BLUE COAT TALES

RIPPING YARNS OF DAYS GONE BY!

This page features true stories of Blue Coat life over the years. If you were there, as a pupil or teacher, and would like to share one of your stories on this page, please contact me.

The first story was sent to me by an ex-pupil who, for obvious reasons, wishes to remain anonymous. All I can tell you is that it took place between 1977 and 1984, after I left the school.

CAULFIELD ON THE RUN

When Mr Caulfield ran the Tuck Shop he used to collar the first non-prefect passing and send him down to the staff room to collect his tea during morning break. One individual in my year, who shall remain nameless, got his hands on some phnelphthaline laxative capsules from Spain (not licensed over here - they're too strong!) He picked a day when we were finishing early so there could be a staff meeting. Mr Caulfield was supposed to be in the meeting all afternoon. The lad made sure he was picked for "tea duty" and popped a number (!) of capsules' contents in the pot. We hung around a bit to see how fast Mr Caulfield could run! Nothing was said by us, but I'm pretty sure that he and the culprit had serious words the next day.

The next story was sent to me by J D C Jones, now safely out of danger of retribution in Pocahontas, Arkansas, USA. He passed through the school twenty years before me.

FIFTY YEARS AGO

The Blue Coat in the 50's probably had the harshest discipline in the city. Mr G G Watcyn, the headmaster, could certainly wield his cane. Three strokes on each hand were normal, and it brought up huge weals and numbed the fingers. The effect of this was to make us crafty little sods - we knew lots of ways not to get caught.

Dr. Fisher was the music teacher. Music in those days consisted of singing Victorian songs. Dr. Fisher was stone deaf - even with his hearing aid, he couldn't hear much. We used to make up our own words to the songs and he never knew until Mr Unwin (science teacher) came in the back way to Shirley Hall and caught us singing profanity! You could tell he was almost p***ing himself laughing, and had to go out for a few minutes to recover, before coming back with a cane.

The organ in Shirley Hall had, at some time in its life, been a hand-pumped instrument. We were investigating this when we found the switch to the electric fan. So, being safety-minded and very mischevious, we switched it off. Next morning at assembly Dr. Fisher played for about a minute before he realised it, and everyone except the teachers was rolling about laughing. Mr Watcyn gave the whole school a lecture, and said that if the culprits did not own up that day, the whole school would be punished. Needless to say, nobody volunteered until half a dozen sixth-formers threatened to beat the cr*p out of us - our fault for bragging. We got caned on the backside for that one. It really hurt!

The lad who sent me the next tale has fled even further - to Queensland, Australia. Alex Copeland was a border from 1943 to 1948 - for part of this time the school was evacuated to Beaumaris, Anglesey, due to the Second World War, when large areas of Liverpool were bombed. Alex is currently writing a book about his time at the Blue Coat School and has a page on this website.

SIXTY YEARS AGO

Tommy Hughes and I were in the long covered way in North Wales, me with a broom knocking down apples from the espaliered apple trees and Tommy picking them up behind. Along came Mr Crebbin in the opposite direction - we were caught out. He invited us to join him in his study and gave me the choice of six of the best on the hands or the backside. I decided to face my accuser and received six of the best on the hands. He said, "There, that didn't hurt did it, Copeland?" I, of course, replied "No, Sir!" So he said, "Bend over," and gave me six hearty whacks on the rear. We deserved it.

Mr Unwin returned from his war as an officer in the Air Force and I believe he became Deputy Head later on - a well-liked and respected teacher. I have many other memories of my time in North Wales and back in Liverpool, but you will have to wait for me to complete my book.

The following two stories are told in my book "Return to the Blue Coat". They both happened in 1974, when I was in Form 3P, with Mr Caulfield as Form Master.

THE BOARD ROOM DOOR

One Friday afternoon George Mason was first to enter the form room for registration. Mr Caulfield was waiting and greeted him with “The ‘eadmaster wants ter see yer straight away, Mason lad!” Terrified that he might be in trouble, and racking his brains to try and remember what crime he may have committed, George headed slowly upstairs, only to find that the whole form were following him.

Thirty of us stood in a large semi-circle facing the headmaster. Apparently, the previous afternoon someone had scratched an obscenity into the paint on the Board Room door. As we had been in Room 44 that afternoon, our form were prime suspects. Mr Arnold-Craft told us in his refined tones what the obscenity was. “Fack orf!” he exclaimed. A stifled titter ran through the form. As he repeated it several times boys were shaking in silent mirth. Tears ran down a few cheeks and the odd suppressed choke or gasp was heard as some boys pretended to blow their noses. The tension was almost unbearable.

Finally he finished his speech and told us to go to our lessons. There was a stampede for the door, then thirty boys collapsed in hysterical laughter on the corridor outside!

DON'T MENTION THE WAR!

Towards the end of summer term 1974, when I was in Form 3P, I noticed a dip in the ground on the West Front. The lawn mower had revealed a piece of brick poking through the surface. I was aware that air raid shelters from World War 2 were under the West Front, and guessed that the brick may be part of a ventilation shaft. Lying on my stomach, surrounded by a curious group of boys, I started attempting to dig the brick out with a knife and fork "borrowed" from the Dining Hall. So intent was I on my work, and my commentary to the crowd, that I failed to notice they had all fled as a prefect approached. I was ordered to write the customary two-page essay about "The Inside of a Ping-Pong Ball."

Passing the headmaster, Mr Arnold-Craft, in the Shirley Hall corridor the following week, he stopped me and asked, "What do you know about shelters, Salmon?" Puzzled for a moment, I asked him if he meant bus shelters! He exploded, demanding to know if I had pinched the cutlery specially for my archaeological expedition. I replied that finding the cutlery near the West Front had been my inspiration to dig. A look of despair invaded his stern features and he said, "Go away, boy - you're obviously mad!"

Thirty-one years later, in 2005, I attended the School Summer Fair and attempted to re-create the scene of my dig, while George Mason took a photograph (below). Unfortunately, the present headmaster, "Sandy" Tittershill, spotted me and demanded to know what I was doing. ("Sorry, Sir! It won't happen again!")