Pictures with the title "308"
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After accidentally turning himself into a reindeer,
the little wizard sits and waits,
while the Headmaster looks for a way to reverse the spell…
(And through the office door, Skippy hears the dreaded words, “Ten points from Gryffindor!”)
It’s that magical time of year again, when one of my favorite events returns to our universe. Yes, I’m talking about Mischief Managed’s Wizarding Faire! And for this round, we’re headed into Winter!
Filled with festive creatures and wonder-full holiday decor, cozy clothes and playful spells, take a journey to the land of Hogwarts in the wintertime and discover something jolly and bright!
Skippy envisioned his universe with the help of the following magical creations, which are all available at Mischief Managed’s Winter Wizarding Faire:
Blue House’s Reindeer Antlers, and Rudolph Nose!
Sorumin’s Wizard's Scarf and Christmas Lights!
HopScotch’s Warm Fingies Mittens, and Magical Ornaments (Hogwarts, Lion, Snake, Badger, and Eagle)!
parfait’s Insight Wizard's Wand!
Static’s Open and Closed Charms & Spells Book!
Quills & Curiosities’ Festive Wreath, and Enchanted Ice Candles!
Krescendo’s Potion Tree!
And from the last Wizarding Faire:
DRD’s Desk Bench, and Bookcases, which are both part of the Wizards Classroom Collection!
Express Train to Winter Wizarding Faire!
Keep experimenting!
Keep playing!
Keep learning!
(And maybe double check your spells before you cast them…)
Keep shining bright, everyone!
Stowe School is a selective independent school in Stowe, Buckinghamshire, England. It opened on 11 May 1923, initially with 99 schoolboys, and with J. F. Roxburgh as the first headmaster
Herring Gull. Larus Argentatus
Reminds me of my old headmaster.
Herring gulls are large, noisy gulls found throughout the year around our coasts and inland around rubbish tips, fields, large reservoirs and lakes, especially during winter. (RSPB)
They can also spoil your outdoor lunch by staring holes in you like this one. But that’s not their fault, but rather those people that feed them.
In the grounds of Dover Castle, Kent.
Once upon a time there was a young wizard. He was very adept at magic and sought to extend his skills. He traveled to the wizard university and convinced the headmasters to permit him entry, despite his young age. He had a thirst for knowledge and was a quick learner. He surprised his teachers with his quick progress and not before long he was the most powerful wizard alive.
Still it was not enough for our young mage as he yearned power more than anything else. And so he left the university and traveled the globe in search of it. He visited far away lands where he learned the ways of shamans and sorcerers, but still he wanted more power. And then, hidden in a cave, he found a mysterious lamp. He knew the stories of old and so he rubbed it thrice and a genie appeared granting him three wishes.
For his first wish he asked the genie for power, but the genie responded: oh wise mage, why would you want more power, you are already the most powerful human alive. The wizard thought for a moment and then agreed with the genie. True I am very powerful, but I have no place to live and the genie granted his wish. He raised a magnificent palace with towers reaching the sky.
For his second wish he asked the genie for power, but the genie responded: oh wise mage, why would you want more power, you are already the most powerful human alive. The wizard thought for a moment and then agreed with the genie. True I am very powerful, yet I am not known across the globe, I want to be famous. And the genie granted his wish. People from far and away came to his palace to visit and honour the mage.
For his third wish he asked the genie for power, but the genie responded: oh wise mage, why would you want more power, you are already the most powerful human alive. The wizard thought for a moment and then agreed with the genie. True I am very powerful, for a human, but I want to be as powerful as you. And with a wide grin the genie granted his wish. He switched places with the wizard, trapping the power hungry mage in the lamp, where he remains to this day.
In 2011 I was in Finland for 5 days with the headmaster of my school to prepare a students exchange project. Sadly, the economic crisis stopped the project, but I remained with some nice images and wonderful memories. If you like, have a look at the album:
The Grade II Listed Former headmaster's house and dormitory block, Upper Lindum Street, Lincoln, Lincolnshire.
Built in 1861 in Gothic Revival style out of red brick, with yellow brick and stone dressings and hipped slate roofs.
Originally the Lincoln Grammar School complex; sold in 1907 to become St Joseph’s Convent School, now part of Lincoln Minster School.
Information Sources:
britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/101388820-former-headmasters...
The headmaster of my school has finally decided which 3 canvas-prints of mine he wants for the school, this feels so cool! I'll update you with more news about this in later photo descriptions!
Today I just felt like creating, so I went out in the rain and shot this on one of my favorite locations, while enjoying the view.
Inspired by the lovely Brooke Shaden.
The office portion of the Headmaster's tower(s). The upper area is the Headmaster's Astronomy Tower featuring Dumbledore's telescope. Below that, behind the desk, would be the Headmaster's quarters.
Walking down Church Hill from St Mary's, spying Headmasters House at the bottom of the road, nostalgia rises up from within. Seems the parking is suspended again for more filming.
Japanese Traditional Art of Flower Arrangement (Ikebana) -IKENOBOU ( Rikka Style )
華道家元池坊京都支部 立花
location : Kitano Tenmangu shurine Kagura-den hall,Kyoto city,Kyoto Prefecture,Japan
北野天満宮 神楽殿
Ikenobō (池坊) is the oldest and largest school of Ikebana, or Japanese floral art in Japan.
It was founded in the 15th century by the Buddhist monk Ikenobō Senno. The school, currently headed by its 45th generation headmaster Ikenobō Sen'ei, is based in the Rokkaku-dō temple in Kyoto. Additionally, Ikenobō has hundreds of chapters around the world.
The custom of placing flowers on the altar began when Buddhism was introduced to Japan by way of Korea in about 538. The Rokkaku-dō temple in Kyoto is the site of the birth and earliest development of ikebana. The name Rokkaku refers to the hexagonal shape of the temple. Rokkaku-dō temple was founded by Prince Shōtoku in the 6th century to enshrine a Nyoirin Kannon Bosatsu, the Goddess of Mercy. Near a pond (ike) where Prince Shōtoku bathed, a small hut (bō; priest's lodge, monk's living house attached to a Buddhist temple[1]) was built and became the home of succeeding generations of Buddhist priests. This gave rise to the name Ikenobō. In the temple grounds, there is a stone called Heso-ishi. It means "bellybutton stone". It is said that it was the foundation stone of the original temple. Because this temple existed before the transfer of the national capital to Kyoto in 794, it has been said that the position is the center of Kyoto.
In the Heian period (794-1192), apart from altar offerings, the practice of enjoying flowers displayed beautifully in a vase also became popular. Poems, novels and essays from that time contain many passages which describe the appreciation of flowers used in this way. Not satisfied with merely appreciating flowers in a vase, Japanese people in the early 15th century tried to give wider meaning to placing flowers in a vase. An earlier attitude of passive appreciation developed into a more deeply considered approach. This approach forms the basis of what we call ikebana today.
According to a 15th-century manuscript, the two of the most popular flower arrangers of the time were the Ikenobō master Senkei and Ryu-ami, a tea master. Unzen Taigyoku, a monk belonging to a Zen Monastery first recorded the name Senkei in his event and tea journal called Hekizan Nichiroku. In an entry dated February 25 of the third year of the Kanshō era (1462), Unzen Taigyoku wrote, “at the invitation of Shunko, Senkei made a floral arrangement in a golden vase and denizens of Kyoto with refined tastes vied to see his work”. This written record marks the starting point for 550 years of recorded Ikebana history. Additional historical documentation of Senkei’s work is virtually nonexistent with one October 2 entry in the Nekizan Nichiroku journal describing how Senkei is moved by the extraordinary beauty of chrysanthemums.
Not satisfied with merely appreciating flowers in a vase, people in the early 16th century (the middle Muromachi period) tried to give deeper meaning to the thoughts accompanying the process of arranging flowers. In other words, they wished to arrange flowers (tateru, to arrange stems in an upright or standing manner), rather than simply placing them in a vase. An earlier attitude of passive appreciation developed into a more deeply considered approach. This approach forms the basis of what we call ikebana .
From the late Kamakura period to the Muromachi period (late 13th -16th century), large contests of flower arranging were held at the imperial court on the day of Tanabata (the festival of the star Vega, the seventh day of the seventh lunar month). These contests were called Tanabata-e . Aristocrats and monks vied with each other in demonstrating their skills, offering flowers in honor of the festival. According to a 15th-century manuscript, the two finest arrangers of the time were the Ikenobō master Senkei and Ryu-ami, a tea master. The description in Hekizan Nichiroku (a diary of the monk Daikyoku, 15th century) of many people vying to see arrangements by Ikenobō Senkei is the first record of Ikenobō ikebana.
Ikenobō refers to the name of the buildings associated with the Shiunzan Chohoji or Rokkakudo temple in Kyoto, as well as the name of the family which has served in succeeding generations as head priests of the temple. The Rokkakudo has been popular from ancient times as a place for the worship of Kannon (the Goddess of Mercy). The townspeople of Kyoto used this temple as a place for gatherings, at which times flower arrangements were placed in the temple.
It was toward the end of the Muromachi period that the earlier simple way of setting flowers in a vase developed into tatehana (tateru, standing; hana, flowers), a more complex style of ikebana. It was also during this period that the oldest extant manuscript of ikebana (Kao irai no Kadensho, 1486) and the famous manuscript about ikebana by Ikenobō Senno (Senno Kuden, 1542) were written. Senno, the founder of Ikenobō kado, originated ikebana that was filled with meaning, and which was quite different from previous arrangements that had shown only the prettiness of flowers.
Development of Rikka
The Azuchi-Momoyama period (late 16th century) brought a renaissance in ikebana as well as a general renaissance in Japanese culture. At this time two Ikenobō masters named Senko completed the rikka style (also meaning standing flowers, but with more complexity than tatehana) and Ikenobō reached a high point of its early history. Paintings depicting the rikka of Senko II, a famous master of Ikenobō, are preserved at the Manshuin Temple (Kyoto), the Yomei-bunko library of the Ninnaji Temple (Kyoto), the Tokyo National Museum and the library of the Ikenobō Headquarters (Kyoto). The arranging of rikka as a style with seven main parts (shin, shin-kakushi, soe, soe-uke, mikoshi, nagashi, and maeoki) was established at this time.
After Senko II died, rikka gradually became more complex and mannered. The birth of the shoka style of ikebana brought new interest into the world of ikebana.
Development of Shoka: Early Nageire
Nageire, a more informal style of arrangement, had been practiced even during the earlier period when rikka was developing. Nageire had been a style of decoration for the zashiki, while rikka, the most formal style, was used for rites and ceremonies. The townspeople favored nageire, which presented the natural beauty of flowers without complicated rules.
In 1684, Toichiya Taemon, a merchant, wrote the Nageire Kadensho (How to arrange flowers in Nageire style), and in 1697, Kodai Shoka Zukan (Collected Paintings of Historic Shoka Works) by Ikenobō Sen'yo was published. Nageire influenced the development of early work in the shoka style. Shoka at this time was very simple. Only two main branches (or flowers), one of which was called in (negative) and the other yo (positive), were used in arranging the work. These would later develop into three main parts, called shin, soe, and tai.
The shoka style developed over a long period, during with many schools of ikebana other than Ikenobō appeared. Shoka was firmly established in Ikenobō Senjo's work Soka Hyakki ( One Hundred Examples of Ikebana, 1820). He also edited Heika Yodo-shu, in which the traditional methods of rikka were described in detail.
In the Meiji period (1868-1912), Ikenobō Sensho set down the regulations of shofutai shoka, shofutai meaning orthodox or traditional style. Mannerism again began to appear, and efforts to break away from this mannerism were not successful until the Taisho period (1912-1926). The styles of modern nageire and moribana, and modern styles of shoka were the result. These styles were also greatly influenced by the importation of European culture, beginning during the Meiji Restoration (1868). Nageire and moribana could be used in either traditional Japanese or westernized houses and rooms.
After World War II, ikebana began to be regarded by some as art, with the result that works of avant-garde Ikebana appeared. Wire, metal and stone, as well as flowers were used to the extent that it was sometimes difficult to distinguish this work from sculpture. This movement inspired the birth of free style ikebana (jiyuka), which is completely liberated from the regulations of traditional ikebana. On the other hand, refined and dignified ikebana styles with traditional origins, such as rikka, and shoka, have also experienced a rebirth.
Development of shimputai
Shoka shimputai, a new style of shoka developed in 1977 by 45th generation Headmaster Ikenobō Sen'ei, presents a bright, modern feeling. Two main parts, shu and yo, respond to each other with contrasting yet harmonious qualities. A third part of the arrangement, ashirai, is often added as a finishing touch. Following a period of development of shimputai the new principals were also applied to Rikka and Rikka Shimputai has become very popular in the new century.
Ikenobō’s current 45th generation Headmaster, Sen’ei Ikenobō, believes that the possibility of creating new styles depends on the desire to refine one’s own character, a spirit that has been passed down to us as the essence of Ikebana itself.
As a continuing center in the world of ikebana, the Ikenobō Headquarters stands adjacent to Rokkaku-do temple, where ikebana began over 550 years ago. The Headquarters is home for communication, ongoing, study, and workshops for Ikenobō's professors and students from throughout Japan and the rest of the world. Here at the center of Ikenobō's rich tradition, students receive both classical training and encouragement to explore modern arrangements in contemporary life, including Rikka, Shoka, Free Styles and Shimputai. Local chapters spread the traditions of Ikenobō around the world.
-Wikipedia
The cruel decline from dementia spares neither the sufferer nor those around them.
My father was the headmaster of Robert Gordon's College in Aberdeen for 18 years, conceiving and overseeing the transformation of the school infrastructure and making it the largest co-educational private school in north-east Scotland. Michael Gove was also one of his pupils.
With a double first in classics from Edinburgh University, he played rugby to a senior level including as part of Daniel Stewart's 1959 Murrayfield, Hawick and Jedforest Sevens winning side and a trial as hooker for Scotland before injury stopped his career prematurely shortly after. Fluent in German, Ancient Greek and Latin, he could also fly an aircraft, as well play a variety of sports. My mother and my father met in 1957 and married in 1962 and have been devoted to each other since. My mother trained as a nurse at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary and rose, even part-time, to be a clinical teaching nurse in Aberdeen.
Following the traditional roles of the times, she provided my father with the support behind the scenes that allowed him to concentrate on his work for the school. My mother lacks my father's formal qualifications but her innate intelligence and practicality mean she has identified medical problems with unerring accuracy, months before modern medicine has managed, as well as be a near perfect mother.
My father was diagnosed with dementia almost exactly 6 years ago in 2016.The driving licence went in 2017, followed by his ability to communicate properly in 2018 and his ability to live independently in 2019. In 2020, as covid struck, the burden on my mother of his sole care became too much even for her and he went into a residential home as an emergency. His decline was probably exacerbated by the imposed isolation of the pandemic restrictions; not one minute of my mother's company in 6 months, let alone the ten Boris got for his birthday cake.
With restrictions lifted, and my mother recovered in part from her heavy burden, my mother has resumed her love, devotion and care for my father even though he no longer understands concepts such as a marriage or a wife as his great mind is obscured by a permanent blinding fog. Like Greyfriar's Bobby, my mother selflessly devotes herself to him still despite the personal cost to her.
I despise dementia and what it has done to my father and by extension my mother. I do not wish to remember my father as this human husk and to record his decline. Taking his picture when he has no understanding of a camera and what I am doing seems uncomfortably intrusive. Equally, sharing this picture on Flickr has been a difficult dilemma. However, their Endless Love deserves to be celebrated despite the cruel bitter blight of a disease that strips all its victims of all dignity.
My father will be 86 on Thursday but it will mean nothing to him.
[My father passed away finally, almost 8 years after his diagnosis, on 12 October 2023. A merciful release for him and his own "Greyfriars Bobby", my mother, who dedicated herself to him until the very end.]
[This photograph made it into In Explore in 2022 but Flickr zeroed all my pictures by reclassifying them as Restricted having identified that I inadvertently had not made 30 photographs of the London Naked Bike Ride marked as Moderate/Restricted by me out of 3900 photographs. This removed them from all Groups instantly without any prior warning or threat and despite my remedying the issue immediately I became aware of it. As a consequence all my Groups have been removed and, despite Flickr reclassifying them all as Safe; Flickr cannot apparently restore them to their Groups meaning I have to go through literally thousands of pictures to add Groups.
Truly Draconian : You have been warned.]
Dagbok 2027-12-20
Ingenting.
—
Anteckningar:
We keep watch over Headmaster Golovin from night until morning ... and longer still. We cannot fathom nor bear his loss.
Cardan attempted to save him. And Seraphine helps us also. There are people of Hogwarts and officers of the Ministry who come to assist.
Yet even so, this coming day will be a long day. A bleak, dark day.
This guy looked so severe, I think he saw himself as The Headmaster, Old Beaky! :)) A heavy crop I'm afraid.
School inspired by the modernista style for the Colònia Güell. Address: Carrer Barrau 27-48. Built: 1914.
Architects: Francesc Berenguer i Bellvehí and his father Francesc Berenguer i Mestres (1866-1914). The younger Francesc was an assistant and friend of architect Antoni Gaudí.
In 1890, social unrest made it necessary for the industrialist and patron of the arts, Eusebi Güell, to move his textile mill to Santa Coloma de Cervelló. The new project involved the creation of the industrial village Colònia Güell with amenities which would improve the workers' quality of life: terraced houses, an athenaeum, theatre, school, shops, gardens and church. Some of the leading modernista architects of the day were involved in the construction of the village, resulting in highly beautiful spacious buildings. Antoni Gaudí was commissioned to design the church.
Daniel Stewart's College Edinburgh
October 2018
My father was diagnosed with dementia in early 2016. As he declined I thought I should try and record him in some of the places that had meaning for him in his life. He was a pupil and head boy in 1953 at Daniel Stewart's College in Edinburgh before returning with a double first as a classics master.
The imposing Victorian neo-Gothic building with its crenelations and towers seemed a suitably dramatic backdrop since it was the foundation for his life and career as a headmaster. I am glad I took the few shots of him here and elsewhere in 2018 because all too soon even taking these sorts of pictures became an impossibility. He was admitted to a residential nursing home last week.
My father's picture will mean nothing to anyone else outside of our family. However, if you find yourself in a similar situation, it illustrates what I can only recommend: that you take the opportunity whilst you can. It may feel odd, morose or even morbid but persevere, time is fleeting and the decisive moments left, few. I am very glad to have even these limited number of pictures now since all my father's memory is but a memory now.
[PS I last saw my father on 8 March 2020, 10 days before Lockdown(I) began. He is now in a home and apparently well-cared for but his only family contact is my mother. COVID brings into sharp focus how photography can keep in mind those we can no longer see.]
[My father was finally released from his diabolical demented debasement on 12 October 2023, seven and a half years after his diagnosis. Death is never desired but of its many forms, dementia is a singular, utterly compelling dictator of the right to choose how you depart. The sanctity of life is patently facile when you see the person you love reduced to an unblinking, uncomprehending, uncommunicating, incontinent shrivelled husk of their physical being. My supremely admirable father passed away long before his body was finally over come. He would, with absolutely certainty, be distraught at his debasement and its impact on his most beloved and devoted wife of 62 years.]
Coming soon to The World of Magic event!
Opening on the 15th of Feb - www.facebook.com/TheWorldofMagicEventSL/
In the class photo at All Saints, West Gorton, Machester one small boy resists the urge to pull a face in the school photo, whilst stood behind the headmaster.
Old Geelong Grammar and Headmaster’s Residence. 55 Maud Street, Geelong. Local architects Backhouse and Reynolds designed this beautiful three storey Tudor gothic mansion in 1857. (They also designed the Matthew Flinders school Fenwick Street in 1856). The section with the fine roof gables with dormer windows was the head master’s residence. The school rooms were less fancy. The whole structure was built in local basalt and cement rendered. Additions were made in 1884 as the school had a quadrangle design but the other sides have now been demolished. This was the centre of the prestigious Geelong Grammar School until the school moved to its present site on Corio Bay in 1914. Old Geelong Grammar was condemned when a new owner restored it in 2016. It is now used for university student accommodation.
Memories of Brambletye Boys Preparatory School 1967 – 1971.
When I went to Brambletye at the age of nine, in September 1967, it was my fifth school in the last four years. As my parents were routinely being posted within the Army, they felt a boarding school would give me a more stable education. I vaguely remember touring the school with them and Mr Blencowe, the Headmaster, one summer before term and being asked if I would be happy there for the next four years, to which I obediently replied, "Yes".
The school seemed to be based on many military methods. Each boy was allocated to one of four Houses named after great British military heroes: there were Nelson, Marlborough and Drake, and I was in Wellington. Many boy's fathers had been to Brambletye when they were young and it was not unusual for them to insist their son followed in the same House. Instead of prefects we had Officers. As just one part of the overall military discipline we had to march everywhere!
We had no first names even though all our parents may have thought long and hard about choosing a name that would either continue the family line, please a grandfather or uncle or be one of the "in" names in the 1960’s. Despite this being formalised by Christening we were only referred to by our surnames. The list of boarders showed a proliferation of double-barrelled surnames, and one poor boy was even blessed with a triple barrelled title. If you had the same surname as someone else, the older and more senior added "1" to his name, the junior adding "2". You had Smith 1 and 2 because they were common. They did get as far as Sommerfelt 3 but no other parents managed to produce four offspring within the four year scope of preparatory school life (fertility treatment had not been developed at this time!).
I remember the first night, going to bed later than it should have been at 6.30pm, and a few of the other sixteen or so boys in the dormitory sobbing into their pillows. They were comforted by the matrons in their starched white uniforms. I had the benefit of a few months on the majority of them as I was a Spring baby born in March, while there were still others born later in Autumn of the same year who were in the same intake. Whether this classified me as "retarded" because there were younger and cleverer boys in the same class, I shall never be sure, but I do know I didn't cry on the first night.
The dormitory was a long room with nine steel framed beds down one side, seven down the other. One side had deep windows stretching from the high ceiling down to near the floor, overlooking the shallow valley below. To the right you could see a lake or reservoir that glistened in the sun. It appeared only a few miles away. To me it symbolised "freedom" as on nice sunny days you could see yachts sailing on it. But between the shimmering water and me was a gulf that might as well have been a thousand miles wide. I never ever did reach its shores, and be able to look back across to the school.
Winter terms could be dark and huge curtains were drawn across those high dormitory windows. In summer time even they couldn't make it dark enough to sleep until late. But at least in summertime you could find the enamelled tin potties which were strategically located around the dormitory. These could get rather full and smelly over night and were a disgusting trap for little feet as boys sneaked around barefoot in their pyjamas after lights out. There was many a time when a toe stubbed a potty in the dark. There would be a stifled shriek either followed by the splashing of urine onto the wooden floor or the crashing of an empty tin potty skidding across the dormitory. If it crashed into the steel frame of a bed you had about 10 seconds to run back to the other end of the dormitory in pitch darkness, find your bed, leap under the blankets and "be asleep" before simultaneously the lights came on and a Master strode into the room. Anyone caught out of bed was in for a whacking!
Actually this only happened rarely. Dormitory raids were the exception rather than the rule. Mind you it was difficult from the juniors dormitory. The dormitory door led into a magnificent hall, very much the Headmaster's part of the school, with offices, and staff rooms to the right. A huge skinned tiger with his stuffed head, bared teeth and glass eyes, lay star shaped on the parquet floor, ready to rip into your ankles if you dared pass. To the left lay a wood panelled corridor leading to Mr Blencowe's room. Ahead, past the tiger, rose a magnificent wooden grand staircase. Above it a huge portrait of a very stern gentleman stared down forbiddingly towards the dormitory door. Access to the other dormitories could only be gained across this hall and up the staircase. With doors to left and right from which a master might appear at any moment, the staring, watching eyes of the portrait, and the risk of a master or matron appearing on the landing above, it was incredibly risky in a Colditz sort of way left to venture upstairs after lights out. If a number of you were caught, wielding pillows, tip toeing upstairs, there was only one outcome. A quick march down the panelled corridor to the left took you to Mr Blencowe's office. Normally being there was not good news, but it always gave me the chance to see the two black cast statues of Charles I and Henry VIII(?) that stood in his hallway. I was always impressed by these 3ft tall figures and thirty-five years later was quite upset to hear that they ended their lives thrown in a rubbish tip.
There were a number of strange procedures for First Years. One peculiar rule was that juniors had to line up outside the toilets every morning. A junior officer held a book – perhaps it should have been called a log book. According to the order of name in the book each boy would enter the toilet as a cubicle became available, do what he could and return to report to the officer with either a "1" or a "2" to confirm which bodily function had been completed. A twelve or thirteen year old officer then had the medical responsibility when noting a certain boy had not reported a "2" for several days, to tell him to go back in and try harder. Serious cases of constipation were referred to the school nurse.
After lunch we were required to rest. This meant returning to our dormitory to lie fully clothed in our uniforms on our beds and in silence. Of course at our age this was the last thing we wanted to do. Sleeping was difficult at this time of the day; after all lights out was at 6.30pm every night. You could take one book to read, but if you had made a poor choice you were stuck with it. Fidgeting was not allowed, even if you were bored!
Apart from the above two additions to the day's routine it didn't really matter which year you were in, the routine Monday to Friday was the same.
We got up on the alarm bell, dressed and washed. Then all 120 or so boys marched by dormitory into the Dining room to sit on wooden benches down the sides of long wooden tables topped by either a Master or Matron at each end. Grace was said in a silent room to immediately be followed by the din of scraping of chairs and benches, clattering of china and cutlery and 120 chattering boys. The food was always prepared and brought to the ends of the tables in large aluminium trays by some curious little Spanish couple called Angela and Manuel. I was never sure where they lived but it appeared to be in a large cupboard at the end of the dining hall!
The Master or Matron served the food, helped by the boy on the end of the row. We all moved round one place each day. As each plate was filled with food it was passed from boy to boy down the line to the end. Breakfast was always cornflakes in the summer term followed by bacon, egg and plum tomatoes. Sometimes the egg was scrambled in a watery pale yellow mush of nothing. For variety it was fried into flat discs of rubber. In winter it was porridge poured out of a massive jug - every day. Sometimes I ate a few spoonfuls, but despite a rule that you sit there until you eat it, there was always a hungry chum nearby that preferred to eat my porridge than have a dose of scrambled egg. Once I sat in the dining hall whilst the rest of school had morning inspection, chapel, prep and the first lesson, before Angela took pity on me, gave me a smile, and removed the solid, cold bowl of porridge from in front of me. I would have sat there all day, but I think she had been waiting to go shopping!
After the meal we returned to the dormitory to make our beds. This was a precise science recalling military traditions of the 45 degree hospital tuck and razor sharp folds. Points were attributed to the house for clean and tidy dormitories. We then had a short time to brush up our shoes and present ourselves for inspection in the main hall. This was to all intents and purposes a military parade with the Captain walking up and down each line to give a head to toe examination of brushed hair, tie knot, clean knees and polished and tied shoes. We always faced one side of the hall and your eyes naturally rose up to some huge ornate wooden boards listing the names of all the old School Captains who had gone on to better things. I was always struck by this board as it listed boys all the way back to the time of the Great War. I never thought my name would be on this board and I was proven right!
Next came chapel. A short march took us into a beautiful little chapel. I still remember there was so much wood in it and some lovely religious frescos. As a "non-singer" chapel during the week was quite straightforward. You stood up, sang, sat down, knelt, stood up, sang, knelt, sat up, listened to the lesson………..the routine was the same every day. I once was told to read the lesson. I was given a week to prepare for it, and fretted every day over it. Shaking in my shoes I read it in front of the whole school and apparently missed a whole verse out of it, but next to nobody noticed.
We had a short spell of "prep" until nine o'clock (time to do the home work you didn't do lastnight) before it was full steam into lessons.
Colonel Molesworth, was our French teacher. He was so regimented in everything he did, at lunchtime he would disect a rectangular tray of rice pudding with skin, into 24 precise portions using a knife to gauge the proportions. Then he would take the knife and try to cut a rectangular block of rice pudding! I tell you what, he had some knack! I detested rice pudding, porridge, semolina or tapioca, and still he always managed to give me the same sized portion as everyone else!
He was even more amazing at French. He taught us Franglais, a language quite unknown to the Gallic people of France, so that even after finishing at Brambletye, and continuing it at High school, I still could not speak French after nine years.
He would have left today's England's football team in tears with his rules. In the days of wingers on each side, inside left, centre forward, inside right, with right, centre and left halves and a left and right back you could not move out of your "box". As a right back, cross an imaginary line between the goal and the centre spot into the left half and the whistle would blow and you would be sent to run a quick circuit of the four pitches on the lower playing fields. Colonel Molesworth approved of the shoulder barge whereby a four stone weakling on the ball could be shoulder-barged with the force of a charging rhinoceros and no foul given. Similarly Henniker–Heaton's clod-hopper boots, which were built of half inch thick leather coming up to the middle of his shins, tipped on the sole with half inch steel studs and re-inforced toe caps, could quite legitimately be used to separate an opponents leg from his foot at the ankle without any thought about the need to take time off sports through injury, physiotherapy or scans.
Colonel Molesworth: clipped moustache, highly polished brown shoes: what did he do in the war? (Mmm; he was prisoner. That seems appropriate)
Mr Trevanion was hard. Oh yes!!! He taught Maths. You didn't say much to Mr Trevanion, you just answered his questions as directly as possible. You tried not to meet eye to eye with him either: his stare was deadly! Sometimes you would have to stand by the desk and wait whilst he marked your work. I noticed his hands then. They were hard!
Scripture was taught by Mr Jones, definitely a man to respect, and whilst he could be strict, I did seem to do well in his classes gaining a few "A-"s, "B+"s and "Satis" all over my work. He made me Form Captain. It was my job to let the class know what their Prep was for the next day so I must apologise to the whole class, now for the first time in thirty-four years, that one day I gave them the wrong details. This meant that the majority of them were in trouble with Mr Jones the next day for doing the wrong work. Protest as they did it was proven I couldn't have given the wrong information as there were a number of boys who had completed the same work as me. They naturally kept quiet because these were the ones who had copied off me!
Mr Ogle taught Geography which I liked. I was good at locating the Amazon mouth, the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, the Nile, etc, on a blank map of the world with pinpoint precision. Is this why I later qualified as a Navigation Officer in the Merchant Navy twelve years later? But Mr Ogle was an arty-farty type of teacher into music and art as well. He seemed to swan around in his black gown and couldn't be taken too seriously.
English and Latin were taught by Mr Glanfield (Glanners). I'm not sure why I don't remember much about him. I suited Latin as it was very regimented, but unfortunately being good in Latin at Brambletye proved completely useless for any application in the rest of my life. Mr Glanfield lived in a room at the end of the dormitory corridor, up a short flight of stairs. I only got whacked by Mr Glanfield once with a hair brush (and I deserved it for being an irritating little shit in the dormitory after lights out). It was he who also developed the "sitting in" form of punishment. For minor mis-demeanors you could get a 15 minute "sit in" for each offence up to a maximum of an hour's worth. When the rest of the school was free to play, anyone on a "sit in" was required to sit upright, in silence, facing forward, in a classroom for just you, a Master to watch over you and any other miscreants doing their "sit in". If you accrued more than an hour's worth of "sit in", you not only had to do your time, but were sent down to see the Headmaster for a bit of serious talking, and maybe a whacking too!
Learning the dates of births and deaths of every English King and Queen, major battle and historical event from 1066 until the 20th Century by heart, now doesn't seem such a waste of time when you bump into a foreign tourist who knows British Empire history better than you do. But I couldn't trust the History teacher (whose name I conveniently cannot recall) who showed slightly too much favouritism to certain boys.
Science was a mix of chemistry, physics and biology taken by Mr Blencowe, a very mild man, who as headmaster had to be all things to the school. Not only did he have to lead the school in prayer and hymn in chapel, but conduct daily inspections, administor the whole school and invariably fill in for any teacher who was "away" for whatever reason. Science was fun. Apart from the effects of burning sodium and magnesium we had everything from breeding locusts to hatching chicks and copulating Xenopus toads. I remember Mr Blencowe saying something about injecting the toads to make them breed. I know at the time I thought the whole matter strangely peculiar: why was the male, scrabbling franticly at the top of the tank and the female lying completely breathless at the bottom? There were eggs everywhere! This was not mating as I knew it. Normally it is the male that is exhausted! It's taken 34 years for Mr Blencowe to admit he was supposed to give the female a larger dose, but he gave it to the male by mistake!
Music lessons were the worry. Singing was not my strength but I learned, as a matter of self-preservation, to mime quite well. Mr Sharpe didn't just have a sharp tongue; his hand could to do some damage too. This didn't just happen in music lessons, but more memorably in chapel rehearsing for the main Sunday service. We would have to sing all the hymns and psalms selected for the next day's service. Mr Sharpe would sit in the organ pit, fingers and feet bouncing off the organ keys and pedals. With back to us, suddenly he wouldn't be happy with what he was hearing, leap out of the pit and race to the pew where he thought the wrong sound was coming from. Miming was no good at this point: you had to start singing quickly – and in tune too! Without the rhythm and backing of the organ it was doubly difficult and we had to continue to sing as he would come along our row, ear cocked to what we sang. If he heard the wrong note a hand would flash out so fast: "Whack!" right across the face!
I distinctly remember the row of five classrooms partitioned off from each other by wooden folding doors. At prep or when letter writing on Sunday the doors were folded back to allow one teacher to oversee everyone as they worked in silence. With the partitions closed during the day, we sat in cast iron framed desks with a flip up seat. There was an ink well filled regularly with a jug of the blue stuff. It was often spilt and some boys had significant indelible stains on various parts of their school uniform. Ink was used as an offensive weapon too, either flicked from the nibs of fountain pens or launched as a sodden ball of blotting paper into the front rows of the classroom. In one English lesson I remember a classmate taking several thick rubber bands, placing them over the tip of forefinger and thumb to form a catapault, and then placing a pellet of folded card into the "V", pulling it back, until the elastic would stretch no more before firing it into the bare neck of the boy immediately in front of him. Five minutes later he dared to do it again, but this time his aim was slightly out so that the hardened pellet richochetted off the back of the boy’s head, thudding into the wall of the classroom above Mr Glanfield's head, before falling to the floor near his feet! All hell broke loose then and I had to quickly withdraw both hands from under the desk lid where I had been constructing a Concorde shaped aeroplane out of a felt tip pen body, some paperclips and a folded exercise book cover.
There were regular intervals in the day to run off energy, shout and run about. These were often five or ten minute spells between chapel and lessons, tea and chapel, prep and bed along with morning breaktime and after lunch –unless you were a junior of course.
In the winter and spring term we changed into our sports gear after lunch. We only played football in the winter term, and rugby in the spring term. In summer, games were played after the afternoon break and we always played cricket.
Playing football and rugby in the colder, wetter months, every day was not particularly pleasant. Apart from being hacked to death by Hennicker-Heaton's boots, it was normally wet and cold. Being in the lower league playing fields and being refereed by Colonel Molesworth meant a long trudge from the playing fields up to the school. I hated how his military precision required us to play until the second hand of his watch hit the hour when some of the younger masters, watching the rain clouds gather, would blow the whistle early. Two hundred and forty hot, sweaty and wet boots were taken off and hung up in the small lean-to boot shed which stank like a giant mud wrestlers armpit, before the boys went up to shower. Colonel Molesworth's troop, coming from the furthest field, always arrived last to find the changing rooms awash with muddy water and clods of grass, the wooden duck boards barely allowing you to change into dry clothes only by hanging yourself on the clothes hooks, and reaching down to pull your socks on.
If it was too wet to play games, we had to don our macintoshs and "gum" boots and walk up and down the school drive. Normally after two laps from one end to other you were allowed back inside out of the rain! Colonel Molesworth would call out, "Left, right, left, right"………c'mon chaps!"
Afternoon tea comprised of filing past to pick up your Marmite sandwich (jam on Sundays) and third of a pint of milk bottle. These were consumed whilst each boy sat on his allocated locker surrounding the main hall. Every day we would pass the crates of milk on the way to breakfast. In summer they sat in the sun and were still there at 3.30pm. Sometimes you could barely press the bottle top to remove it because the pressure had built up so much, and when you could, you would find the top half of the milk completely solid, curdled and sour. Some would clamp a hand over the bottle, shake it vigorously and swallow the lot in one. Some would put it on the floor, and whilst sat on the locker, "knock it over by mistake". This normally resulted in them being given another one to drink!!!
After games it was back into the classroom for more lessons until teatime. Too often it was bland macaroni cheese - just macaroni cheese on a plate which was abhorred by every boy. Still were to come "Prep", our homework session of homework carried out in silence in the classroom another parade and chapel service before we normally had half an hour or so of play before bed. With juniors tucked up in bed by 6.30pm, the second years were despatched by 7.00pm, third years at 7.30pm. Even the oldest boys had to be in bed by 8.00pm!
Saturday was a "half-day". Lessons and chapel Sunday service rehearsal (watch out for Mr Sharpe) in the morning followed by freetime in the afternoon. Freetime could be spent in many ways. There was a boating pond. Electric boats were rare then, and there was certainly no radio control. Most boats were either free sailing yachts or clockwork powered. We could play rounders, fly model planes, roller skate, do woodwork or pottery, go in the monkey-climb or into the woods. There were marionettes and a steam engine Club too. There were great Chestnut trees so the school went conker mad in October. The school drives were lined with rhododendron bushes and you could in places climb through the bushes without touching the ground for up to 200 yards or so in places. Amongst these boys had dens as they did in the bracken filled bushes of the woods. We had khaki coloured jackets that made us quite camouflaged and apart from the dens there were caverns dug out of the sandstone. These could have been dangerous, but despite having fires in them, the odd roof collapse and "wars" between different groups I'm not aware that there were any casualties.
Sunday was different. Instead of lessons we had the full service in the chapel lasting 75 minutes. This sometimes seemed quite interminable, especially when the sun was shining outside, but you couldn't relax because the headmaster's wife, teachers and matrons filled the pews behind you.
And then it was to letter writing. We had to write one letter every week. I nearly always wrote to my parents in Germany. It tended to get a bit repetitive although the scores and names could normally be alternated on a regular basis. "I got A minus in Latin. The First Eleven played Ashdown House and we won 5 –2. The Second Eleven lost 2-0. Crompton and Wallis 2 have got German measles and have gone to the sick bay for three days. Only 62 days to go until the end of term and I am looking forward to seeing you (for the first time in 3 months)". Normally we had to bring writing pads to school with us at the start of each term. The trick was to get a small one with widely spaced lines so that Colonel Molesworth's demand for all letters to be two full pages didn't require too many words. Whether it was censorship or not, we had to take them to the front of the class for the teacher to read before we could "finish" which normally on a Sunday meant escape into the woods.
Young as we were, the confines of the school were exactly that. There were areas you would never go in. In the woods there was only a small fence that marked the limit of where we were allowed to go. It might only have been a two strand barbed wire fence but I never crossed it. It was as if there was a hidden Nazi watchtower ready to machine gun you if you touched the tripwire. The limits were marked by a two bar metal fence or the drives in other directions, easily enough crossed, but like the shimmering lake, in four years that I was there, what lay outside was not part of my world.
But apparently there were two escapes in my time at the school. All of a sudden there were rumours that someone had done a runner, but shortly afterwards the school propaganda system kicked in and the "hero" became someone taken out of school urgently to visit a dying grandmother.
I think we bathed twice a week. We lined up in the bathroom, with three tubs, where we would take turns to leap in. I don't think the water was changed, and matron would wash our hair. Every week we had a "sock" night or a "pants" night when everyone would throw that item in big baskets to be washed. Jumpers, shirts and trousers were washed less frequently. Only seniors, and only if they were over 5ft, could wear long trousers. At least once a term we were weighed and our height was recorded. Presumably the details helped our parents to recognise us when they next saw us! “Oh yes, darling, this one’s 4 ft 5 inches and about 5 stone, just like Timothy’s report says: this must be our son!”
I do remember a few "special" events. We occasionally were shown a film in the library. Apart from Treasure Island and The Robe these normally frightened me, especially the one of the headless horsemen attacking people in the dark! I only saw television a few times. There were some very basic " watch and learn" type physics programs in black and white but the only other thing I saw on TV was a fuzzy grey, live, image of the some men walking on the moon, for the first time.
We had some Spanish guy with long, horny nails come and play classical guitar, which seemed extremely tedious for us and him, and some cowboy who came and shot some balloons in the main hall.
Every year there was a school play. I was too young to be in Oliver. Just as well, as I was scared of the Bill Sykes character played by Jonathon Hughes De'Ath. Without girls in the school female parts had to be played by boys. It was whispered that one master reputedly quite fancied Cadicott-Bull who played Nancy. On the same basis I was quite glad I wasn't too attractive in my blonde pigtails, pink dress and Bo-Peep hood as a sailor's girl in the Pirates of Penzance. Playing a black cannibal in HMS Pinafore was much less dubious!
There were visitors to the school. Unfortunately one of these was the school dentist. Once a week we got sweets. A table was set up on the main hall stage and class by class we were taken to line up and chose our sweets. We each had a shilling with which you could get two handfuls of packets of sweets. Then decimalisation came in 1971 and we were robbed! Our shilling had become 5p. Straightaway we could only get about half as much. If we weren't robbed here, there were other chances to take advantage of us.
Every so often a long haired traveller we called the "Swindler" parked near the school. He had a Commer van. It was stacked with miniature chess sets, models, pen-knives and games. Since leaving the school I've never understood why he was given access as he must have obtained his name and reputation from somewhere. But the knives were the most frequently bought items either for activities in the woods or for playing "splits" where two opponents face each other, with two knives. Each in turn throws their knife into the ground, the opponent having to stretch one foot to the knife leading to them eventually doing the splits. Whilst everyone had a knife (and some might come close in this game) I was never aware of any knives being used as weapons. Anyhow, if in any sort of confrontation all you had to do was raise a hand and shout "Pax" (meaning "Peace" in Latin) and for some mysterious reason you were safe. Similarly if a prowling Master was spotted when boys were doing something they shouldn't, the warning word, "Cave" (pronounced "K.V" and meaning "warning" in Latin) was urgently passed from boy to boy.
There was also a barber who visited a school. Everyone got a cut and there was never any discussion over which style would suit. We all got the same. Strange that we sat in a small room having our hair cut next to a large glass case of British stuffed birds. I wondered if we would turn out the same.
There were tennis courts and a swimming pool at the school. I didn't take tennis, but one summer a keep fit regime was started. At about 7.00 am we were taken to the tennis courts where we did press-ups, star jumps, and lots of exercises in the dewy, cool morning air. I remembering it lasting a week or so, and then strangely we never did it again.
We had rehearsals for Sports Day, practising marching onto the fields, when we would line up in front of the parents in white shorts, T-shirts and rubber plimsolls. We had to compete in at least two events. Not a natural runner I actually surprised myself by getting into the heats of the 100 yard hurdles one year. I couldn't jump consistently high enough to ensure I could clear the hurdles, so I developed a technique to deliberately hit the hurdle but make sure I never tripped on it. I was glad when they introduced a new sport called, "Throwing the cricket ball". Requiring one to take a short run and throw the ball as far as you could in the general direction of "away from you", it was a shame they never introduced this at national level as this might have been something I could have done reasonably well at
I had a garden. Those that wanted one were given a six by six plot to till. That's six feet by six feet. Almost everyone who had one turned them to carrots, radishes, lettuces and nasturtiums, which we were persuaded we could eat. Some added these into their Marmite sandwiches and gave mixed reviews.
Swimming at Brambletye was definitely to be avoided unless you were a frog or a newt……..and despite the name I was not one of the latter. Fed by a stream, this "pit" was filthy for all but a week of the year. It might have been natural, for it was full of the flora and fauna of East Sussex, but it was icy cold even in the middle of summer. Forced to swim its length as a test I would willingly have covered the distance at the fastest possible speed if it hadn't been for the heart seizures and cramps I got when first entering the water. Fortunately I never showed enough promise to get in the swimming team. How some boys could enthusiastically take up diving I shall never know.
In quieter times I enjoyed playing billiards in the library. Also there was a reasonable selection of books but it was Hornblower and the World War Two escape stories I enjoyed most. This was partly lived out in the upper reaches of the school. Removing some of the wood panels in the bathroom, we found we could climb into the roof space and travel extensively throughout the length and breadth of the school at night, above the dormitories and master's bedrooms. If this had been Colditz we would have built a glider up here and escaped to freedom!
Some of the fixed steel ladder fire-escapes added to the Colditz feel. Forbidden to use them unless there was a fire practice or real emergency, they were actually so dangerous it was only very rarely we went down them even in a drill.
Some steep stairs led to the sick bay in the highest part of the school. Catching something highly contagious was quite desirable as long as it wasn't too life threatening. This meant you were isolated in the sick bay, totally exempt from the normal routine, far from the reach of masters and officers and safely tucked up in the motherly care of the matrons. This was the place to have a good time! An outbreak of measles and chicken-pox was of little use to me as I had reasonable resistance to most diseases and only fell to them when most of the school had already got it. This meant the sick bay was already full and I usually ended up confined to my dormitory back under the gaze of the masters and officers.
On the return to each term posted on the notice board there would be all the important dates: start and finish of term, half term, Easter holidays, etc. the holidays were so short, and the terms seemed so long. When I first started at school we were all boarders – day pupils didn't start until 1971. A half term or Easter seemed such luxury. You got a Saturday, Sunday AND Monday off, all together. Normally I went to my grandparents who lived nearby. Once there were about four of us who had nowhere to go. We got to watch television and have jam sandwiches in Mr Ogle's bungalow as compensation! I used to fly unaccompanied to my parents in Germany each holiday or to Wick when they moved to the north of Scotland. Once my brother and I were caught up in the effects of a strike at Edinburgh airport.
From time to time they added cut outs of certain articles from the daily newspapers and I remember regular features on the Vietnam War and Cassius Clay who would fight any man in the ring with his fists, but refused to fight in a war.
Mail used to arrive regularly and was handed out after breakfast. Seeing my parents only in between terms, I felt particularly lucky having such loving parents who ensured I was always well supplied with very regular, long letters every week. Other boys, some sons of diplomatic staff based in Embassies around the world, saw their parents very rarely, not even going home in the holidays sometimes. Some were lucky to even get a card on their birthday. But most received a parcel from home on their birthday. These were handed out on the matron's landing where they had to be opened in front of the staff. Food, sweets and money were immediately confiscated to be saved and supplied to the individual on a rationed basis.
The school changed quite a bit towards the end of my time there as Mr Fowler-Watt was phased in as Headmaster. He had an aggressive look to him and the style of the school became more progressive. Unlike Mr Blencowe who had more of a pained look on his face when a boy's behavior frustrated him, Mr Fowler-Watt could explode in rage. The Scots breeding in him meant the songs of Gilbert & Sullivan were out for the school play and in came the ghouls, witches and blood letting of Shakespeare's Macbeth. Extensions were built to the school, and new Portacabin classes positioned on the ground that was once my garden. And then another class of boy arrived; the day boys, namby pambies who went home to their Mummies every night, and arrived by car, freshly washed and dressed each morning. There was even talk of girls joining the school soon! What was the place coming to?!
Having laboured through the Common Entrance Exams to Public School, I left Brambletye to join my parents and brothers now living in the far north of Scotland near John O'Groats. The difference could not have been more extreme. I passed into the comprehensive school with girls (!), straight into the highest stream without need for examination. This was a lucky streak as they were all sons and daughters of nuclear physicists, doctors and engineers imported from the higher echelons of the fast breeder nuclear industry, the Royal Navy and Rolls Royce. Even though I was always towards the lower end of the class, as each year went by, I was dragged along by the very high standards so that on finishing some 30 of the 32 in the class went on to University. Each night I would endure a journey involving two buses taking an hour and a quarter, sometimes battling through blizzards in the dark to deposit my brother, the cattleman's son and I at the end of the mile and a half farm road. We had the freedom to drive our own cars from there to the house even at the age of thirteen.
Which type of school was best for me? Both were best. Brambletye undoubtedly taught me self-discipline and respect, kept me fit and healthy. But without life at the comprehensive school I could have been scared of the outside world, completely institutionalised by the limits of the school boundaries and routines. But perhaps I should thank Brambletye for making me want to explore more, starting me on a journey in life that has so far taken me to almost 60 countries. Married now for twenty-five years, with three fine children and director of a highly respected business at Manchester airport I look back on life so far with no regrets and fond memories of my years at Brambletye. I am what I am much because of Brambletye. It's not all good: my wife still has to tell me to change my socks and underwear more frequently!
My name never did get on those big boards in the main hall, but featuring in four separate photos in Peter Blencowe's history of the school makes me realise that even though I never made the First Eleven, Second Eleven or even Third Eleven in football, it was the mix of characters and abilities that made the school what it was and every boy can be very proud to have been part of its history.
I was surprised, in 2008, to discover Brambletye Preparatory School had risen to become the most expensive prep school in the country.
This guy reminds me of my Principal in junior high school, as I walked into his office. His beady eyes burned holes in my skin! ~ Southern Red Bishop, Euplectes orix.
Mankwe Dam, Pilansberg NP, South Africa.
The site where Hadham Hall is now situated was first settled by the Catevellauni, one of the tribes that led Celtic resistance to Julius Ceaser's invasion in 53BC.
Old Geelong Grammar and Headmaster’s Residence. 55 Maud Street, Geelong. Local architects Backhouse and Reynolds designed this beautiful three storey Tudor gothic mansion in 1857. (They also designed the Matthew Flinders school Fenwick Street in 1856). The section with the fine roof gables with dormer windows was the head master’s residence. The school rooms were less fancy. The whole structure was built in local basalt and cement rendered. Additions were made in 1884 as the school had a quadrangle design but the other sides have now been demolished. This was the centre of the prestigious Geelong Grammar School until the school moved to its present site on Corio Bay in 1914. Old Geelong Grammar was condemned when a new owner restored it in 2016. It is now used for university student accommodation.