The omnipresent school bell

When I attended Oswestry School in the 1950s our daily lives were controlled by the bell from dawn to dusk. The 7.30am bell heralded the start of each day, often in competition with the booming industrial hooter of the Cambrian Railway, calling its workers to the extensive workshops in Oswestry Town which were central to its operations as a railway town, housing its headquarters and engineering facilities, including a locomotive erecting shop and carriage and wagon works.

In theory the first bell of the day was intended to jolt us from our slumbers, with plenty of time to wash and dress in preparation for breakfast and a productive day ahead. In practice, however, in the senior dormitory nobody moved an eyelid, and we all carried on as though nothing had happened to disturb our slumbers.  

Only the 7.55am tolling of the bell, or the sudden appearance in the dormitory of a bellowing red-faced Stoker Lewis prompted the sudden realisation that the 8am bell was imminent, and we were immediately galvanised into feverish activity, anxious not to be late for, or even miss breakfast altogether.

Jumping quickly out of bed, several layers of clothing were pulled quickly over our heads simultaneously, including a tie which just required tightening up followed by trousers and the rest.   Ready to go, there was a stampede to exit the dormitory and reach the safety of the tuck room which was only a few steps from the dining room. Immediately turning right out of the senior dormitory there was a long flight of stone steps which led down to the ground floor adjacent to the boot room and the corridor. 

Once at ground level it was a short dash along the length of the corridor to the bell pull at the entrance to the tuck room, around which the speedier boys would be gathering in readiness for the mad rush to get through into the dining room before the door finally closed.

It was essential to be one of the first at table in order to secure access to more modern cutlery, such as shiny new spoons etc. Cries of  "I've licked mine" rang out as boys snatched the newer cutlery from nearby tables, claiming them as their own in the hope it would deter boys from reclaiming cutlery from under their very noses as they entered the breakfast room.

Some of the older spoons, for example, were so tarnished, mis-shapen, and yellowed with age, they looked like they could have been in use since 1407. 

For those hapless individuals who did not make it before the door closed,or indeed missed breakfast completely, there would be consequences. Minor ones for merely being late, such as being made to stand by the dining room steps steps leading to the Headmaster's quarters until Mr Williamson indicated with a dismissive flick of the wrist or the merest gesture with a finger, that the late arrivals could join their fellow boarders at table for a delayed breakfast. 

School food, just after the war, although healthy for us, was not very palatable, and I disliked the lumpy porridge intensely. Often lukewarm and rather tasteless much of mine would end up down my socks or squirrelled away in a handkerchief until it could be disposed of elsewhere

The whole breakfast scenario on the senior table was not enhanced by the oftimes late appearance for breakfast by an unshaven and grumpy Stoker Lewis, who proceeded to shovel this unappetising food down his throat with seeming relish. 

The Senior Dormitory

I often found myself sitting adjacent to this irascible, disheveled son of a Welsh Parson at breakfast time, and learned to keep a low profile when he had clearly spent some time the previous night in his favourite watering hole The Welsh Harp, situated just a short walking distance from the entrance to School.

The Welsh Harp on Brook Street

Headmaster Williamson had an eagle eye and missed nothing as he surveyed his domain from the top table, underneath the gaze of Dr Donne on the wall behind him. He would notice which boy had completely failed to turn up for breakfast, and the culprit would soon receive an invitation, delivered via Dai Lewis, to join the Headmaster in his study for a chat and explanation for his absence. I liked the benign looking Ralph Williamson, but this tall, elegant gentleman had an iron fist inside a velvet glove, and woe betide anyone who got on the wrong side of him..

At the conclusion of breakfast everyone trooped out of the dining room to prepare for the daily 8.45am chapel service as my brother and I waited patiently in the tuck room until the last boy had left.

Quickly looking inside to check that the coast was clear we would dash back inside to plunder what remained of Headmaster Williamson's five star breakfast. He invariably left slices of warm toast, pats of butter, plus a variety of jams and marmalade, and every day we risked being caught in the act of liberating this delicious windfall by the sudden reappearance of Mr Williamson himself. Lady luck must have been smiling on us as we were never caught, and we grinned like cheshire cats as the Headmaster greeted us on entering the chapel for the daily service.

The School Chapel seen from a vantage point in the organ loft

Chapel, held at 8.45am daily, was supposedly designed to prepare us spiritually for the day ahead, but I took the opportunity to say thank you for the blessings that came our way each day, praying that we would never get caught. 

On some days, in a rota with other boys, I would be asked by Mr Calvert, the school organist, to join him in the organ loft to assist him in providing the vital air supply required by the antiquated organ system, by pumping up the bellows using a wooden lever attached to the organ itself. Just occasionally a boy would run out of steam when performing this task which precipitated urgent demands from the organist to keep going as the organ slowly ground to a halt.

              A young Andrew Legg                  Andrew Legg's daily lessons                Lessons and teachers

My friend and contemporary, Andrew Legg, drew up a schedule of his lessons at the time, which was fairly typical for all of us during the 1950s, which can be seen above. 

The 9am bell signalled the start of morning lessons called periods, each of which lasted for 45 minutes, and each changeover to the next period was announced by a few pulls of the bell. There were four periods every morning divided by a mid-morning break when we all wandered out onto the playground to await the arrival of the " buns dame " carrying a supply of delicious buns topped with icing destined for the tuck shop.  Always desperate for a taste of sweetness during continuing sugar rationing, they were eagerly snapped up by hungry boys. We were all pleased to hear the sound of the 12noon bell which signalled the end of morning lesons and gave us time for a game of quad cricket or football before lunch at one o'clock.

        View from the lower paddock of the playground and tuckshop, (small hut adjacent to the fives court)

To be continued.