping; I was too cold for it. There was a ladder leaning over us to the stack top. Perhaps I could get that down and lie on it, clear of the damp hay; that would be warmer, surely? With chilled hands I tried to wrestle the ladder away from the stack; heavy it was. And near its top was a scythe with its blade stuck into the stack and its handle alongside the ladder. As I yanked at the ladder, I realized that the scythe was over my sleeping companions; and as I yanked*again, the ladder turned a little and struck the scythe handle. It trembled, shivered shining from moonlight, up there and over them . . . and stayed where it was, a little looser in the stack. I got the ladder down, fought its weight to put its stackward end onto a pile of hay so that most of it was clear of the floor-hay, put my haversack across it for a pillow, settled down.

78

But the rungs of a ladder make a poor mattress. Instead of damp hay under me, I had the little wind chilling my under-side as it did my over-side. Precariously I turned and went on shivering. Then Pickers and C D. stirred and grumbled that they hadn't a hope of sleep while my teeth chattered so. About two in the morning, we moved on. About the edge of the village we found an open shed sheltering carts; so we got out of the moonlight and the little wind and into them. My cart had a nasty smell. But, squatting upright with arms clasped around bent knees, I could close my eyes and hope for sleep, or open them - admiring the now-brilliant moonlight - and acknowledge that there'd be no sleep that night. I could contemplate the awfulness of a week of such nights, and seek for way out of it that wouldn't be shameful.

We were on the road again before dawn was much advanced, speechless zombies. There'd been just enough light for me to confirm that my cart's last load had been of farmyard manure. We trudged on, and as the eastern sky blazed we came on a grassy slope that came down to a cressy rill running clear and musically over a sandy bed. We threw haversacks down on the slope, and sat on their opened flaps. What were we going to do about this tramp? That night had been HELL! We all wished we'd tried it in the summer; perhaps we could postpone it until then? But, for me that was out of the question: I'd been a little defiant of my father about it, and if I didn't go through with it, he'd scorn me for funking it. I had to go on.

And as we sat, the sun rose, lipped over the crest beyond our lane, to shine on us and sparkle on the singing stream and promise to warm us. We stripped off jackets and pullovers, and sluiced hands and faces in the cold clear water, and put on again the tweed jackets over the grey flannels that already were creased and baggy. We fetched pork pies from haversacks, and made breakfast in the benison of sunshine. Two or three rustics went along the road and called hearty good-mornings across the stream to us. Pickers remarked that anyway the natives seemed friendly in this foreign country, and we began to feel better and decided to try another day or two.

During the afternoon we rested for an hour on a grassy bank in the sun: that might be our best tactic in this weather, we thought - sleep by day and walk by night. But the pattern settled itself that evening. Shepshed Bullring is the name floating up from memory this time, though I don't know if that was the place or the pub. It was beginning to get dark when we went into the humble low-ceilinged bar. We ordered pints of bitter, a drink that we fancied would make us seem older though to be honest we weren't much used to it nor liked it much. Quietly across the counter I chatted to the landlord. I suppose we were an unusual trio; he was interested in our tramping scheme and grew quite enthusiastic about it; so when I asked him if he had any ideas about where we might doss down, he puzzled a bit and then leant across and dropped his voice. There was a bus just along the road from his door, by a field hedge, broken down and standing there for some time; we could get into that - " 'twould be some shelter, any road", he said. As we finished our drinks, we nodded our thanks to him and went out. We hung about until the road was quiet and we could get into the bus unobserved, as he had suggested. (What was that about not sleeping under a roof? Well . . . a bus roof - it's not a proper roof, is it?).

Now sleeping in a bus - a local bus of these days, not one of your modern luxury coaches with softly-cradling high-backed seats - was no voluptuary experience. The seats were upholstered, with perhaps a miserly half inch of hard-packed horse-hair under stiff imitation leather; but the placement for the buttocks of two side-by-side passengers allows little scope for stretching out to fully-grown boys. You can - we tried it - find the length by stretching across two pairs of seats side by side, but there's that awkward gap of aisle between the seats: bridge that by bracing stomach muscles, and you can't go to sleep. (No better than a ladder!) If you sat upright, the backrest reached fully up to your kidneys, even beyond, so you couldn't lean backwards. Loll sideways, and your head impinged on the chill window-pane. Well, we coiled ourselves between seat-backs; we sat erect with chin on chest; we lolled; from time to time, we slept, for it was not as cold as in the carts or under the haystack. Night went by. Soon after dawn, quietly as suggested by the inn-keeper, we slid open the door and slipped out, made for the open land where we might brush with hasty steps the dews away to meet the sun upon the upland lawn. Again we tidied ourselves, broke our fast on bread and cheese or chocolate bars, and were ready for more of the trip.

We'd seen nothing of that Forest, and must have turned away from where it should have been, though I can't fix any name or association. For our third night, the pub-keeper was as interested as the others had been, and C D. and Pickers theorized about the sob-stuff story I must be telling them. This man was friendly enough to hand us a key to a cricket pavilion that backed onto his yard, and we went in as soon as there was darkness. It was mainly filled with wooden benches, reasonably even in height so that they presented a platform some eighteen inches above the floor across which rats might run without disturbing us; and there was a heavy stiff tarpaulin that needed only unfolding in the near-pitch-darkness. With haversacks for pillows, we laid our weary limbs on the benches and hauled the tarpaulin over us for blanket: luxury! (Not under a roof? Well . . . a cricket pavilion doesn't count.)

We were going pretty well; not at John Hillaby pace perhaps, but as we meandered along country roads to keep aloof from towns, we must have been approaching twenty miles a day. The fourth night we spent at Crich, a village five or six miles south of Matlock in Derbyshire Dale country. Yet again the innkeeper seemed to like us and our scheme for a holiday, so I plied him with queries. Was there, for instance, a broken-down bus about . . or, say, a cricket pavilion . . . ? No. He was sorry, nothing like that; the only place he could think of was an empty attic, z/we could sleep on the lino. "Go up as soon as you like," he said, "Might find you an old army blanket, too." We finished our beer and went up. (Not under a roof? Not in a house? . . Well, it's not an ordinary house, really . . and it's on lino . .)

By mid-afternoon, we were in Matlock, where my grandmother lived in a smallish house. I could hardly go through without calling on her, could I? For a little old lady, she had a strong personality. By the time we'd got through the meal she insisted on setting in front of us - hot tasty food, on plates, with knives and forks and spoons, reminiscences of some previous existence - and had drunk our tea or coffee by a glowing fire, we had been seduced

from Spartan infelicity. We had had enough of action and of motion, we . . there were tired eyelids upon tired eyes; we were fully in tune with Tennyson's Lotos-eaters contacted recently in English. So that, before a normal bedtime, a double bed readied and a mattress beside it on the carpet, we succumbed. (Oh, under a roof; and in a bed: we've done it this time! Goodnight.)

But Matlock was no Lotos-land for us: another day, another night, were ahead. We positively marched, that day. Roughly northwards, but veering hither and thither along the emptiest of roads, we went twenty-two miles into the outskirts of Sheffield. Home for me was fifteen miles away. By telephone I got a message gently to my mother, that she'd have three extra for breakfast in the morning. Already the houses beside our last miles had been lighted, and we climbed into a lighted bus without a trace of guilt, for this was necessary if we were to catch the last train that would get us to our breakfast appointment. (The notion of doing another fifteen miles on foot through the night never entered my head.)

We got down from the train at the station for my home village, just before midnight. Now, a shelter, a beddingplace for these weary limbs. In a siding rather too close to the Station Master's house, where a window was still lighted, were wagons, one a goods wagon with sliding doors, roofed. (Not under a r . . that's enough!) To slide open the door, its wheels trying to grate over a rusty track, took maddening minutes and much of our remnant energy; but we got in . . . and found the door on the opposite side had been open all the time. The flat floor of a wagon, without a hole for your hip, no tarpaulin for blanket, a crushed haversack for pillow, denies sleep to you, unless you are very tired. We slept.

Cocks were crowing to a lightening sky when we climbed down from the wagon. We were only a mile from home. I led the way to a winding rabbit-alive lane musicked by blackbirds, that would divert us via a hamlet and make our way three miles. When the sun had got up, we spent an hour dozing under it, with our backs against an old lichen-encrusted stone wall bounding the cricket field, and then went on. And so, about eight we came down the long hill in the sunshine, to hot baths that thawed stiff joints, breakfast that sated hunger, and beds for hours and hours to draw the tiredness out of heads and limbs. We had not gone as far, or spent as long over it, as we'd probably intended. We'd not kept strictly to our rules. But we had made the trip. These sixty years later, I can recall nothing of the landscape or events of the days, only the nights.

Old Peterite Club Members Joining 1988

Aspden Adele M., 19 Clifton Green, York. Y03 6LN. Atkinson Stephanie J., 14 Westfield Court, Mirfield, West

Yorkshire. WF14 9PT. Bagley M. R. K., 39 West Street, Norham, Berwick upon

Tweed. Ball-Dodd Catherine S., 62 Holgate Road, York. Y02 4AB. Barlow S. R., Willow House, 19 Tadcaster Road,

Copmanthorpe, York. Y02 3UL. Barnes P. R., Dean Lodge, Litcham Road, Mileham, King's

Lynn, Norfolk. PE32 2PS. Bell Nicola E., Field House Farm, Beeford, Nr. Driffield,

North Humberside. Y015 8AY. Black S. R. K., Chestnut Farm, Sand Hutton, York. Y04 1LB. Bletcher T. R., 6 Church Lane, Appleby, Scunthorpe, South

Humberside. DN15 OAG. Bond P. S., Deighton Garth, Deighton, York. Y04 6HA. Bramall Rebecca H., Tree Tops, Park Drive, Sprotborough,

Doncaster, South Yorkshire. DN5 7LN. Briggs M. E., Burn Cottage, 62 The Village, Strensall, York.

Y03 5XA. Burdass I. W., Glebe Farm, Octon, Driffield, North

Humberside. Y025 OEB. Burdon Denise C. M., Seven Oaks, Ox Carr Lane, Strensall,

York. Y03 5TD. Bryan P. C, 19 Deacons Court, Copmanthorpe, York. Y02 3TR. Butler M. R., 2 Middlethorpe Drive, Dringhouses, York. Y02 2LZ. Chippindale N. M., Kingsley Poultry Farm, Kingsley Road,

Starbeck, Harrogate. HG1 4RF. Cole S. O., 20 Westfield Road, Tockwith, York. Y05 8PY. Cowl Emma E., The Old School House, Alne, York. Y06 2HT. Craven Joanna E., Orchard House, Hodgson Lane, Upper

Poppleton, York. Y02 6DY. Craven P. A., 59 Strensall Park, Strensall, York. Dent C. R., Grimston Cottage, Gilling East, York. Y06 4HR. Doncaster M. R., Woodend, 41 Skipwith Road, Escrick, York.

Y04 6JA. Donoghue M. D., 12 Brockfield Road, Huntington, York.

Y03 9DZ. Durham N. P., 47 Heath Drive, Boston Spa, Wetherby, West

Yorkshire. LS23 6PB. Fernie A. M., 1 Burrill Drive, Wigginton, York. Y03 8ST. Firby M. A., Church Farm, Scackleton, Hovingham, York.

Y06 4NB. Gibbs A. C, The Post Office, 25/27 Main Street,

Bishopthorpe, York. Y02 IRA. Gilman T., Cherry Tree Cottage, High Street, Clifford,

Wetherby, West Yorkshire. Glover R., 24 Alwyne Grove, Shipton Road, York. Y03 6RT. Grace Jacqueline L., Bilbrough Grange, Bilbrough, York. Y02 3PH. Grainger J. D., 5 Station Road, Upper Poppleton, York. Y02 6PX. Green N., 8 Rtfighton Drive, Rawcliffe Lane, York. Y03 6QH. Grewer M. R., 129 Main Street, Askham Bryan, York. Y02 3QS. Hall R. M., Midway, Thorp Arch Park, Thorp Arch,

Wetherby, West Yorkshire. LS23 7AP. Harrison Diane A., Hoton House Farm, Hemingbrough, Nr.

Selby, North Yorkshire. Y08 7QF. Heslop Louise C, Orchard House, Sutton-on-the-Forest, York.

Y06 1DY. Hewitt J., 16 Hawthorne Close, Nether Poppleton, York. Y02 8HP. Hill C. J., 31 Grange Close, Skelton, York. Y03 6YR. Hobson N. E., The Beeches, Sutton on Derwent, York. Y04 5BN. Honing W., 17 Sycamore Place, Bootham, York. Y03 7DW. Holt P.J.M., 34a York Road, Acomb, York. Y02 4LZ. Horton Julia G., Fir Trees, 38 Spofforth Hill, Wetherby, West

Yorkshire. LS22 4SE. Hughes Lucy P., 1 Dovecote Drive, Ledston, Castleford, West

Yorkshire. WF10 2BA. Hutchinson R. E., Prospect Farm, Yapham, York. Y04 2PH. Jackson R. W., Hollybush, Mire Syke Lane, Scotton,

Knaresborough, North Yorkshire. HG5 9HW. James D., 43 Park Way, Knaresborough, North Yorkshire.

HG5 9DW. Jackson S. A., Woodside Farm, Farlingon, York. Y06 1NA. Kettlewell Rebecca A., Angels Way, Knedlington Road,

Howden, Goole, North Humberside. ON14 7ER. Khanna Seema, 52 Station Road, Upper Poppleton, York.

Y02 6PY.

Kilby Mary-Ann, Hall Farm, Thorp Arch, Wetherby, West

Yorkshire. LS23 7AW. King Philippa J., 44 Wheatley Drive, Bridlington, North

Humberside. Y016 5TT. Kitwood Joanne L., 19a Beckford, Knedlington Road,

Howden, Nr. Goole, North Humberside. Klar Marianne, Clifton Croft, Greencliffe Drive, York. Y03 6NA. Lamb W. R. S., Walton Cross Cottage, Windy Bank Lane,

Hartshead, Liversedge, West Yorkshire. Laverack J. M., Gladstone, York Road, Elvington, York. Y04 5AR Lean J. M., 1 Howe Hill Close, Acomb, York. Y02 4SN. Martin J. J. R., Manor Farm, The Green, Upper Poppleton,

York. Y02 6DF. Mellor J. H., 32 River View, Boston Spa, Wetherby, West

Yorkshire. LS23 6BA. Midwinter Deborah F. L., Flat 3, 74 Cornwall Road,

Harrogate, North Yorkshire. Mindenhall A., 9 Willow Croft, Westfield Lane, Upper

Poppleton, York. Y02 6EF. MoodyclifTe T., 68 Moorgate, Rotherham, South Yorkshire. Morris S. L., Bradleigh, 298 Tadcaster Road, York. Y02 2ET. Muirhead N. D., Willowgarth, Beeford, Nr. Driffield, North

Humberside. Y025 8AY. Mullins M., 85 Bagley Lane, Rodley, Leeds. LSI3 1JA. Mutter Fiona J., School Cottage, Main Street, Sutton-on-the-

Forest, York. Y06 1DP. Nellis Sarah J., 4 Crooklands Lane, Haxby, York. Y03 8LD. Parr J. M., 4 The Orchards, School Lane, Helperby, North

Yorkshire. Y06 2NR. Patchett N. J., Westcliffe, 11 Daisyhill Lane, Bradford, West

Yorkshire. Pemberton G. N., Colby Cottage, 3 Hospital Lane, Clun,

Shropshire. SY7 8LE. Penty D. M., Glebe Farm, Bolton Percy, York. Y05 7AL. Prest Kathryn, Riverside, Ryton, Malton, North Yorkshire.

Y017 ORY. Proudley S. M., The Old School, Staveley, Knaresborough,

North Yorkshire. HG5 9LD. Quickfall R. J. H., 34 Middlethorpe Drive, Dringhouses,

York. Y02 2LZ. Renshaw J. N., 21 Dovecote Close, Horbury, Wakefield, West

Yorkshire. WF4 6DH. Rich J. A., Dukes Cottage, 101 Main Street, Great Ouseburn,

York. Y05 9RQ. Richards Sophie V., The Green, Stillington, York. Y06 1JX. Robinson J. I., 7 Lowther Close, The Links, Billingham,

Cleveland. TS22 5NX. Robinson W. J., 2 Deacons Court, Copmanthorpe, York. Y02 3TR. Sacco S. P., The Old Mill Hotel, Springwood, Ramsbottom,

Bury, Lanes. Sharrock Rebecca J., Cleve, Main Road, Grindleford, via

Sheffield. S30 1HP. Sowray R. A., Treble Sykes Farm, Helperby, York. Y06 2SB. Spence M. D., Laurel Bank Farm, Hungate, Bishop Monkton,

Harrogate, HG3 3QL. Stubbs J. D., 34 Church Drive, East Keswick, Leeds. 17. Tatterton R. C, 53 Wilton Rise, Holgate, York. Y02 4BT. Taylor R. J., 39 Monkgate, York. Y03 7PB. Tonkinson R. B., Portland Farm, Elkesley, Nr. Retford,

Notts. DN22 8AJ. Torlesse Ruth M., Treverbyn, High Street, Stillington, York.

Y06 1LG. Towers Catherine E., Crown Cottage, Colton, Tadcaster,

North Yorkshire. LS24 8EP. Tozer M., The Coach House, Larpool Hall, Whitby. Y022 4ND. Tulley G. F., 2 Oakland Avenue, Stockton Lane, York. Y03

OBY. Willmott P.J., West Lea, 76 Middlecave Road, Malton, North

Yorkshire. Y017 ONQ.

Old Peterite Club Changes of Address

Atkinson, D. P. Briarcroft, Kirkburn, Driffield, Y025 9DU. Bywater, A. The Stables, Kents green court, Callow End, Worcester, WR2 4UT. Chilman, Dr. T. The Miller's House, Bisley Street, Painswick, Stroud, Glos. GL6 6QQ. Clark, John G. f54-'58) and Clark, David T. J. F. (M. '78-'83) 146 Hangingwater Road, Sheffield, S ll 7ET. Cowan, Andrew Spencer (T. '59-'67) Pembroke House, Gilgil, Kenya, Box 31. Denley-Hill, Steven Konrad (St. O. & M. '53-'59) c/o Manor House Fine Arts, 73-75 Pontcanna St., Cardiff, CF1 9HS. Duffield, Richard Paul (G. '79-'84) and Paul Malcolm (T. '47-'50) 15 Spen Lane, York, YOl 2BS. Fletcher, Peter Harvey (D. '67-'72) 128 Layston Park, Royston, Herts. SG8 9DY. Franklin, John Francis (R. '52-'57) P.O. Box 1178,

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia 21431. French, D. The Mount, Clarendon Road, Leeds, LS2. Frost, J. R. (R. '38-'42) from 20 Seaview Avenue, East Preston, Sussex, to 56 George Street, Pocklington, York, Y04 2DQ. Goodwill, R. J. H. The Downe House, Parsonage Hill, Somerton, Somerset, TA11 7PF. Gray, Bridget ('77-'79) 79 North Street, Martock, Somerset, TA12 6EH. Gray, Duncan G. M. (M. '80-'85) Orchard House, Delves Ridge, Darley, Harrogate, HG3 2RA. Herring, John C. M. ('48-'53) 5 Foxearth Spur, Selsdon, Croydon, Surrey, CR2 8EP. Hodges, Andrew J. (S '62-'67) 126 London Road, Guildford, GDI I T T. Howatt, Alan Tudor (Master '45-'69) from 6V2 St. Peter's Grove, York Y03 6AQ. to 18 Petersway, York, Y03 6AR. Huntley, William Gregson (R. '68-'72) 12 Barras Drive, Sunderland, Tyne and Wear. Johnson, Dominic, J. G. via Hawthorn House, Bernard Lane, Green Hammerton, York, Y05 8BP. Lockwood, Fiona (Q. '86-'88) Dray Cottage, Main Street, Bishop Wilton, York, Y04 1RX. Raley, Major R. M. E. c/o IRP Team Systems, Slater House, Worthy Down, Winchester, Hants. Robinson, Fit. Lt. A., R.A.F. (R. '70-'73) British Element, Berlin Air Safety Centre, B.F.P.O. 45. Skrentny, B. A. R. (S. '78-'83) Flat D, 31 Southampton Row, London WC1. Tidy, David William (T. '60-'65) 17 Main Street, Findern, Derby, DE6 6AG.

Wentworth Ping, W. H. (R. '38-'42), has received the Warrant of Appointment as High Sheriff for South Yorkshire from the Queen in Privy Council. We congratulate him on receiving this honourable and historic commission. Burr, Jonathon. Since gaining a Flying Scholarship while at St. Peter's, achieved his Pilot's "Wings" on 1st September 1988. Chapman, C. C. S. (S. '50-'54), has been appointed a full-time member of the United Kingdom Atomic Energy

Authority, for corporate development and finance. Cowan, Andrew Spencer (T. '59-'67), is Deputy Head Master of the British co-educational prep school in Gilgil,

Kenya, a member of the I.A.P.S. 3 of his 4 children (the other being newly arrived) attend this school, Pembroke

House. Drury, P. J. (T. '78-'83), won a First Class Honours in Part 2 of the Mathematical Tripos at Cambridge. Fletcher, Peter H. (D. '67-'72), has been appointed Senior Engineer in the practice of Brian Colquhoun and Partners (Consulting Civil Engineers) in Stevenage, and is acting as assistant computer manager for the firm. He now has 2 children, James (9/9/83) and Nicholas (27/9/86). Franklin, John Francis, (R. '52-'57), has been in Saudi Arabia for 5 years and holds the position of Executive

Vice President of the Tahez Group of companies. Any Old Peterites visiting or living in Saudi Arabia are invited to make contact on Jeddah 665-3606. Gray, Bridget ('77-'79), is now working in Somerset in the Small Animal branch of a Veterinary Practice, having recently returned from a year-long "working holiday" including New Zealand, Australia, Thailand and Nepal. Gray, Duncan G. M. (M. '80-'85), passed the Regular Commission Board in 1987 and was awarded an Undergraduate

Bursary. Sponsored by the 1st Battalion, Kings Own Royal Border Regiment, he is now studying at Oxford

Polytechnic. Hodges, Andrew (S. '62-'67) was elected Mayor of Guildford for 1987/88. Huntley, William Gregson (R. '68-'72) and his wife Gill have a daughter, born on December 1st 1987. Kearsley, M. (S. late '40s) is currently the Director of Architecture with the Canadian Government. Lockwood, Fiona (G. '84-'86) is at Loughborough University studying Physical Education, Sports Science and

Ecology. She has represented the Combined English Universities at Badminton all season, and has won Gold and Silver medals in both Ladies Doubles and Ladies Singles Championships at the English Universities and the British Universities Badminton Championships. Rayner, D. (G. '53-'59), formerly the Eastern Region's General Manager, has been appointed to the British Railways

Board as Joint Managing Director (Railways) responsible for operations, engineering and production. He was made a full-time executive member on September 23rd by the Transport Secretary, Mr. Paul Channon. Raynes, E. P. (T. '58-'63) has been elected a Fellow of the Royal Society. Robinson, Fit. Lt. A. (R. '70-'73) is now a member of the British Element of the Air Safety Centre of the Four

Power Allied Control Authority in Berlin. He would be glad to welcome any Old Peterites who might visit

Berlin, particularly current members of H.M. Forces. Skrentny, B. A. R. (S. H. '78-'83) is living in London, working with the Icthus Christian Fellowship in Soho.

He is marrying Shirley Mitchell (cousin of an O.P.) on 30th July 1988.

Marriage

Abbott, J. P. J. F. (G. '75-'79). The Marriage of Captain J. P. J. F. Abbott, B.Sc, R.E.M.E. to Captain Julia Hands, B. A., W.R.A.C, took place on Saturday 22nd August 1987 at the Parish Church of Huntleigh, Devon. Their address is now 1st Battalion, Grenadier Guards. B.F.P.O. 17.

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Dronfield House - a new beginning

Mr. P. G. Croft, on his retirement

"God, it's cold!" Pete moved in his thick overcoat, trying to warm himself. He stood, leaning against the rail, watching the waves slip up and down the side of the trawler. The blanket of thick, choking fog smothered the boat as it peacefully chugged along at a steady pace. The cigarette clenched between his teeth burnt slowly, calming him, or at least trying to. The words, "We shouldn't be here" rang in his head: the ever-present danger could be within metres of him.

A knock on the window disturbed him. He turned round, annoyed that it was impossible to get a moment's peace, and stared vacantly at Alan who tapped again, signalling him to come back in.

He stepped in and gasped as the warm air filled his lungs. "Okay, what?" Alan, his bearded face frozen, replied, "The sonar: I think you should hear it," and motioned for him to come. "Damn!" Again he listened. Again it was there. Within seconds the engines lay silent. Obviously he hadn't liked what he had heard - or at least that's what the rest of them thought. They interrupted their conversations, holding their cups halfway between the table and their mouths, sitting, waiting silently, frightened...

Pete looked searchingly. "Could it be a wreck or something?" Alan shrugged. The rest of them reacted the same way as Pete and then fell silent again. It was a while before anyone said anything else - and even then, not the most intelligent of remarks. "What do they want with us? We're only fishermen." The others looked at him quietly until someone made it clear. "How do they know?" "What?" "That we're fishermen." The boy was still thinking about this when the other spoke again. "You can't see a bloody thing out there, and you can't tell we're fishermen on sonar, can you."

Pete got up and left. Although he was captain he could not stop them getting at each other, and so he went back on deck to see if the weather had improved.

The remaining stub of his last cigarette had been ground into the deck an hour ago. He sat on a capstan, looking anxiously at the sea - or at least as much of it as he could - looking for the source of that echo. Apart from that, he was worried about their position. They must have been drifting for hours. They could be anywhere. The weather had not improved. The fog was still there; so was the sea for that matter. The source of the echo was still there, and so was he. Unfortunately, where "there" was he didn't have a clue.

Back in the cabin the crew sat in silence, glancing from each other to Alan as he stood, ear to the headphones, listening. They looked up as Pete entered. He knew by their faces there was still no change.

T. J. C.

Sense of Proportion

Bell rings

Organ plays

Choir enter.

Sedately, majestically The Actor moves to centrestage. "Genesis. Chapter One, Verse One." (Act One. Scene One. In a Chapel) "In the beginning of creation...." (Lights. Enter the Average Man.)

"....Revelations. Chapter Twenty." (Act Five. Scene Five. A Funeral) '"He speaks: Yes, I am coming soon.'" (Exeunt. Chorus leave stage clear.) "Here ends the first (and last) lesson."

Organ plays Bell Rings

Choir exit. (Fade. Exit the Average Man.) J. A. R. M.

Poem to Brian Patten from Jo's Sister

There is a strange man asleep in my bed. I do not think we have met before. He lies there oblivious of my thoughts, Drunk of sleep's natural draught, Just as last night I...

Now I remember where he came from. A vague memory of pubs and people Floods back, just as soon daylight Will stir him from his reverie When he wakes drenched from his sleep.

I wonder where exactly he came from, And where he was planning to go When our paths met, too briefly. If I lift him carefully somewhere else Perhaps he will never remember me.

Already I have forgotten what strange whim Brought him back to swim in my bed. I cannot be bothered to think or reason. Knowledge' is more natural than thought. Deep inside he knows why he is here.

There is a man awake in my bed.

A. M. F.

What Is Seen

(...written after reading "Knots" by R. D. Laing) My good eye is better than my bad eye I can see twice as well With my good eye As I can with my bad eye

When I close my good eye Everything goes blurred After a while I can see enough to get by When I open my good eye again Everything becomes clear Brilliantly clear

If I didn't have my good eye at all I would get by I would never know what "blurred" meant Everything would seem clear My bad eye would seem good Good enough

I know a man with a glass eye My bad eye is better than his glass eye His other eye is good enough to get by I wonder if things seem blurred to him I wonder if he wonders if things seem clear to me Or clearer I can't tell

If we swapped my good eye for his glass eye He would be amazed I would not We can't do that He'll never know I will

I wonder how good my good eye is It's the best I know Before he met me The blind man's eye was the best he knew I wonder how good the very best eyes are I'll never know Someone might

I have thought a lot about eyes I can't see any better But now I don't believe what I see As much

I hope you know what I mean How will you know?

A. M. F.

N. Y. What if the irridescent butterfly decides to accidentally stray from the central diamond green and flutters around unseen amid skyscrapers white with coloured wings light then tires in flight above the city high

it will fall to earth tall above the ground without even sound against the great car roar in that mechanical core of an automated empire governed by men of steel and fire with no time to care for a butterfly.

(This poem was 'Highly Commended' in the 14 18 age group in the York Festival Poetry Competition.) P. B. N.