These recollections of life at High Trees School formed the basis for an address given by Miss Mumford to pupils at High Trees during the 1970’s.
This text is taken from her type written notes and was uploaded to the HLHS website in July 2024 by Doug Cox.
The Emergent Years
being a personal account by Miss Rosemary C. Mumford. CMC
Headmistress of St. Ives School, Haslemere.
Her father was Capt. Walter Clarkson Mumford (MC & Bar) – Irish Guards
The three young Mumfords arrived at the first High Trees just before the 1930′ s.
The eldest of the three was a very serious young boy of 4 years of age: he was profoundly serious because he had brought along with him twins, a boy and a girl of 2½ years of age — a great responsibility you will agree, and one which he recognised as a weighty matter right from the start; for on the day of the Mumford’s arrival the twins were quickly dispatched to the nursery but Master Deryk, aged four, insisted upon standing on the front door step — tense but brave, waving our farewells for the three of us and demanding stoutly to know where ‘his’ twins had been put. In those days small boys did not demand information — no matter how great the urgency might seem to the child concerned. Children were told those things, and only those things, that it was considered necessary for them to know. However, this small boy was apparently greatly comforted to find the twins, surveying the new scene from high—chair level; the boy banging his tray vigorously with a spoon, obviously indicative of the fact that he had high hopes of nourishment arriving shortly; the little girl smiling demurely at anyone who ventured near her.
But I should perhaps start my saga from the beginning for you may well be wondering why It should be that High Trees School, with its vigorous founders, Miss Tucker and Miss Young, should have catered for such very young children. It was necessary, mainly, because of the appalling losses and injuries inflicted upon the young men serving in the trenches during the First World War; practically a whole generation was lost on the battlefields of Europe and many young men were so seriously wounded that they were never to live a normal active life again.
My father, a Captain in one of the famous regiments, had been awarded the M.C. and Bar and was acting Colonel of the regiment at the age of 23 years. As each senior officer fell, the next in order of rank, assumed command: sone regiments had to promote mere boys, young Lieutenants to positions of Command, the losses were so stupendous.
Well now, in those days pensions were pitifully small, and the Welfare State did not exist, so when the wounded returned from the front they were naturally transported to hospitals, and remember, no free medical attention at that time. However, my father was particularly fortunate as Lady Astor, at Claremont in Esher, befriended the wounded officers who were in my father’s regiment and she opened Claremont, her very lovely and spacious house in its beautiful setting, and used it for the seriously wounded, keeping one wing for herself and her family; but she did not remain isolated in her own private wing but donned a Red Cross uniform and put all her friends, whom she invited down for weekends, into uniforms and having secured qualified medical staff she directed this Sanitorium of hers.
Mother however, realised that she must now become the supporter of the family, if the boys were to go to Wellington and Sandhurst as their father wished them to do, for their father was certainly not ever again going to be able to provide for his family. So very reluctantly our family home had to be given up — there were to be no more rides in a smart, well-turned-out gig, our light two-wheeled one horsed carriage; no more calling for Polly Dora, the resident maid, who was nicknamed Polly Dora by Master D because she was called Polly and answered the ‘door’ . To end were the days when brother D, aged 3 years, was to insist upon taking a jug of milk down to the herds in the field because he associated milk with cows and was troubled because no-one appeared to be providing them with this very necessary liquid. To end also were the antics of brother D and the female twin, who was found one day up on a high ledge of the dresser clinging to one of the shelves above her upon which sat a tempting bowl overflowing with a delicious variety of fresh fruits. Brother D, at that time aged 3 years, was standing down at floor—level, saying to his small sister “Just a little further darling” and darling was inching her way ever nearer to the forbidden fruit — and remember ‘darling’ must have been all of two years of age.
So perhaps all things considered it was not so surprising that it was considered the best thing for the children to go to High Trees, where kindly trained people would look after the children; for Miss Tucker had formerly been Matron in charge of a Children’s Hospital and Miss Young had a History degree from Liverpool University and they had gathered to them an army of young nurses, all of whom looked right for the part they had to play, for they wore voluminous white starched caps and uniform nurses overalls, black stockings and shoes and they had the capacity to work from morning, noon and night if requested to do so, for which they may have been paid about 5/- (25p) a week and of course their keep: all this for the privilege of having a training which included contact with real nursery school children.
The decision having been made and Mother having been appointed to an executive position at one of the large London stores, and Mother having also hand-knitted, with the help of her friends, six sets of every garment for each child, we, the children, were duly dispatched to High Trees.
Being so young, at the time of our arrival, it is hardly surprising that only a smattering of memories remain of those very early years, but some memories are still quite clear. Soon after our arrival, I remember being taken out in an outsize pram, which seated eight children, four facing the nurses who did the pushing, and four children facing the opposite direction; but we didn’t just clamber aboard this magnificent vehicle: oh dear me no, we had to be suitably clothed. I can distinctly remember sitting on a table while leather – buttoned leggings were put on, each button fastened with a button-hook, a task which took at least ten minutes for some wretched young nurse to accomplish. Then we were seated four in a row, back to back, and a rug was wrapped round our amply gaitered knees, gloves on hands, scarves round necks, coats of course, and presumably some sort of suitable covering for our heads — then off we went for what was always described as a walk; those who were old enough to actually be permitted to walk trotted along on either side looking rather wistful, for the pleasure of being taken on such an outing never varied in any degree — if you were a walker you walked, if not you sat and from such an elevated position surveyed the surrounding countryside in grand style. The only advantage to the nurses must have been the fact that there were eight pairs of walking shoes less to be cleaned at the end of their full and very arduous day. Another memory which I have of these early days is of contented days spent in the nursery riding upon a rocking horse, a horse who had a bridle, a mane and tail made of real horse hair, a red saddle, stirrup too, I believe; and my feet, I remember, didn’t reach down to the wooden bar upon which you alighted to perch yourself astride the beast. I used to be slightly alarmed as the creature always seemed to go a great distance forward before he reverted to his upright position.
I also remember we used to play for hours with a very lovely doll ‘s house which Gordon Selfridge himself sent down for Miss Murray t s (my Mother’s business name) little girl. At this time my Mother used to fly over to Paris by Imperial Airways to do business for Selfridges, and it might be of interest to you to know that she flew in the days when she sat on a wicker basket chair, of course in a biplane. The doll’s house brings back fond memories of early High Trees days, for remember we were still very young. But young as we were, we had a very ordered programme to our day and good habits of tidiness and obedience were constantly being fostered.
The next memory is rather a traumatic one and not very vivid. I have heard so much in detail about the fire at the first High Trees that it is difficult for ne to know how much is actually a remembered experience and how much is fact which was related to me after the event. At all events I do remember being carried down a ladder by a very kindly fireman who said, “Don’t be frightened, you’ll be all right”. I am told that it was actually brother D who was being sick in the night that first alerted Miss Tucker to the disaster. Mr. Norsworthy has cuttings of the papers issued at the time; the only information that made a lasting impression upon me was the fact that Miss Young was honoured as one of the bravest women of the year, in recognition of her valiant attempts to save the children.
We, the majority who were saved, were taken to a single storied house called t Brownslade’, although I seem to have a distinct memory of the house having green painted woodwork. At Brownslade we were put two in a bed and I remember being very distressed because when the fireman put me down on the road so that he could race back to the house for the next child, I stood on a surface which had been newly tarred and I thought I would get into serious trouble for putting tar on the blanket — little did I realise that everyone was far too busy to worry about a matter as trivial as that .
The following day I can remember being driven up to London in a coach with a brown blanket wrapped round me and I was only wearing my underclothes, — (not one garment of the hand—knitted woollens was left). We as a family were particularly fortunate as the whole of Selfridges stopped still while we were clothed from head to foot with the compliments of Gordon Selfridge, who came down to Mother ‘s department with his grey top—hat on and tails, and shook hands with us. I don’t think I really understood very much apart from the delightful fact of being presented with an almost life—sized teddy bear which I insisted upon taking with me everywhere. Mother, through her connections with Selfridges, was able to get Miss Tucker and Miss Young the basic pieces of furniture which they needed — for remember they were left without a thing. Selfridges also sent them down some very smart woollen skirts and jackets, two—piece sets, which Miss Tucker and Miss Young wore for many, many years.
Many of us who had been the original family group at the first High Trees moved to Duxhurst to join Miss Tucker and Miss Young again once they had re-established themselves. We went back to Miss Young, who had been acclaimed one of the bravest women in the country, and to Miss Tucker, who had already proved herself to be an extremely vigorous administrator on behalf of the well-being of children. Miss Tucker worked constantly to see that the children’s health was good; she had almost a fetish in her opposition to germs and saw to it that we were surrounded by cleanliness and high principles of hygiene; good wholesome, sensible food was provided and lots of fresh air and mighty ‘carbolic’ scrubbings in the bath, soap in eyes, with no nonsense. I particularly remember the garden at Duxhurst which was very lovely and to us it seemed very large indeed. There was a large lawn and massive Rhododendron bushes in clumps so large that you could chase your friends and not find them for half an hour or so. There were huge Wellingtonias, around which we developed all manner of make—believe games; there was a vast pond and beautifully kept hedges. Every summer seems to have been idyllically fine — or that is my impression. We had lessons in the garden at green folding desks and chairs and we seemed to spend a good deal of time moving from one patch of shade to the next. We always wore beige felt hats to protect our eyes from the sun and to prevent us getting sun-stroke. During playtime we wore vest and overalls and a felt hat; boys wore overalls over their normal clothes — I suppose they were not supposed to feel the extreme heat.
In the winter on Sundays, the girls wore very thick white jerseys with large collars, with very tight necks, which were almost impossible to pull over your head, white kilts and white socks — considering the fact that we lived up in the branches of trees or filled our days in the playroom with paint pots and paints or boisterous games, I can’t imagine how this uniform can have been in the least bit serviceable; I can only imagine that we were less boisterous on a Sunday.
The next highlight in our lives was the move to the present High Trees which took place in the year 1930.
Every child who had a bicycle or tricycle or scooter or pram to push got under way and the whole school took to the road. There were very few cars in those days and just as well, as I remember we were three or four abreast and certainly too excited to heed any appeals for caution.
When we arrived at High Trees we left our two or three—wheelers and we all sat down on the lawn where the swimming pool is now sited. In the flower bed in front of us, for we were all facing the main lawn, were very lovely standard rose trees and after a while we amused ourselves by rolling, lying sideways, down the bank.
Here, at last, we had arrived: it really felt like home especially to those of us who also spent their holidays at High Trees. We were most pleased with the lane, for we could ride our fairy cycles from the top of the back lane, outside the Junior House which at that time did not exist, down to the bottom of the lane, turning right at the bottom of the lane along as far as the haystack and then trudge back never deigning to put a foot to the ground. The haystack was a familiar landmark for us, for before breakfast we had to run down to the haystack and back, a good half mile each way. How we enjoyed our playtime. We had splendid camps in the jungle and in the spinney. We spent a great deal of tine up the cherry tree which was in the lower field. In the old swing field, we had three swings, a knotted rope and a plain rope and a long slender tree trunk supported at each end and in the middle, as it lay in a horizontal position about five foot above the ground; on this we used to do some very exotic acrobatics. And of course there were always the animals. We had a white pony called Lightning and a donkey and trap in which we used to load up a churn of milk and tin of ginger nut biscuits and set off during the blackberrying season. The donkey had to be urged out of its stable and enticed all the way to Norwood Hill and beyond with a carrot, but on its homeward journey it took at least four of us to keep it under any sort of control and when it entered the stable-yard outside the gymnasium, it never slackened pace but bolted straight through the gates, into the yard and back into the stable. We of course were hysterical with glee, and a little fearful.
Another pastime was goat carting. We were not over fond of the goats because we had to drink goats’ milk which always spoilt tea, cocoa, cereal or porridge; for everything seemed tainted with the smell of goats, once goats’ milk had been added to it. But riding. in the goat carts — now that was different. The carts were painted yellow with a black canework woven in and out to form a pattern and the goats wore leather harness and pulled us sedately round the ground, the goats looking thoroughly alarmed and even the passengers a little uncertain of the wisdom of the proceedings. We had rabbits and guinea pigs and there were chickens and ducks too and they were very attractive when the young ones were hatched by a mother who had sat for many days patiently upon her 6 or 8 eggs. In your present swing field we had a wide range of vegetables, for all were grown on the premises, and fruit, redcurrants, blackcurrants, gooseberries, etc. But I mostly remember the delicate coloured Sweet-peas — all a riot of colour end growing in great profusion with the most glorious scent, always attracting a great variety of butterflies.
Goodness no, I almost forgot the dogs; we had Jumbo, the old fashioned long – haired sheep dog and Tinker, the Sealyan. Jumbo could be useful; for he was very good at eating all unwanted scraps and as everything on your plate had to be eaten, fat, gristle, the lot, he could be a very welcome visitor at lunch time. Tinker, however, seemed to us to be very spoilt and rather snappy. Every year, December 14th I believe it was, Jumbo had his birthday party; we had biscuits baked into the shape of bones and Jumbo arrived, sporting massive blue ribbon, barking in rather an alarming and over—excited way, but with his coat shining after his annual bath. He certainly knew that he was the centre of attraction.
I have concentrated upon the animals, as they too seemed to play a part in our lives. The children thrived in what can best be described as an ‘ordered freedom’. I think that perhaps at the sea at Selsey, where we spent our summer holiday tine, it could even be more truthfully described as ordered chaos; and how we enjoyed ourselves bathing, playing shinty on the beach — but never having a bath.
But at the present High Trees, the new High Trees to us, we learnt how to be resilient; how to be brave, for we never informed an adult about minor cuts, bruises or sprains, and only as a last resort would the Spartan youngster of yesteryear seek for sympathy or approbation. We relied upon one another for comfort and understanding. We did not even expect adults to react to what at that time would be considered childish moods of homesickness. No child with any self-respect would indulge in any form of self-pity — this would not have been tolerated by the children, let alone by the adults of those days. A highly developed sense of fair play was being created, the children themselves setting themselves a high code of honour. It was not done to report a child’s mis-conduct to an adult ” I’ll tell of you” would have been a shocking breach of the code of etiquette which was understood instinctively by each and every child. As children, we were actually pleased for those to whom material things came freely. I am thinking particularly of pocket money, sweets, extras of any kind, sent from home.
If a child went out frequently at weekends and came back laden with goodies, we were not envious or jealous of this particular child if he or she had lavish boxes of toffees, chocolates, etc. and that was what one came to expect that child to have; but those of us who were the original core of the foundation of children at High Trees never received lavish goodies of any sort ; it never occurred to us to hanker after these things. We had our 2d pocket money on Saturday and if your account only ran to Id a week, a penny a week it was — no hard feelings — this was life — one did not expect life to be ‘fair’; life, we were learning rapidly, was full of variations but because you had only Id or 2d to spend at the tuck shop, this in no way embittered your attitude towards life, this was the way life treated you.
Another example of accepting graciously what came to one, occurs to me. We were given, after tea each day, one sweet each out of huge tin; as each child filed out of the dining room, the hand of the sweet distributor dipped into the tin and brought out one sweet per child. One evening it might be an enormous pear-drop, almost too large to place in the mouth; the next evening it might be a jelly—baby. It was the luck of the draw. Three nights in succession it night be a very small jelly fruit that was just your luck; but if the child in front of you had a large lump of butterscotch, you were delighted for him or for her and pleased with his good t windfall’ (“Gosh, lucky you: How super. — or whatever the current word was at the time, would be uttered as we skipped merrily down the corridor). We learnt too at High Trees to be very tolerant but exacting too — pushers never got away with much, the spiteful were soon cold shouldered, the bullies found themselves matched by spirited retaliatory measures. Few got away with meanness, without it being made abundantly clear to them that beastliness didn’t pay; we seemed to teach each other these things in much the same way that you perhaps do today. Those in authority interfered surprisingly little and gave us freedom to develop a sense of great loyalty to ones another and to the school.
We had an inbuilt sense of loyalty to High Trees — not one forced upon us but an eagerness of our own to show anyone from outside how proud and splendid place we knew our school to be. When we went for daily walks we wore polished shoes, blazers much cherished and free from any speck of dust — we fairly pranced along the road; delighted by every violet or milkmaid growing in the hedgerow — chattering merrily to our partner, for we walked in tidy ‘croc’ two by two and smiled eagerly upon anyone whom we encountered; but once home again, we were into our overalls in a flash, out of our walking shoes and into wellington boots — up trees, swinging from the top-most branches or hurtling at the rate of knots on trike or bike down the lane. Make no mistake about it, we were real children — but children with a sense of occasion, children who knew that it was good to be alive, and very lively we were too!
There were also two main highlights in our life, one of these being our annual visit to the Mansion House party in London as guests of Sir Malcolm Campbell, the breaker of the land speed-record in his famous car, Bluebird. Jean (Gina) Campbell, Sir Malcolm’s daughter, was a day girl at High Trees, — the only day—girl at that time I believe. Jean and I were close friends, being of the same age, and I used to sit in the front seat with Jean when her father drove us in one of his fleet of pale blue cars from their home at Povey Cross to the Mansion House. Along the London to Brighton road we urged our host to drive “faster” “faster” and I remember the tremendous thrill of excitement as we watched the needle of the speedometer rise slowly 50, 60, 70, 80, 90 mph. shrieks of glee from the appreciative young passengers, an amused smile on the face of the expert at the wheel. On one occasion, I remember we left Povey Cross rather Iater than scheduled because Donald, who was home from his Prep. school and was to travel with us, had been delayed. So, Sir Malcolm set off none too pleased, at really tremendous speed; as we approached the ‘Angel’ at the foot of Reigate Hill, the tall very upright RAC patrol man who was always on duty at that particular junction of the road slowed us to a halt. There were no traffic lights in those days. Sir Malcolm sat reasonably patiently and then snapped on his radio, the first radio, we were told, to be installed in any car. Sir Malcolm was anxious for a time check but all that we could hear was a commentary being given of racing at Goodwood; minutes ticked by and Sir Malcolm put his head out of the car and spoke to the patrol man who stood almost at the side of the car. ”Officer” he said, “I wonder if you would let us through, I’m in rather a hurry to get these children up to London to a rather special party”, and the man stooped down and said to Sir Malcolm, “Of course Sir, I’m so sorry Sir, I was just listening to the results of the racing,” With that Sir Malcolm burst into guffaws of laughter and we fairly sped on our way. The only thing that I can remember very clearly about the Mansion House party, was the vastness of the room in which the party was held and the moment when I, 000 balloons were released from the ceiling and we all scrambled to get one, balloons bursting all about us and so causing intense excitement.
Jean was at High Trees at the time when her father broke the land-speed record in Seattle, I believe it was. The next day newsmen from all over the country swarmed up the drive taking photos of Jean with her friends, Jean without her friends, Jean on the back of the pony, Jean sitting on her bicycle — what excitement: All the main newspapers gave us massive coverage with large pictures of Record-breaker’s daughter at her school in Surrey; World Record – breaker’s daughter sitting on the school donkey with her little friends. We had hit the headlines and the name of High Trees School blazed round the world; at least round Britain and America for news value was very scarce in those days and reporters were bent on filling their pages. The news that Sir Malcolm had driven at 300 mph was world shattering in the intensity of the impact which it made upon the English-speaking countries of the world, for there were no televisions in private homes in those days.
Our visits to Povey Cross by kind invitation of Sir Malcolm and Lady Campbell were always eventful ones.
We, that is about six of us, were taken down by a Mademoiselle C . Of course we walked: Miss Young would not have dreamed of getting her Rover out to transport us; and Mademoiselle duly delivered us where we were greeted by Lady Campbell and by their green parrot who was perched in the hall behind the front door and who greeted us with “Welcome, boys and girls”. We then sat down to an enormous tea and Donald, if he happened to be at home, enlightened us by telling us an astonishing lively list of swear words which he had taught the parrot; of course, we had to test this out to see if this astounding bird could reveal all. He could – much to Lady Campbell’s consternation. Then she discovered how we were being enlightened by the colourful language of her parrot she was rightly horrified. We also spent some magical hours watching Donald’s electric train run all round the garden. – Alas, all too soon came the time for Mademoiselle to collect us; but Donald had plans of his own and quickly sprang into action. Around the house were four Alsatian dogs each attached by a chain lead to another chain which ran a quarter of the distance round the house. When poor, wretched Mademoiselle C. was spotted advancing purposefully down the drive, Donald would whistle to the dog nearest to the front door and he would immediately place himself ‘on guard’ and if the poor woman so much as moved one pace forward the dog would curl back its lips and snarl threateningly. We sat hidden behind the rockery appalled at the apparent evidence of real danger. If Mademoiselle backed and moved to the side door, the next dog took up his position and so on. We remained spell—bound for what seemed to us an eternity and although none of us would admit it, we were thankful beyond words when this charade came to its final close, with Lady Campbell taking control, quite unaware of the drama that had just been enacted outside her own front door. We clambered into our coats and said our farewells and shook hands and departed full of rich food and rich entertainment, the parrot sang out “Hat, coat, umbrella” , and we all departed in high spirits ready to skip on our way back to school again, a walk of 1½ miles, all chattering and treading on one another’s toes with just one small flash torch to guide us, immensely happy and utterly contented with life.
Another event which raised the pulse of excitement at High Trees quite considerably was our trip to the Savoy Hotel in London’s West End to see a private viewing of Walt Disney’s latest films. This was the annual birthday treat for Master Sony Kelly, who was the son of the director of Walt Disney’s Mickey Mouse films, and we were to be lucky enough to see these films before they were sent out on general release; for Sony Kelly and his friends had to be given the “Red Carpet’ treatment — nothing less than the best was meted out to Sony. He had so many toys sent over from the United States that he used to hand them out to anyone who happened to be around, in much the same way that you or I might hand round a tin of toffees. So, a list had to be compiled of the children who were chosen to accompany Sony. This deliberation entailed such weighty decision making that it sent dear Miss Tucker into a fervour of activity: which children should go? had they all had their hair washed that week, had their toe nails been cut recently? Should they all be given a good dose of Gregory Powder or Senna Tea? No, that was considered not to be a good idea after all. These children must, however, certainly sniff raw salt and gargle night and morning and place a piece of camphor, suspended on a cord round their necks — all these remedies to ward off any impending infection or imperfection were swiftly acted upon, and the list of those who were to go had already been compiled. Certainly, the Norsworthy’s should go, for they were utterly reliable and obviously sufficiently intelligent in outlook to set a good example to the rest of the party. We, the Mumfords, were also lucky enough to be amongst those chosen to go, for I think Miss Tucker in her level-headed way felt that she was re-dressing the balance a little for those who were not constantly out at the weekends. We were so full of suppressed excitement that it took a good deal of self-restraint to refrain from defaulting in even some quite minor way — one false move and our names, we knew all too well, would be deleted from the list of those to partake in this exciting outing, for the Walt Disney Mickey Mouse films were for all children at that time the highlight of film entertainment for youngsters.
We did actually have silent film shows, once a week at High Trees; but to see a Disney film, before its general release to the Country at large, we knew was a very special treat indeed, and a treat which we most thoroughly enjoyed.
The weekly film shows were pretty special occasions too — we all had to be bathed and be in our pyjamas, dressing gowns and slippers and sitting in rows on the kindergarten room floor (Assembly Room to you) and then the lights would be switched out, the film projector switched on, and, as if by magic, a constant whirl and rattle, caused by the reel rotating, would gyrate us into a mood of intense excitement The amazingly comical antics of Charlie Chaplin were flashed in black and white cine film onto the screen, and week after week Charlie Chaplin with his small black moustache bowler hatted and wearing his inevitable baggy trousers, tripped over buckets of paint, fell down ladders, walked almost under Morris Cowley motor cars, dashed up and over 20 ft. walls with 5,10, 15, 20 policemen brandishing truncheons, all following one another in quick succession up and over the wall, whilst we of course knew, but not the officers of the law, that we had just seen the little man twirl his walking stick and walk breezily and calmly in at the rear entrance of the restaurant where he apparently worked as a waiter, the Manager, completely outraged, remonstrating with him for being two whole minutes late: To us at that time in the days before entertainment became sophisticated, this was all hilariously funny most of us laughed so much that the tears coursed down our cheeks and left us weak and helpless with mirth.
Laurel and Hardy were superbly entertaining too. We couldn’t have believed it possible that the entertainment world would produce anything which would be an improvement upon material such as this — it matched up completely to our highest expectations, and at the end of the film, without a murmur of protest, we all returned to our bedrooms ready for sleep, thoroughly delighted with every moment of a wonderful evening’s entertainment. None of us would have dreamed of requesting to stay up a moment later after the completion of the show: this would have seemed to us an unnatural and outrageously greedy request, for we were overwhelmed and contented fully with the immensely happy evening which kind adults had prepared and arranged especially for us. Weren’t we the lucky ones? How we hummed with pleasure and instinctively we knew that that night we would cause not one ounce of trouble. In this small way perhaps, we could show something of our gratitude to Miss Young who operated the film and to Miss Tucker who probably initiated this splendid happening.
We didn’t rely upon adults to provide any other form of entertainment for us; this we devised ourselves. I remember being invited to join a group of Acrobatic Artists who labelled themselves by the appropriate name of “The Lena Lastics” – (Lean Elastics). I was chosen because a friend called Audrey Felgate and I were smaller than the rest of the troupe so we were told to stand on the backs of two girls who were on hands and knees. I managed to pirouette reasonably efficiently but it was Audrey who brought the house down, for she was rather a plump little girl and her support kept caving in under her not inconsiderable weight. The Lena Lastics had invited Miss Tucker and Miss Young to be their guests of honour so the troupe were rather embarrassed by this short-fall in prowess on the part of one of their performers, but Miss Tucker and Miss Young, ever ready to rise to the occasion, considered that it was all part of the rehearsed programme and they laughed and applauded with genuine enthusiasm, so with spirits revived the Lena Lastics went on to perform remarkable feats of daring — surpassing even their own expectations. The school, of course, put on performances of plays produced for the parents’ pleasure and delight but these occasions were of course always enjoyed to the full by the performers themselves. I particularly remember the production of Toad of Toad Hall when June Marie Sylvaine, the daughter of the famous playwright, played Toad so outstandingly well, and in the same production I believe Margaret Wolfit, the daughter of Donald Wolfit the actor, took a leading part. I was Phoebe, the washerwoman’s daughter and I had to do a dance so that the scenery could be shifted and all the noises off stage coincided with my landings so the audience got a good laugh. Miss Cooper, a much-respected member of staff, was a wonderful person, she gave everyone the confidence to play his or her part well.
So many memories come flooding back to me, and yet I find it a little difficult to know which aspects of our daily living will be of interest to you boys and girls at High Trees today, so much water has passed under the bridge of time. Perhaps you have heard of the House tea parties in the garden, with special trays provided all laden with heaps of fresh strawberries and jugs of real cream; so many strawberries that each helping sat upon each plate forming an unimaginably generous portion — for in those days strawberries were available at a very reasonable price, so Saxon, Norman and Dane were well and truly fortified with the fruits grown upon rich English soil.
Is it fair to make your mouths water by telling you that the car used to arrive down at Selsey laden with gorgeous juicy peaches and large bunches of black and green grapes — all this lavish produce gleaned from the High Trees hot houses? But also transported for our delight were cream cheeses — these we did not like, and surreptitiously we placed mounds of soft white cheese under large white pebbles upon which we were conveniently seated for our picnic, for it would not have been possible to say “no thank you”. Such an observation would have resulted in the instant banishment of all those luscious peaches, grapes — and goodness me I was forgetting to mention the ripe red delicious flavoured cherries; so we did our best to dispose of the goats’ milk cream cheeses — ugh — smiling wryly all the while it lasted; then at last the moment came when we feasted upon the fruits which tasted as nature intended them to
taste. and what a feast it was for the palate.
What memories I have of holidays spent at Selsey. On late afternoon as the tide came in Mr. Norsworthy’s courageous and adventurous sister could be seen swimming out to sea holding yards of weighted line all baited ready for the expected catch of some large flat plaice; and sure enough the catch was nearly always a good one; so into buckets went the fish, then into skilled Miss Duncan’s frying pan they could flop all floured and sizzling ready to be devoured for a late tea. One or two families of French children always joined us at Selsey during the summer and we could never accustom ourselves to accepting the fact that mussels eaten raw straight from the beach could be considered a delicacy. We stood round astounded while they feasted upon the molluscs. We busied ourselves with prising off the winkles which had extraordinary powers of adhesive tenacity and which were later boiled and eaten by us with much relish. We bathed morning and afternoon and then the tide went out leaving a large area of lovely flat play space for us. Our favourite game was Shinty, which was played with thin Ash sticks which had a curved end similar to the shape of hockey stick; but unlike hockey you were not restricted to any specific territory. I believe we played with a flat puck, not a ball. We found this game wonderfully exhilarating especially when there were about fifteen or more players on either side — it was a very fast-moving game and always seemed to be played in a wonderfully good—natured spirit.
After a very active day we would all congregate in one of the bungalows and eat our supper and then all gather round the piano and sing sea-shanties and many other songs arranged for community singing, such as Polly Wolly Doodle, Oh Poor Orderly, and can you guess who played for us? Yes, J.M.N, (Norsworthy) aged about 14 years, playing and skilfully harmonizing as he went along. We had an incredible repertoire of songs and we never tired of singing — sometimes arranged as part songs, sometimes with descants. There was never any formality attached to these evenings, they were times when we were all just in harmony one with another and all this self—entertainment done by the light of an oil lamp. Then off to our bunk beds after a mug of steaming hot cocoa and biscuits of the squashed-fly variety or ginger nuts. During the evenings Miss Tucker and Miss Young retired to the veranda of their bungalow, Miss Young making endless rug wool mats or sticking in stamps, for she was building up a valuable collection which she sorted into albums, kept company all the while by her amiable companion, Miss Tucker. Incidentally as so many of the children had parents abroad directing the affairs of the countries of the British Empire, Miss Young had stamps sent to her on letters which she received from all corners of the world. If the parents of a child were in Malaya or Fiji or some other far-flung region of the globe that child might not have seen his or her parents for two or three years at a stretch, for leave was usually a tri-annual affair and travel was mainly by boat in those days. Companies did not offer free or subsidised transport arrangements for the children of the personnel working for them, so the children of tea-planters in India or Ceylon or the Governor of Sarawak or Bermuda all formed part of this large family group, a group which was infinitely compatible and adept at arranging its own programme of entertainment. No one suggested the course of arrangements for each day. As long as we appeared at meal times (and being hungry and healthy we certainly did that), no-one questioned our movements — perhaps we had walked across the dykes with a few friends in search of eels or perhaps sandwiches were provided to enable us to walk to Bognor Regis and back, a goodly hike when one was perhaps only 11 or 12 years of age, especially as we had to make a detour of course round Pagham Harbour which made it a very circuitous route. We really did more or less what we wanted to do and this did not seem to conflict in any way with the expectations of the adults who were at Selsey supervising the holiday for us: We had breakfast and lunch in a large marquee and often gathered after a meal in one of the larger tents where we sat on camp beds chatting away together about anything and everything.
We found the French children fascinating, for they spoke very little English, yet we communicated with them remarkably successfully. For several holidays prior to the war there was an older boy and girl from Germany, this at a time when the youth of Germany were being conscripted into Youth Organisations directed by the Nazi leaders of the Reich. Some of the stories they relayed to us of the hold which the Nazis in power had over the youth of Germany left us pulverised, for this was 1936, 1937, 1938 and ugly rumours were abroad of strange and sinister happenings in Europe. We were, we began to realise, living in strange and menacing times.
My brother Deryk now aged 15 had, while on holiday from his Senior School during the previous summer, sailed to the Baltic on a 100-ton yacht with other cadets, mainly from the Swedish Sailing School, and he had taken pictures of the German pocket battle ships which he had seen massed in the Mediterranean. On the return trip they called in at Gdynia, the Polish port on the Baltic, and at Gdansk they heard the Polish Army being briefed, prior to the German invasion. These stories electrified Miss Tucker and Miss Young who immediately after their return to High Trees ordered a quantity of stout brushes and brooms from the Army and Navy Stores proclaiming in stern tones that we would certainly have some high standards of cleanliness to show the Germans if they dared so much as to set foot upon our shores. So it came about, unknown to us at the time, that this was to be our last holiday together at Selsey — the three bungalows which had been our refuge from the storms during many happy summers no longer stand today for the sea has eroded the coast line. Along the top of the cliff overlooking the sea, Mother had driven her 1930 style car when she had come down to visit us when we were small — now we were to leave Selsey, its windmill and unspoilt dyke lands behind us for ever.
During my last term at High Trees we were visited by A.R.P. Wardens and presented with gas masks which we had to wear for 5 to 10 minutes at a time on Thursdays of each week. We must have looked very comical but this was not a time for laughing. We who were House Captains and Prefects suddenly felt the full burden of our responsibilities. We were, however, greatly comforted, I remember, by one air raid warden who told us that sirens would wail to alert us if enemy bombers were approaching but that we at High Trees need not worry unduly because animals had super—sensitive hearing and they would pick up any alert minutes before even those at H.Q. were alerted. So hastily to ourselves, we made a careful countdown of the animals whom we could count upon to forewarn us in time of need, and having accounted for every cock, hen, goat and donkey on the premises we satisfied ourselves that all would be well at High Trees at least, for were we not very well provided for with all the ‘keenly alert’ live stock which were scattered about the grounds. We did not stop to ask ourselves how a goose hissing or a duck quacking could differentiate between the approach of enemy aircraft or one from our own squadrons: it certainly did not disturb our equilibrium in the least.
Some of us spent our early formative years at High Trees as a direct result of the First World War, others because their parents were abroad, and that particular era lasted until the outbreak of World War 2 when High Trees evacuated down to Woolacombe in Devon, the school meanwhile having been commandeered by the Army. To you, the children of the late 60’s and 1970’s, I would say — savour all that is best in these early years of your growing time, add something of value to the sun total of good that over these years has been accumulating term by term; for you have a rich heritage of selflessness, happiness, courage, tolerance and kindliness. see to it that you pass this on, for many generations yet to come will need to draw upon this unique ethos, the characteristic spirit of this place; for you belong to a school whose beginnings stretch back into the past and whose hopes are set firmly towards the future. To each one of you at High Trees, Saxon, Norman, Celt or Dane I would say: continue to be people who really care about the needs of others and you will be passing on one of the unique characteristics of High Trees.