In the early 1950s Britain was in a deep economic depression.
My father had his own economic depression but still gallantly chose to send his only son to boarding school.
The phrase used now is culture shock. Back then it was just a shock!!
Indulged by three elder sisters and a doting mother I was sent away to prep school.
And not just any old prep school but the most miserable prep school in England, where my father had himself spent several miserable years.
My abiding memory of my first term is having my head and school books thrust down a lavatory by a couple of grinning oiks
Shortly after this, I was bending over for 3 strokes of the headmaster’s whippiest cane because I could provide no satisfactory answer for having dripping wet school books.
Mr Pearce was my housemaster and one of the few married teachers in the school.
