Scots College – Learning. For Life.

John S Grant (War Years WWII)

My father took me to the front door of Gibb House, where we were met by Matron Sedgwick, who no doubt assured Father that I would be looked after and cared for.    I shook hands with Father and he left, somewhat hurriedly I thought.

Matron took me on a quick tour of Gibb, and showed me the dorm and told me to make my bed and then bring what was left in my suitcase to the laundry, to be stored until needed.

I just finished making my bed when another boy sauntered up, looked me up and down, and said "A new boy" accompanied by a sharp punch to the upper arm and a very painful knee to the thigh.

I was not very impressed with the welcome, but made my way to the common room where I met some boys who were also new.

The dorm boy I gave a wide berth until with great anticipation we were drawn to fight each other in the first round of the boxing champs and had the satisfaction of enlarging his nose with my first punch, and never had to walk wide of him again.

We all adjourned to the dining room where grace (Latin) was said and a meal was devoured, and I mean devoured.

The first night in the dorm passed without incident and I woke to the rush for the showers and living to a strict time table of duties to be performed and deadlines to be met.

By the end of the day and in my safe bed, I was wondering just what this small country boy was doing here.

As this was during the war years, very early in the term we were issued with a military type blouse, and a pair of khaki pants, some half socks and a forage cap, all made of a material resembling sand paper - the uniform of the cadet corps.    We went into camp for a week, were issued with a rifle almost as big as ourselves and subjected to the discipline of the army, and despite the chafing of the thighs and the neck, the aching of the feet etc, I must say we emerged thoroughly broken to take orders and obey our betters without question, and I think better for it.

Now the school work was undertaken, and we were told what rooms we would occupy.   I was drafted into the top class of 1st years and after a week I was hopelessly out of my depth.   Practically all those boys skipped the 4th form.   They were bright.   The second term I was put in the B class and felt a little more at home, and so the days went by.   Everyday time was spent digging deep trenches for air raid shelters to be built, good for the muscles and extra good for the appetite.   Eventually the shelters were finished, two I think by what was then The Stable, where "Dobbin" the horse that drew the lawn mower was kept, and incidentally supplied horse hair with which we used to doctor the housemasters canes, causing them to split.   The other shelter was on the far side of the dorms.   Fortunately these shelters were never used for the purpose that they were built for, but were quite popular when the senior boys held a dance or a ball.   Canings were very frequent and a lot of us arrived home for the holidays with varying shades of blue through to yellow on our buttocks.   At one time they gave the prefects permission to cane, and one actually did, only to find himself uplifted at night taken to the baths and suitably chastised.   No more caning by prefects, though there was an old padded chair in their study that took an awful beating now and then. 

 "The Initiation Ceremony".   By the time this came about we juniors had been worked into a state of mind that bordered on terror at times, and a determination to get through the ordeal no matter what.   Everyone in Gibb adjourned to the then assembly hall where the old boys formed two lines and stood with their legs apart, and we new boys were invited to crawl through their legs, with our passage aided by a sharp smack of a sandshoe with which each senior was armed.   Well, there was no way we could avoid it, so we gritted our teeth and did the first line in record time, a short pause at the end of the first line then embarked on the final line.   When all had completed this we were expected to perform some sort of an item on the stage, though I noticed all acts were done standing.   Next everyone went outside where one by one we were tossed three times in a large carpet.   I remember that year a new master wandered out to see what all the noise was about and he found himself airborne also, much to everyone's amusement.   Next we were taken into the bathroom and made to stand under a cold shower for some time.   When suitably chilled we were told that that was it, so we wandered off to the dorm to dry and change only to find our beds had been stripped apart from one blanket.    Next morning all new boys could be recognised by a diamond pattern and the bruises from the sandshoes, but hooray we had got through!   

We all settled into the pattern of living with other boys making friends, and learning sometimes the hard way what to do and what not to do.   An unspoken law prevailed, fair, but sometimes quite harsh, and we soon learnt to abide by it.    We quickly became acquainted with the teachers, the Head, V.F.O. Francis, known universally as "Tote", A.C. Francis the D.H. known as "A.C." a very able man with the cane, Miss MacKenzie a lovely person who took us for Latin.   Dr. Danilow, a Russian who took us for French and introduced us to European History.   What a surprise to know there was more to history than our own colonial stuff and the history of G.B.    A most interesting man who had escaped from the Bolsheviks prior to the war and made his way eventually to New Zaland.   (Whoop) Wadham who taught us English and didn't suffer fools gladly.   Finally of those that spring to mind after about 70 years is Dr. Hercus, who taught maths and also Divinity, a man who shaped a lot of our young lives for the future, he really cared.

I remember well, Miss Chudleigh, who took us for choir practice and singing lessons.   All new boys were sent for her to assess our vocal attributes.    The noises we made were pretty horrendous as we did our best to convince her that our singing and musical talents were minimal and our voices much more suited to roaring on the 1st XV     Nevertheless, she produced a very good choir - good enough in fact to present a programme on the National Radio, 2YA.

And so the days and terms went by, this great family of boys being knocked into shape to be good citizens and able to make a contribution of some sort in our later lives.   There were many incidents I can recall, but many too many to list here, though here are a few that might be of interest.

I joined the Pipe Band. Neil McPhee of the Wellington Police Force was the Tutor and he turned out many very able pipers.

At that time the band was in great demand and one of our jobs was to pipe our soldiers leaving for overseas to the boats tied up at the Wellington Wharves.   Not yet having graduated to playing the pipes yet, I was nevertheless given a set along with 4 corks and was put in the middle of the band and twiddled my fingers from the "Basin Reserve" to the boats in an ill-fitting kilt, pipes I really didn't know how to manage, white spats that all but covered my shoes and a "Tam O' Shanter".   Great days!   

We paraded at the Botanical Gardens fairly regularly, and I remember once at a military parade we led a group of WAAC's (Women's Auxiliary Army Corps).   After it was all over they invited us to dine in their mess. The invitation was accepted with great alacrity, and they entertained us for a whole afternoon in an unforgettable manner.   What food, and so much of it.    Looking back I guess they were not a great deal older than us, and indeed no older than the senior members of the band so I guess male company for them was a rare happening.    I still have great memories of Pipe Major Jim Grey from Taranaki and not only his piping, for he was an all-round athlete, quite easily the best miler in Wellington.   Ken James was the Drum Major and twirled the old wooden and painted staff with great dexterity.   The cricket pavilion at that stage had been taken over by the army and a detachment of men were stationed there, so a few of us would go there of an evening, clandestinely of course, the attraction being great hunks of new bread and lashings of raspberry jam, which they kept in 4 gallon tins.   An endless supply or so it seemed.   

At that time the U.S. Marine Corps were stationed at Paraparaumu and quite a lot of them would visit the school and many friendships were struck up, before they were shipped out to fight in the bloody battles of Guad canal, Okinawa and Iwo Jima.   Their casualties were horrendous.   I remember a very high ranking officer from the U.S.M.C. speaking in the Assembly Hall to the school, and I have never forgotten what he said "When you put a waist coat on, always start buttoning from the bottom".  They were great men, and as a country we owe them a debt that should never be forgotten.

As the term was drawing to a close a lot of the boarders would break a tooth out of our combs, so by the last day there was some pretty shaggy looking fellows about.     Pocket money was always a great problem, officially we were given sixpence a week, three pence of that to go into the plate at church on Sunday, hence the buttons.   Hiding places were numerous, and very cunningly concealed, my own in a tree out the front of the main building.   Incidentally I forgot about it when I finally left to go home, and have occasionally wondered if the tree feller ever noticed a small stash of coins that kept me solvent and able to patronise the tuck shop.   

The cross country race every year, around the hills behind the school, hardly recognisable now with all the buildings that now cover it.   The athletic sports at the "Basin" where all the schools competed, the great rugby games, the cricket matches, the tennis tournaments, what great memories.   Invariably late on Sundays after being granted leave to visit friends and relations, we would always stop at the Fish & Chip shop about a block short of the school and make a leisurely walk to "Monorgan Road", and still be standing behind our chairs when Grace was said.   We certainly could eat, and I can only recall one instance of a food mutiny of sorts taking place, quickly resolved.  

"What were the war years like?" someone asked me at an O.B. get-together at Palmerston North recently.   Well I hope some of the above answers the question. Although aware of it, we were somewhat cocooned I guess.   The food was good and it was a great learning curve especially for the boarders, who had left good comfortable homes, for a somewhat "spartan" life in comparison.  A life that fitted me out rather well I think for the exigencies of living, with standards, high standards, that have remained with me to this day.   My one great regret is that I was only there for two years.