ACT VIII – Germany

September 1969 to August 1974

Edinburgh School, Münster

 

 

 

owards the end of August we marched out of our MQ in Möenchengladbach, and arrived at Münster. Again, we lived in a military residential area, where houses were graded according to rank. Five-bedroom, detached houses with a garage, for Lt Colonels. Four-bedroom, semi-detached houses for Majors. Three-bedroom, semi-detached houses for Captains - and us. At the start of our Strasse were the terraced houses, with no garden or garage, for squaddies. Then the larger terraced houses, with garden for senior non-commissioned officers. It is an irony of service, as well as civilian life, that the young family with several children needs a large house with garden. Generally, it is the junior serviceman in this category, and he lives in a small terraced house. The senior colonels, on the other hand, could survive in a one-bed studio, but live in a large married quarter. Of course, senior officers need the space for all their entertaining!

 

 soon settled into school, and discovered that I, as the only officially designated head of department, was the third most senior member of staff, after the head and his deputy. The school was scheduled to build up and already a former German military barracks on the other side of town was undergoing refurbishment, to make it into a school. This had been the Herman Goring Barracks and I was able to go and have a look at it. The first noticeable thing on the side of the main building was the large concrete German eagle; the swastika had been removed, presumably at the end of the war. The eagle itself was to be chiselled off before any pupils arrived.

            My first year was therefore one of marking time; the pupils were only first and second years and so there was no external examination threat. Weekends and evenings were spent in exploring Münster, an old University City with much history. The eating and drinking establishments were very lively. Only about twenty miles away was the Dutch border town of Enschede, which did a roaring trade on English Cup Final Day. Our televisions, and most of us had only black and white, could not pick up the signal from the BBC - but over in Holland they could. Hence the annual invasion of all the Brits from the Garrison Towns of Münster and nearby Gütersloh and Osnabruch. Many a squaddie would arrive at the Dutch venue (even by the pre-booked coach load), at lunchtime on Cup Final Saturday, and would finally be found sometime during the Monday, facing an AWOL charge. In later years, the more caring battalions would send trucks into Holland, late on the Saturday night, to round up the confused, penniless, drunken soldier.

 

t was a good time to be in North-Rhine Westphalia, although a little embarrassing to see the signs “No British Soldiers” outside certain taverns. This was not a question of racism, for the most part we were very welcome, but to guard against the hordes of squaddie who drank themselves stupid, had fights, threw chairs through windows, and all that sort of thing. Münster was the home for the British ‘teeth arm regiments’ which name applied to the likes of  ‘The Royal Green Jackets’, and so on.

            In schools, this meant that we had the unique experience of about 40% of the pupils having a leaving assembly, and off they would go. Then, just a few days later we would have the new intake, 50 or 100 pupils, boys and girls, as the ‘Welsh Guards’ arrived in posting.

 

n the late ‘60’s the advances in technology meant that we could go, at certain fixed times, to the main post office in Münster and telephone the UK. We did this by giving the telephone number to the person behind the desk, who would dial it for you and say something like ‘drei!’ which meant ‘you may take your call in booth number three!’ When your time was up, you went to  the desk and paid up. We did this a few times, and felt that it was the ultimate in immediate contact between our families in Accrington and Chester, and us.

 

he school decided to do a play for some kind of a drama festival,  a play called The Monkey’s Paw. I was able to make the scenery - solid hardboard flats and, jeez, were they heavy. There were several of these, some hinged together whilst others would be held with cleat and rope, so that when the time came to hit the road it was assumed that I would go as stage manager. So I found myself going off in a coach, pupils and teachers, with an army three-tonner taking the scenery. We were headed for the Baltic port of Wilhelmshaven and to Prince Rupert School (always known as PRS). Wilhelmshaven had been the base for the German Navy and U-Boats, and so was something of a target for Allied ‘planes. The first headmaster of this school, which opened just after the war, was LT Colonel F Spencer Chapman who had spent most of the war in the jungles of Malaya, avoiding the Japanese. His book The Jungle is Neutral is riveting.

            We arrived at Wilhelmshaven and I was allotted the entrance hall of a bachelor teacher’s flat. His spare room was taken by another visiting teacher and he had not been expecting me. When you are young you do not let little things like this worry you of course, and I was quite happy with the camp bed that he found for me.

            I was looking forward to that night’s session, as the former German Navy had used the very same mess. Talking to one or two chaps who’d been there from just about the start of our Occupation, I was intrigued to see a ship’s bell hanging over the bar, and several flags and signed photographs on the walls - some being relics of the war that hadn’t been taken as prizes.

            The next morning at breakfast I asked my host if he was keen on trains. A stupid question as you might imagine, as he had pictures and photographs of trains all over the walls. The bit I liked was when he played me one of his records. I read all the facts, on the sleeve, as he played the Flying Scotsman pulling out of King’s Cross station and trundling over the points; and as Pullman’s  “The Devon Belle” emerged from a tunnel and entered Basingstoke sidings. To him this was all deadly serious. He would spend his holidays travelling on the trains of Europe. 

 

ur first summer holiday came, and we went up to the north of Germany, towing our caravan, and covered quite a bit of Denmark, although we gave its capital a miss. The speed limit for caravans was 50mph, which was just about all that I could do anyway. It meant that we took two or three days to get anywhere. We used to stop by late afternoon, as driving in two-hour stretches was always just about my limit before a break was needed. Of course, driving in most countries of the Continent was so easy, as it was all autobahn-based. 

 

ünster was a popular place for parties, be they drinks, dinner or supper parties. Also, we had invites to the York Barracks Officers Mess which was always an eye-opener, with formal dress and all the stops pulled out to make it a good do. We also soon had our own Civilian Officers Mess, which coincidentally was right opposite the new Edinburgh School. The civilians were, for the most part, teachers with a few chaps from the Property Services Agency (PSA). We had some excellent functions there, as we were all in it right from the start and so set our own rules. Reg Westcott was appointed Senior Member, and most of the committee in these early days were people that I did not know, except Ian Pike, who had just arrived from Kent School, and took over as PMC. It was six months later that the treasurer, a chap from PSA was leaving, and I had not thought of getting myself involved, I felt I had enough responsibility with my job, but Ian came to me and insisted.

“We need you, Dave,” he said, “You can do it standing on your head.”

“But he has such a good reputation,” I countered, “And it will take all my time to become even half as good as he was.”

“Crap!” said Ian, “It’s all self-made glorification. He has ballsed the whole thing up. He does not have a f***ing clue, honest!”

            Therefore, I agreed to allow my name to go forward. There was never any competition for the post of treasurer. I received a knowing wink from Ian Pike, as we heard the Senior Member give a glowing tribute to the outgoing treasurer. This chap even had the gall to stand up and give some recommendations, as to the way things should be run by his successor. I saw Ian moving his head from side to side, in a very slow shake. Anyway, I took over as treasurer, and on my first full day in office, I immediately agreed with all the sentiments that Ian, as PMC, had expressed about this chap. I ignored all the advice he had uttered, and did things my own way,  I believe successfully. I stayed as treasurer for a good couple of years, (we held office for six-month periods), before I was able to hand over to a keen mathematician from my school, who wanted to get into the swing of things.

            It was also about this time that the standard of dress in the mess became a major issue. For once, it was not the sweaty males in their tracksuits, straight from the gymnasium. This time it was the sweet smelling, bejewelled and coiffured females! Their crime was to wear the infamous trouser suit! This was just not on, in the early 70’s, in officers’ mess! The saga lasted some months, from an initial outright ban to a partial lifting for informal early evening events. Of course, the tide of world fashion could not be held back forever in our mess, and soon it became as normal as it is today. However, what a trauma it was at the time, both for the innocent wearer and the equally subservient committee member who had to reprimand the defaulter. Many angry words were exchanged, and many friendships lost.

 

ow that we had moved into the new buildings, I had a 2i/c in Mike Tatham who had just arrived from Doncaster. We were a good team, as Mike was to metalwork and plastics, what I was to woodwork, and we both did technical drawing. As I had been the first head of department in the school, I was able to have quite a say in which room I wanted, where my office would be, and where I wanted the telephones! It was great, once we were established, to ‘play’ with our telephones and ring each other up - around the school - saying such stupid things like “Only another two hours before the weekend starts!”

            The layout of the school and the position of my room were such that I had a commanding view of the main gates and anyone driving into the car park. When we had visiting Inspectors, I would ‘telephone around to everyone and say “They’ve just arrived!” Then, once I had been visited ( I was always first, as my room was on the ground floor) I would ‘phone the others on the two floors above me with the cryptic message “They’ve left me and are on the way up to you!” I often wonder what went through the minds of such visitors when they opened classroom doors, to find the teacher waiting on the other side, fixed smile in place, hand outstretched and uttering words of welcome.

            Once our new hall was open, we put on our first school play on the new stage, The Red Velvet Goat, with myself as set constructor and stage manager. Glyn Davies was producer and Jeff George did the musical numbers. The facilities were only basic, with just a few flats and a couple of floodlights.

            In addition, in the new hall, we all used to play badminton one night a week, then repair to the White Horse Mess for a suitable unhealthy session of drink and chat. It was now that I met John Burchill, a junior schoolteacher, and we discussed things dramatical. He was very keen and had in fact been involved with the Münster Garrison Players when they used to perform in Buller Barracks Gymnasium. I told him that I was keen backstage, but no way would I become involved with ‘borrowing’ an army gymnasium for a production. I had had enough in Singapore of using venues that were not ours. However, I was now in a position to be able to say that with our new school stage completed, we could use that for plays. I was not worried about my headmaster, as I knew he would agree with the Players using our stage. It became apparent that I would be in charge of the technical side of things, and in fact became stage manager for the re-formed Münster Garrison Players.

            As a result of a bit of canvassing, and advertising, we started the new society with few men but plenty of women. So John decided to produce the first play, No Time For Fig Leaves, which had a cast of plenty of women and only two men. I was able, at long last, to make proper scenery with canvas instead of hardboard; I had now got used to the army ordering system and received hundreds of yards of canvas. The play went down well and put us on the map. The new Münster Garrison Players had arrived. We had Col David Harland, as our chairman. In addition, the Garrison Commander, Brigadier Sir Ian Jardine (Bt), agreed to be our President.

 

he system of ordering items of stationery and equipment through Service channels was quite a revelation. Everything had a number, including toilet rolls (Army Form Blank). I had once ordered 24 compasses - the sort that you use at the drawing board for drawing circles. I had even gone for the most basic type, which required your own pencil to be inserted. Anyway, a large wooden packing case arrived one day with my compasses! We later discovered that a one-digit error in the ordering chain had resulted in me receiving 24 state-of-the-art prismatic compasses, as used by explorers in the jungle and at the North Pole. They were valued even then at thousands of pounds. The Geography people and outward-bound types all wanted me to keep them, and no doubt distribute them freely, but I’m sure I was right to send them back before the annual audit would have raised questions. However, such is the system that no one had questioned the authenticity of the original order.

Therefore, it was by these means that I was able to order hundreds of yards of lovely scenic canvas. I never went short in my scenery making over the next sixteen years.

 

 very happy day was 14^th March 1971 when daughter Lucy Rachel was born. Lucy was born late on a Saturday night, and I was at a party at Tony Smerdon’s house. He was a doctor and so he helped me a lot in being able to telephone the hospital to ask for progress in the birth. They would not have told me anything over the telephone, you know what hospitals are, but they told him everything he wanted to know. I do not know whether I could have been in at the birth in those days, but I am very squeamish so had no intention of asking. Anyway, it must have been quite unique, in the annals of medicine, for a father (me), to be told by a doctor, late at night at a party, and when highly excited (to put it mildly), “Dave, I want you to be the first to know that you’ve got a daughter!”  Everyone cheered, and the jungle drums beat around the married quarter estate.

            It was not until the official afternoon visiting time that I was able to go and see mother and daughter the next day. This was a time when we were amongst many people our own age, and so there were a lot of babies being born. Half a dozen of our friends and acquaintances must have had babies within a few months of each other. Now that we had one of each, I think we both felt that we had the ideal family unit, although the Smerdons were on number five already and were not quite sure when they were going to stop as they both wanted a large family!

 

aving long since given up all attempts to write a play, and never having seriously considered a novel, I had been working on some kind of educational work cards for some time. My specialist subject was technical drawing, and having researched the appropriate publishers, I finally sent them to McMillan Education in July 1971. They kept them for quite a while, but the letter I finally received was most heartening. “ ….It is not often that we see a manuscript, which is presented as professionally as yours is …….. However, it is not a good commercial proposition as it stands ……. We thought of producing your work in book form …. Conflict with other book in production….”  They then went on to encourage me to submit it to other publishers who perhaps did not have other work in progress.

            I tried a couple, but finally gave it up. I still have my original documents, which caused such a ripple of excitement.

 

t the end of the summer term 1971, I went on a two-week residential course at Shoreditch College, near Windsor. Here I met up with Alan Pemberton from Ellesmere Port days, and I got to know his HMI friend Mr D A Thomas. Alan was now lecturing at Keele University, and was heavily involved with all craft subjects being available for girls and boys - something of an innovation. He encouraged me to be involved, and said that he would try to fix things, but he said I was to give him time. When the course was over I went up to Accrington, to join the rest of the family, and to be in time for Lucy’s christening.

            I also had another mission - to go and sit a three-hour examination for the privilege of having the letters ACP after my name. This was the Associateship of the College of Preceptors, an educational institution of recognisable antiquity and questionable standing. Some weeks later I received the information that I had passed, and was therefore now qualified to wear academic dress, with hood. I did not bother with either the dress or the letters after my name. Nevertheless, I felt a certain smugness in my achievement, and those letters did appear - not at my bidding - on official things like programmes for speech days. The next step, at a later stage, would be to consider the much harder LCP examination - to become a Licenciate. This was regarded, and indeed was accepted, as being equivalent to a degree.

 

he Münster Garrison Players were now thinking of  their next production; indeed, they had decided that it would be The Happiest Days of Your Life with me as the Producer! Obviously I had told them of my past experience - well, what do you say, over a pint, when somebody asks you “Have you ever produced a play, Dave?”  Therefore, we did that, with John Ridge (who had arrived from Singapore) improving on his set design from some few years previously! It was a good production, naturally, and went down well with the audiences. The chap who played the part of Rainbow, the school caretaker, was a major in the army, and he did not know whether to be chuffed or insulted when the Brigade Commander - who never remembered his real name - forever after called him ‘Major Rainbow.’

 

he year 1972 saw British forces leave Singapore. Now, into Germany arrived a number of teachers. Amongst them, as I have said, was John Ridge, which was good news, both for me and for the school. I had now started the creative studies circus, and John was a good ally. True to his word, Alan Pemberton had written to the Director BFES outlining the new vision in our subject area, and suggesting a close liaison between Keele University and BFES. My name was mentioned as the possible co-ordinator, as one being familiar to the cause. However, the damned Director decided that this post would be more appropriate to be undertaken by the chairman of the art panel. He, poor chap, was a bit puzzled by it all, and so I had a working lunch with him and the deputy director to discuss it. Nothing was resolved, but I became BFES Co-ordinator about a year later when the art bloke returned to the UK.

 

he Münster Garrison Players (MGP), were now getting quite a good reputation, and had many new members. There was even talk of us entering for the next BAOR Drama Festival, but some felt that our facilities were too basic, with very few lights and no switchboard, for example. Nevertheless, we all started to think of a possible festival play. Eventually Glyn Davies came up with the play Black Comedy, with me as stage manager. We entered the BFG Drama Festival - and our adjudication date was fixed for a Monday! Talk about being in the sticks, we most certainly were - no Saturday night spot for us! Our new president was Brigadier J Swinton - but only his wife ever supported us. Still, that did not matter, it was his name that we needed to give us clout. It always helped when we wanted something from the army, or the PSA.

We did not come anywhere of significance in the Festival league table, but we acquitted ourselves commendably.

 

 was approached, as Technical Member of MGP, to help with the lights, at the Halle Münsterland. This was for a Gala Koncert, being performed by British Military Bands, in aid of the German Red Cross. It was a big public relations exercise, hidden beneath the charitable cause. I took my technician, Theodore, to help interpret and so on. We had a good couple of days there, rehearsing and performing. The major in charge was full of himself, having done the Royal Tournament and so on. However, I received a very nice letter of thanks from a Major Hobbs of the Grenadier Guards, thanking me for my ‘invaluable assistance’.

 

aving given a lot of thought to the LCP examination, I was now ready to take the first part. There were three parts, and they could be taken in any order, and with any number of years between them. So I decided to take Part III, which was the easiest, namely three papers in your own subject area. I arranged for the local army education centre to hold the examination, and on the appointed day I went along and did the papers, each three hours long. What a marathon that was. Still, it was easy in that I was doing a lot of drawing and designing, and working out lessons in my own subject - all the sort of stuff that I was now in fact teaching, with a bit of history of furniture thrown in for good measure.

I had been confident, and was delighted when, some weeks later, I received my Certificate of Attainment, having passed Part III. I was a third of the way there, for my LCP.

 

he headmaster called all the staff together and announced that he had some Top Secret information. HRH Dowager Duchess of Gloucester was going to visit our school! She was actually going to be in the school for something like half an hour, so we had to come up with a ‘plan of entertainment based on poetry, dance, mime and song!’ Try telling that to one of today’s schools! Anyway, as the Duchess would find all the stairs in our three-storey buildings too much, we decided to put on a show for her in the hall.

The day duly arrived, and HRH was introduced to all members of staff. You are told to call her “Your Royal Highness” on being introduced, and thereafter “Ma’am.” Moreover, do not shake her hand too hard. In addition, never dare to ask her any questions!

This is how our meeting went:

“This is Mr Hunt, Head of Technical Studies.”

“Mr Hunt,” she said.

“Your Royal Highness.” I said, with slight bow of the head.

“Mr Hunt came to us from Singapore,” said the head.

“Oh! did you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Which school were you at?”

“St John’s School, ma’am” (I’d planned this answer; it’s always more of a talking point than saying Bourne school; and all the military knew of St John’s - it was the island’s showpiece).

“Yes,” she said, “I know St John’s, it’s got a large white tower, hasn’t it?”

I had not a clue what she was talking about; the old bat was dotty.

“Er, no ma’am, I don’t think so.”

“Yes it has, a large white tower; I know it well.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With that, the Head moved her on to the next member of staff.

 

he MGP now put on an Old Time Variety Show, produced by Jack Barton. This was a Music Hall with all the favourite numbers. We put it on in the Mess. It went down well, and paved the way for future productions.

 was now the BAOR Consortium Secretary for technical drawing. This post was voluntary and unpaid, but carried a lot of responsibility. I had been voted in by the BFES technical drawing panel. This is a panel of all the heads of department in BAOR, Berlin and SHAPE. In effect, I was an examiner for the Southern Regional Examinations Board based in Southampton. I made some three visits there, over a period of about two years. What a drag that was. I drove there, I trained there, and I flew there, via Luton. All for the sake of a lot of ‘hot air’. Still, it was useful to be able to include it on my CV.

 

he school had a mini Inspection, and the HMI detailed for us was none other than Mr D A Thomas whom I had met at Shoreditch. This put me on something of a good footing, as I was reckoned to be up-to-date with our creative studies circus, and my attendance at Shoreditch and my connection with Alan Pemberton had all helped. Subsequently this meant that I was mentioned by him to the new deputy director of BFES, Mr Nolan Clamp, as being the most suitable technical teacher in BAOR to help advise on the new technical wing being designed for Queens School in Rheindahlen. Apparently their HOD, whom I had met, as he came to one of the courses I organised, was a stick-in-the-mud and was due for retirement in a year or two anyway.

 

y department was now increased in size, with the arrival, from Singapore, of Keith Robinson. Coincidentally, I was now upgraded, within my school, to a Grade B head of department – senior to John Ridge! Within months, under a national restructuring of teachers’ pay scales, this was called a Scale 4. It meant that, at Edinburgh school, I was now on the same pay scale as the heads of the major academic subjects. At last, technical studies was being recognised. The top of the ladder, for us all, was the coveted Scale 5, which was exactly the same salary as a Member of Parliament, at £3,005 a year. However, my present school was not large enough to warrant any Scale 5’s. 

 

 was now able to make Keith my stage manager, with myself as the production manager, for the next school play of Oliver. A few members of staff took important adult parts, which helps struggling pupils admirably, and made for a very happy show. My job was as the overall co-ordinator, drawing up rehearsal schedules, seating plans, VIP lists and so on. A general dogsbody, but with a finger in every pie. It meant that everyone came to me before any decision was made, but worked well.

            One moment of crisis was when Pam Naylor, who was doing props, announced that she could get a real coffin from the hospital. They came to me, somewhat disturbed, and asked if we really had to have a real coffin. The very thought appalled me. I gave Keith the order to make a plywood box, with no back, and that would be our coffin; indeed, we made it more of a cupboard as the stage play didn’t require that much realism for such a short scene.

            The next play for the MGP was Wild Goose Chase, which I stage managed. Angela Burchill produced; which meant that her husband, John, could have a part in it. They would have liked some one else to produce, so that they could both have a part in it actually, but to be fair, they were good at acting, and very reliable.

We were now getting better at things like the printing of our tickets and programmes, although we had a captain as our treasurer, and he regarded the success of a show on how much the bank balance increased. This led to some conflict, but having the chairman on our side meant that he toed the line and did not argue with his superior officer.

 

ut of the blue a Scale 5 job came up for Technical Studies - it was at Kent school, which I had left only three years previously. This was a ‘top of the ladder’ job for any head of department. The next step would be in administration and policy, to deputy head. A lot were tipping me for the job, but I said that I hadn’t had enough experience as a head of department and that, anyway, I could not leave my present post having only just started the creative studies circus for all our first and second years. I felt that it would have been desertion. Of course, I was now very comfortable on the social and dramatical circuit, and the thought of going back into a hiring and starting all over again just had no appeal.

            I then received a letter from Ken Jones, the deputy head at Kent School, thanking me for having him up to look at our creative studies set-up. He also took the opportunity to point out the vacancy that was the talk of the whole of BFES. This was the top Technical Studies post in the Command. A few days later I had a message from the secretary at Kent School saying that they hadn’t received my application and that she was just checking in case it might have got lost in the post. I think you might forgive me if I say that I reckoned the job was mine if I wanted it. However, I sent a message back to Kent School saying that I was not applying, as my work here was unfinished. I heard no more about it, and eventually it went to a chap called Les Hortin who suffered from only one discernible ailment, that of verbal diarrhoea. For a long time afterwards people were saying to me that they thought I would have gone for that job, and asking me why I had not applied.

 

 was now working on Part II of the LCP examination - the ten thousand-word thesis on an educational subject of my own choice. I had chosen the teaching in Service Childrens’ Schools as my topic - the outline having been officially approved by the examiners. I managed it with a suitable bit of padding, and still have a carbon copy. This was in the days of the old portable typewriter, with carbon paper being used for a copy. It took a lot of effort and time, particularly for the likes of me, with a busy social schedule. However, I was rewarded in due course by hearing that I had passed, and so I received another Certificate of Attainment from the college of preceptors. This now meant that I must, at some stage, attempt Part I which was the hardest, dealing with the history of education, psychology, philosophy and so on. Not exactly exciting subjects. Although I obtained a reading list from the examiners, and managed to obtain some of the books prescribed, it was all too dull for me. Time would tell whether I could be bothered to take this examination.

 

 few months after my school’s HMI Inspection I was detailed to pay a visit to S Wales and Mr D A Thomas’s area, to look at schools and advise BFES on the layout of modern practical subject areas. It was all a game of pretend, that I was giving just general information on current trends in the UK. I knew that the proposed development of Queens School was very much in the mind of the deputy director, and the newly appointed head of the school, Peter Gaskell from Singapore.

            So I had four days in Cardiff. It was all work and no play, visiting schools and spending a lot of time in the HMI’s office, drawing up plans. It was then that I decided on the name ‘Design Faculty’ for the proposed development, and I designed the two storey rectangular building, with heavy crafts on the ground floor, and the art, fabrics and food on the first floor.

            It was then that D A Thomas gently suggested to me that he knew of a Scale 5 vacancy in technical subjects, coming up fairly soon, in S Wales, and he thought I might be interested. “Of course, “ he said, lying through his teeth. “I don’t have any say in who a head appoints, but I am allowed to give them some general advice.” Naturally, I thanked him for the tip-off.

            On my return to BAOR I drew up the plans for a hypothetical design faculty, and sent them to the deputy director. I had met him before, and a couple of weeks later he was again visiting my school when he made a bee-line for me, shook hands, and thanked me for my thoughts which he was reviewing with interest.

            Some weeks later I saw the job advertised in S Wales that D A Thomas had mentioned. It did not get me excited at all, not only because it was in S Wales, but also because it seemed to be rather heavy on the engineering side. I decided that I did not want to apply. Blow me down, a week later I had a surreptitious letter from one of his Advisers of Technology, whom I had met in Wales, and he casually drew my attention to the vacancy ‘in case I had not seen it’.

I knew, of course, that he was the agent of the HMI himself. I dropped him a line saying that I had seen it but felt that I was the wrong person for the job, and that I would not be applying.

I now knew what it was like to be headhunted - in my own simple little world of course.

 

he Münster Garrison Players had decided to do Oh! What A Lovely War! , with Jack Barton as the producer. This would be our entry for the BAOR Drama Festival. I was stage manager, and built two things that were badly needed. First was a simple rail for the orchestra. We could now call this the orchestra pit. We were using the services of a four-piece band from the local university. Secondly, was a false cyclorama that would lean forward a few degrees, to allow projection of black and white slides onto it, and thereby cancel out any distortion. The scenery was non-existent, consisting of six waste-paper bins painted in patriotic colours.

            Another near crisis loomed when the school secretary, an officer’s wife, voiced her opinion that, with all the troubles in N Ireland, it would be insensitive to put on such a play. The jungle drums beat, and opinions were sought. I was one who thought that the damned woman should keep her nose out of our decisions, and I tossed in the thought that someone could find something objectionable about any play ever written, if they wanted to. Anyway, her squeals were ignored, the play went ahead, and was widely acclaimed. So much so, that we were runners-up in the Drama Festival. This was a remarkable achievement, for such a young and inexperienced society, amongst some thirty competitors. We were delighted. I do not know whether the doom-monger came to see it.

  

ur entertainment during this era was either the mess function, or else socialising in each other’s homes. The latter usually consisted of two options; either the dinner party - which, for reasons that no-one knew even then, were called supper parties - or the weekend (Friday night, or Saturday night) party. The former was generally regarded as the more sober of the two, where one invited the vicar, the colonel, and those colleagues to whom one owed a return invite but whom you did not want to spoil the weekend thrash. The talk was therefore more stilted, certainly formal, and people started to yawn at a suitably early time, because the early morning alarm was getting ever closer.

            The weekend do was ‘the big one’ that we all enjoyed. Sometimes it was fancy dress, or perhaps a theme, say ‘red, white and blue.’ A curry nosh was laid on, or chilli con carni - usually the stuff that soaked up the ale well; a lot depended on the host, of course, and whether he was ‘one of us’ or not. If he was not, then you might get something like a cold salad, with Black Forest Gateau for afters. Only a qualified boozer knows the value of a plate of rice and spice after, say, the fifth bottle of Dortmünder Union Bier, and whilst pausing for a more serious onslaught. 

            It was on one of these do’s that the question of ‘streaking’ came up, and I started the rumour that there was going to be a ‘streak show’ after the meal. Well, word went around, and John Rees and I started to think about it seriously. Eventually we came up with the idea of using the wooden duckboards, which we all had in our cellars. So with one of these each - they were waist high, and some six feet long - John and I went out into the garden, faced the lounge, where all lights were dimmed, and did our strip act behind our respective duck boards. I am told, and I like to believe, that it was quite hilarious, as we both tried to protect our modesty, particularly when one of the onlookers appeared behind us, with the express intention of getting us to drop our duck boards and expose all.

            We amused ourselves in a harmless way, and the evenings generally finished with some dancing. We lived in large houses you know, with cellars and attics, and it was nothing to clear the dining room, roll up the carpet, and have a suitable dance floor - what would equate today as the amount of floor space used for a disco.

he next production was Emlyn Williams’s Night Must Fall, for which I was stage manager, and Valerie was in the cast as the nurse. The set was a really good interior, outside the front door of which we had scattered gravel to give an authentic, yet eerie sound effect.

 

 now found myself on a four-day course at the education centre in Dortmund. The course was about ‘programme learning’, a resurrected method of teaching and learning that was then in vogue. The head of English from Kent School, and the OC of our local education centre accompanied me. There were about half a dozen of us.

            I had noticed that one of the course tutors was a Major J Birch RAEC and, sure enough, it was my ex WOI from Nee Soon days. He had obviously scrutinised the list as well, because my presence was no surprise to him and he merely looked up, smiled, and said “We meet again!” I was delighted that he had actually remembered me, after a gap of some fourteen years, but at the same time I was rather saddened that he did not arrange for a bit of a ‘session’ in the mess, so that we could talk about ‘the good old days.’ Still, there was a generation between us, and we did not really have a lot in common.

            I would love to have known which college he went to for his teaching certificate. He had made it, as an officer, and was probably now in his last couple of years. I never saw him again, but I shall never forget his part in encouraging me to sign on as a regular.

 

olidays at Easter and summer were spent in the caravan touring much of Europe. We had joined the Services Caravan Club and went on the odd rally with them. I also became their cartoonist, for the monthly newsletter. This was in the days when duplicating was done on a gestetner ink machine, so the cartoon had to be drawn with a blunt stylus pen on a wax sheet. As you might imagine, it was not easy. The cartoons were all a bit basic, but with some sort of humour attached to them. I still have my original collection in a scrapbook.

            Therefore, at a very early age, Julian and Lucy had seen the principal countries of Italy, Austria, Switzerland, France, Luxembourg, and so on. A particular favourite for us all was Bavaria, and the Berchtesgarten area, with Hitler’s lair - the Eagles Nest.

            We also bought a new caravan, which cost £700. It was a 12’ Sprite, with awning, and was the latest model, so it drew a lot of attention in its early days.

 

 couple of ventures with the Players, in conjunction with the White Horse Mess, was a style of join-in and have fun entertainment on a Friday and Saturday night. Ticket only, period dress, buffet supper, live entertainment and so on. One year it was a Music Hall, and the next it was Black and White Minstrel style. Scenery, lights, atmosphere, the shows went down extremely well. They were a very talented bunch in those days, and I was privileged to be part of it. The greatest test of our reputation was when the Officers from the local military messes asked how they could get tickets!

            So successful was our Music Hall in fact, that we actually “put it on the road” and did a one-night stand at BMH Münster, one in the Officers Mess, and one in the Sergeants Mess. One of my numbers, apart from the sand dance, was dressing up as a tart “Mrs Shufflewick.” The naughty innuendos went down well after a few drinks.

            Another popular little sketch was with Mal Short and me doing the number “Me And My Shadow.” He was the singer, and I was the shadow. I appeared behind him with a large blackout sheet draped all over me, with a couple of ping-pong balls as eyes. It looked effective, but quite ridiculous of course. Naturally, the antics of the ‘shadow’, working in time to the singer’s movements went down well. The unintended show stopper was when one of the ping-pong eyes fell off and went bouncing across the stage; Mal finished his song with one eye closed, to great hoots of laughter and cries for an encore.

 

t was about now that I saw a good job, Scale 5, in Wakefield N Yorkshire. Off I went for the interview, travelling overnight from Rotterdam to Hull. I liked the school, the head told me that I had an excellent reference from my own headmaster, and so I analysed the competition. An older local man who was already on a Scale 5, a couple of others, and me. After my interview, and at lunchtime, I realised that I would not be able to stay until the successful candidate was called forward. I had to be on the boat at 5pm, and Hull was a couple of hour’s drive away, so I finally told the deputy that I could not possibly stay. He went in to the head’s room, spoke to the governing body, and after about ten minutes came out and asked me if I would accept the job if it was offered to me. I said that I would. He disappeared again for another ten minutes, finally came out to wish me a safe journey, and that was it. I returned to Münster and a few days later got my reject slip; they appointed the older local man. I felt then, and I feel today, knowing where I stood in my field at that time and knowing how well I thought the interview went, that they made the wrong decision. Of course, I will never know whether it might have been different if I had stayed for the final decision-making process. This, you must understand, is how teachers are appointed; none of this business of writing successful applicants letters of appointment, then waiting for a reply. They appoint on the spot, and you sign acceptance on the spot.

 

 little inconvenience like not getting a job did not worry me! We now threw ourselves into a full-length musical, Gilbert & Sullivan’s The Pirates of Penzance. I helped do all the scenery but gave over the stage management to Brian Brigden, who was head of English. This was because I was going to be a pirate and, in Act II a policeman. It was a happy show, with Colonel Peter Beale, a doctor at the BMH and our Chairman, as the lead tenor. What a charmer Peter was; good looking, good singing voice, diplomatic, friendly, articulate, an army squash champion, high up in his profession - the lot! Life is so unfair, when you consider my inadequacies in all of these areas. I think that we should all have been allowed one of life’s gifts only - not for one person to have the lot.

            Many years later I saw in the Service Appointments section of the Daily Telegraph that “Lieutenant General Sir Peter Beale had been appointed Director General of the Royal Army Medical Corps.”

 

e went to a super night at York Barracks Officers’ Mess. It was a posh black tie do, with dinner and dance until the early hours. The most memorable part for me was the several suits of armour made from cardboard boxes and painted silver. They were brilliantly made, and so effective. You could lift up the visor and look inside! Anyway, these suits of armour were in both the lounge and in the dining room. Towards the end of the formal dinner one became aware of a certain amount of giggling in the room, even though we were all on our best behaviour with the Garrison Commander - a Brigadier - being present. Anyway, it soon became apparent that a couple of the suits of armour had started to move slightly, and twitch. You have guessed the rest. A couple of young Officers had spent the evening in them, surveying the scene and making slight movements from time to time. As a finale, they then had a full-scale joust, as we were sipping coffee and liqueurs, and finally fled into the garden to laughter and applause.

            I became the proud owner of one of these suits of armour; I had it at school and it looked well in my room! It is one of my regrets in life that I never made a detailed drawing of it. Piece by piece, I could have made one in other schools in the future.

 

 saw a Scale 5 job in Liverpool, which attracted me. It was to co-ordinate the establishment of a new design faculty. I applied and was short-listed. Off I went to Chester, to stay the night with my folks. I telephoned the school and asked if I could speak to the headmistress, as I wanted to ask if I could arrive the next morning and have a look round the school, before my interview in the afternoon.

            After some minutes, the secretary came back on the telephone, saying that the head was rather busy just now but that it would be all right for me to visit as requested.

            Well, I went the next day and reported to the office. The secretary went into the head’s room, stayed in there for about ten minutes, came out and said “The head’s busy just now, so I’ll take you to see the deputy head; he’ll look after you.”

Therefore, I met the deputy, who went through the usual routine before asking “Have you met the head yet?”

“No. It seems she was rather busy.”

So he took me back to her office, bade me wait for a few moments, and in he went. I thought to myself, ‘This is it! I’m going to see her at last!’

But no! “She’s rather tied up at the moment. I’ll take you to meet the head of technology who is leaving.”

            So, I was shunned yet again. Anyway, the head of technology was really pissed off, said that the head was a ‘loony Commie’ and that she had refused to make him up to the scale 5, so he had got another job. Then the old cow advertised for a scale 5. He told me I was welcome to it, that I would probably get the job as there were only three candidates, and he knew the other two, who were outsiders with no experience.

            Well, when it came to lunchtime I declined his invitation to go to the school dining room. I said that I wanted to wander around the area and have a general look. Even today, all I can remember is that the school was near a big park.

My mind was already made up. I did not want the job. I would have been stuck in his old Victorian metalwork room; the buildings were ancient, and the school was lacking character. All that sort of stuff; you know the vibes you get, when things are just not right. Moreover, I was rather miffed at her not finding the time to even say hello to me, having travelled from W Germany. Therefore, I thought, I would leave a message with the school secretary saying that I have withdrawn from the interview. I knew that the head would not want to speak to me.

            So on my way back to Chester I stopped at a telephone kiosk, got through to the secretary, and passed on my message.

“Oh! er - just one moment Mr Hunt.” Click. Two second pause, then -

“Hello Mr Hunt, headmistress speaking. May I say that I am most disturbed to hear that you have withdrawn? May I ask why?”

So! I had got through to her at last! That was my immediate thought. Then I went through my excuses of saying that I could see that I was the wrong person for the job, and so on. She was not convinced, though, and wanted me to return to discuss my areas of disquiet in more detail. However, I stuck to my guns, said that I was on my way back to Germany, even now, to catch an earlier boat at Dover. Anyway, that it was it; she let me know that she was most disappointed, and that she did not know what the reaction of the Governors would be …..

What crap! That was a job that I was glad I did not get.

 

t was Mike Tatham who said to me “You’ll be applying, won’t you Dave?”

“Applying for what?” I asked.

”The Queen’s School job; Head of Faculty of Design; Scale 5; it’s made for you”

Queen’s School was the prime school in BAOR - a bit like St Johns School in Singapore. It was the show school, and being at the centre of our troops, and the NATO troops in Germany, it never suffered from lack of visitors! Quite the opposite.

            This was November 1973; the vacancy was for September 1974. The old incumbent had finally been eased out and Peter Gaskell was wasting no time in advertising for his successor. I feel somewhat embarrassed to say that the job description was written for me, not only with the title of the Faculty, which had yet to be formed, but with such things as ‘experience of displaying artistic and design work’. This was because Peter Gaskell had visited my school and had seen a lovely display of art and craftwork, set up by John Ridge and me, of the work done in all the Münster schools. Furthermore, the job description went on “An interest in dramatical and theatrical productions is essential.” Well, I need hardly say any more about that.

            Was this another headhunt? Naturally, I like to think so. Funnily enough, I was not all that keen! Honest! It was a combination of several things. Firstly, the housing situation down in Rheindahlen was acute, to put it mildly, and the thought of all the hassle was uppermost in my mind. Secondly, I had come across a couple of the chaps from the Technical department at Queens school, and I was not all that impressed with their charisma - having heard them speak at Consortium Meetings. I always had a low opinion of anyone who spoke at Consortium Meetings anyway, as it was generally only an exercise in displaying self-importance, and lengthened the day, and the time of departure, for everyone else.

            Thirdly, and I could feel myself falling into the trap. I was comfortable in my present domestic and social situation. I was well known in the Mess, the School, the Garrison, and The Players. Why give it all up? I was later to advise younger colleagues that they would never get any promotion by waiting for it to be offered to them in their present posts; they would have to go out and get it. That’s how I like to think that I was instrumental in helping a colleague get his first Head of Department job in Berlin - by telling him he had to apply for it! He was quite happy where he was, with his wife teaching, kids in school, lovely married quarter, garage, close to the shops, the school, the Mess and so on.  He never regretted the move of course - after the initial trauma!

            Mike Tatham said that if I did not apply for the Queens job, then he felt that he would be expected to apply. He would not have stood a chance, I felt, as he had been here for only three years and was unknown in BAOR. I knew two things about Mike; first, he would stand a better chance in going for my job, and secondly, I knew that he wanted my job! He did not want to move any more than I did, for all the reasons outlined above. In fact, on my subsequent departure, and when he was appointed to my job, he became one of those rare examples of breaking my foregoing philosophy of  ‘getting on your bike to gain promotion’.

            I received many telephone calls from Les Hortin, who had been appointed to the equivalent job at Kent School, a couple of years previously. He would give me the field of play in the job stakes, and told me who had applied, and what their chances were. He rated me at ‘number one’. Finally, I had - for the second time in my life - a reminder from the secretary of the target school, that my application had not yet been received and had it got lost in the post! So I eventually applied on one of the Command’s basic forms, ignoring the space for “additional information to support your application (please use extra sheets if required).” My application therefore consisted solely of my signature, as the pre-printed form had the legend “please accept this my application for the above mentioned post.” I knew that they had all the info that they needed, and there was little I could add. Moreover, I honestly could not be bothered!

            Well, just a couple of weeks later the interviews were held, four candidates from within the school, and me from outside. Les Hortin paid me the compliment of saying that no one else applied because they knew the job was mine. The interview panel consisted of Peter Gaskell the head, Nolan Clamp the Deputy Director of BFES, and me. It was a matey-type of interview, with them calling me by my first name, and me correctly calling them by their professional titles. When they asked me about my dramatical and theatrical interests, they both had smirks on their faces, as they were aware of my involvement. In fact, I actually pointed out to them that my hoarse voice was because we were in the middle of our run of the aforementioned Pirates and, I added,  “If I appear a little weary it is because of the exhausting involvement and late nights.” I smiled as I said this, and they nodded with even bigger smiles and said as one “Of course! We quite understand!”

The swines! They knew I had a hangover!

The job was mine. Scale 5. I had made it at last!

            Of course, they did not tell me there and then, and so I went back to Münster and got myself ready for that evening’s performance. I was confident to the point of being blasé, indeed cocky about the job. If they did not want me, then whom the hell did they want!

            The written confirmation came through a couple of days later.

 

ne of the local characters was Major George Fleming, in the education corps. He was a double in face, voice and character to Harry Secombe of Goon fame. Only George could attend a fancy dress party in full gorilla outfit, and a straw to drink his beer. We gave him a lift home that night, and the last we saw of him he was climbing over the twelve foot high gates of York Barracks to get to his Mess. He could have walked through the small side gate of course, and report to the guardroom (which strictly speaking he should have done), but that would have been too easy. We heard later that he had perched perilously on top of the gates, doing a King Kong act, and making what he considered to be gorilla screeching noises. That brought the guard commander running out. On seeing this gorilla on top of the gates he had merely stood to attention, saluted smartly and said “Goodnight, Major Fleming!”

 

he spring of 1974 saw me as stage manager for the Players’ production of Noah for the Inter-Services Drama Festival. We had been very short of volunteers to produce this show, and finally accepted the offer of an American warrant Officer, Daryl Petrig, who was keen to do this play. His wife was a professional soprano, and had ‘helped out’ with a couple of our previous shows, so he was not altogether an unknown quantity.

            There was nothing wrong with the show; it was just such a lousy play to do. The audiences were bored stiff listening to Noah speak page after page of dialogue. The animals naturally had to be well behaved; one wrong movement and the audience would have erupted with laughter and so ruin Noah’s lines. Tickets sales had been going badly - let us face it, no one wanted to come and see the damned show. Someone then suggested that, because of all the animals in it, there was a possibility that it would have appeal for younger children. Their parents could not take them to see an evening performance, as it was too late. So, a matinee on the Sunday was arranged. Well, we put the show on, and had quite a large audience, but it was all so awful with the kids talking all the way through, waiting for the animals to ‘perform’ - which they never did.

            I must boast that the rainbow I managed to make, using the overhead projector, was quite successful, but as it lasted only for about 20 seconds it did not make for a successful show.

            We were all glad when it was over and could be forgotten. We must have been pretty low in the Drama Festival pecking order, although I do remember that we were not in the last two or three. Our producer kindly gave me an expensive silver-plated pen, as a thank-you gift, at the end of the show, and a card bearing the words “To Dave, thank you for teaching me so much about stagecraft; without your help the show would not have been possible.” That was nice of him, and I appreciated it.

 

t was during this summer term that I prepared for the final part of the LCP examination - the four three-hour papers on education, theory, principles and practice, and the history of education. I had decided that, having got so far, I ought to give it a go. Of course, it was both impossible for me to study, because of the hectic life I was leading, or for me to take the examination particularly seriously, because I regarded it all as being so theoretical. I arranged with the major in charge of the education centre to receive the papers and be the invigilator, and on the prescribed dates I went along and sat the papers. Two days of sheer academic misery for me, but I was able to spin a line and I felt that I had acquitted myself reasonably well. It was funny actually, as the major had no intention of sitting with me for four sessions of three hours each!

“Do you really need an invigilator, Dave?” he asked me at a cocktail party, a few days before.

“No!” I said, “I don’t have any books, no gear, just a pen! There is no question of me being able to cheat. Put me in a quiet room, out of the way, and make sure that I get my supply of coffee at brewing-up time!”

So he did just that, and I must say that I was well looked after by his staff.

            Unfortunately, some months later I heard that I had passed two of the examinations - significantly those two papers that dealt with the history of education on the one hand, and educational practice on the other. The two I failed dealt with theory, philosophy and psychology, subjects which I had not studied and for which I had nothing but antipathy.

            I never re-took those failed papers, so I must have become one of the most highly qualified ‘nearly-but-not-quite-a-Licentiate’ of the College of Preceptors.

 

 did not really do any preparation for going to Queens School. Dave Hudson, who had arrived from Malta, had been appointed to Kent School as Scale 5 Head of Science. He was anxious to know about a chap called Ron Ion who had been appointed as Head Teacher. I knew Ron when he was Head of Science at St Johns in Singapore; he was a close friend of the Leonards.

 

he final production for the Münster Garrison Players was A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum.  I finished up being in charge of set construction, but I was also in the cast playing the part of  'Hysterium'.

This venture required music and singing, dance and choreography. We were all involved in it, one way or another. The music was supplied by a couple of volunteers from the Alamein Staff Band of the Royal Tank Regiment, and also a few from the German University orchestra, who loved being involved with The Brits, and joining us in our duty-free Mess afterwards.

            “Forum” is a very funny show (although, in my humble opinion, very un-musical) and always gives the audience plenty to look at and to laugh about. The part I had was a main supporting role, with plenty of giggles, a solo as well as a quartet to sing, lots of misunderstandings, and finally dressing up as the beleaguered virgin; it could be regarded as my swan song with the Players.

            The show was a high point in the Players history, and people dotted all over the world are still asking themselves why the hell we didn’t do it for the Drama Festival, instead of the abysmal Noah.

            A short time after the show Jack Barton, our producer, telephoned me and said “When you get to Rheindahlen you must contact this chap who is interested in you; his name is Major Mole - Colin Mole - who is a member of the Rhine Army Theatrical Society (RATS).” Apparently, this bloke had contacted Jack to ask about the show and how it had gone down. He, would you believe, had produced it a year or two previously for the SHAPE (Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers in Europe) PLAYERS in Belgium, and they had won the Drama Festival with it!

            I had often been asked whether I would join RATS or ARIEL when I arrived at Rheindahlen. My answer had been, and I was quite firm about this, that I did not want to commit myself too early, particularly as the new Head of The Faculty of Design at which appointment I expected to be rather busy. So I intended to wait and see which way the wind was blowing.

 

nother of the functions that was put on at the Mess was a Sunday Night “Evening Of Music”. This was a remarkable evening, not because we had the Director of Education from Rheindahlen there, and he was sitting with the Brigade Commander, but because of the quality of singing. We had our own stars but were helped by a few students from Munster University Department of Music. 

            Anyway, the big piece of this particular evening, and hence my own involvement in it, was the large ‘orchestra’ that Ian Pike had put together for Haydn’s Toy Symphony.  He had trawled the mess bar and rounded up all the non-musical boozers he could find - there were quite a few - and gave them appropriate instruments like a warbler, a whistle, a nightingale and so on.

            We had more than one rehearsal for this I can tell you, and on the night Ian announced his ‘guest orchestra’ - and in trooped all the well-known faces! We were all in evening dress, looked serious, and carried our flimsy pieces of music, together with instruments, with pride.

            After the necessary silence - and it took the audience some considerable time to settle down - the orchestra started, ably led by the ‘proper’ musicians in the front row, and when it came to our appropriate five second musical effect we would stand up and play it, then sit down. I seem to remember that I had two pieces of wood that I banged together to the rhythm of ‘(stand) rat-a-tat (pause) rat-a-tat (sit down)’ Well, the audience loved it, and I must say that it was done well - and certainly very seriously. To get the full picture you have to imagine a red-faced boozer standing up in his dinner jacket, toy whistle in hand, playing ‘peep-da-peep’, with a serious frown on his face, and another standing, as he sits, to play ‘cuckoo, cuckoo’. It was a great night.

 

uring that summer, we did a bit of caravanning as well as a bit of staying put. The month of August is quite peculiar as everyone seems to be on holiday, so it was a bit of a muted farewell. On the other hand, I would be commuting for some weeks or months to come, so would be involved with any parties and mess functions.

We went down to Rheindahlen towards the end of August, and I was able to have a look round the school, as well as fill in the necessary forms to be placed on the married quarter list. This was it - I wanted this promotion, and so a new life was about to start.

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