More Boarding House Days

Having been woken by the first bell from a cold night’s sleep on cold, steel beds, and inadequate blankets, we grab a towel and fly down the dark stairs to snatch a quick shower before the water turns frigid. Someone who’s job it is to light the old heater has once again forgotten his duty. He’ll be in trouble later. We quickly dry ourselves, get dressed, and head out the door before the “older boys” who like to sleep longer discover that we’ve taken all the hot water – or the little available. But we know from the past they don’t forgive or forget. Later we will be punished. But for now, our duty is to stand in a line outside the dining room and await inspection by the house master, Mr Trewin, or, as I call him, Hitler. When Hitler finally arrives, he surveys our motley crew from a distance with a scowl and proceeds to stalk backwards and forwards along the line checking that each boy has prepared himself correctly for the day ahead. If he detects a slovenly tie, a loose shoe-lace or a twisted collar, he dispatches the culprit to the dormitory to attend to the discrepancy. Having weeded out the unworthy, the rest of us are allowed to shuffle into the dining-room and stand behind a chair. Hitler comes in, rattles off grace, and we take our seats. Invariably, porridge is served – or what masquerades as porridge – a glutenous paste, lumpy and unappetising. We try to mask the taste with milk and loads of sugar. Each of us is allowed one glass of milk and we become expert at making it last to the end of the meal. Having somehow eaten the porridge, we are allowed one slice of toast, often cold, often hard, and guaranteed to put one off scorched bread for ever – although I have to admit that I still like toast – probably I am proving to myself that toast can be palatable after all. To accompany the toast, there is butter in the form of small balls, plus a choice of golden syrup or plum jam. Never anything else. More exotic additions such as marmalade and honey are unheard of – mainly because they are unavailable in bulk. We like the butter balls because when Hitler is distracted, we use our knives to flick them up to the ceiling where they stay stuck for several days before descending onto the unwary heads of diners. Hitler counts the number of butter balls on the ceiling from time to time and becomes very angry when there is a marked increase in their numbers.

Dinner in the evening follows much the same pattern except that porridge is replaced by overcooked roast beef, dry lambs fry, and soapy shepherds’ pie. It is essential that every morsel is consumed. Woe be he who leaves any food on his plate. After dinner, we file into an adjacent common room for prayers conducted by our far from pious housemaster. There is a reading from the Bible, prayers, and finally the dreaded inquisition. As the last amen completes the ecclesiastical matters, everyone awaits the impending doom ahead. Hitler begins his speech innocuously – somewhat like his namesake – then launches into a tirade of abuse directed toward the boy or boys who have been caught disobeying the rules of the boarding house. To add flavour to his rant, he includes lashings of sarcasm, encouraging the other boys to laugh at the misfortunes of the condemned. Punishment is then pronounced. Fortunately it is not to be “drawn and quartered”. Generally it’s an additional two or three hours “prep”. “Prep” comes after prayers when we do our homework in another classroom presided over once again by our housemaster. Usually, we stay there for about an hour or so, then proceed to bed. Hitler leaves at the same time. The “criminals” though must stay on until they are excused. One night, no-one came to let them go and they spent the night sleeping on the floor.