Below is a collection tales recounted from my time spent at Quantock. These stories have been organized by Year spent at Quantock, and I hope that at least a few of these will be worth the read. At the end of each section are a few links to other stories that I have written and posted on the Quantock MSN community. The following is far from perfect but what the hey ....
Intro:
To my mind, Quantock School was the Wild West / (Wild-Westcountry ?) of education and growing up - an island in the hills, founded in the 70’s and trapped in time.
To me, Quany-life was defined by a labyrinth of School Rules (though none were ever posted) which were subject to interpretation and alteration at whim by the arbiters of justice namely Mr. Phil - and the Head to a lesser extent.
These rules were essentially a box whose ever shifting sides governed our every movement and actions, defining the outer bounds of our lives. However within these boarders there was a total guidance vacuum, in which all things could happen and frequently did �?this was the space in which the pupils made and maintained their own code, and this ‘flexibility' is what made the school such a great adventure.
I think that if you ask most ex-Quantock School inmate they will tell you it was one of best times of there lives (and in places the worst). What ever you think about your time at Quantock, I think what the late David Peaster said on many occasions - “You simply do not make friends like you do at Quantock�?- was simply correct. It is impossible to realize how well you really get to know someone when you spend all your waking (and sleeping) hours in the presence of the same people with no other meaningful contact with the "grown people". You learned your values the hard way, if you steal or lie, the people around would find you out in pretty short order - and then you were made to feel your wrong! Any inconsistencies in your character were soon found, and then ironed out.
The school in its essence was about character, people tested your mettle, and if they decided that you could take a little well aimed abuse (especially at what they suspected to be your emotional bits) then you were a solid friend - a strange concept - but probably a sound one! On a day-to-day basis there was nowhere to run, no one to turn to apart from your friends, you either stood up for yourself or your perished. It all sounds a little harsh, but in many ways the School was a harsh place �?simply put, you looked after your mates and they you, and hence strong friendships made. There was certainly little or no parental-like guidance and most people just made it up as they went along, frequently following a steep learning curve - especially if your misadventure happened to cross a thin but arbitrary line drawn by Mr Phil.
First Year (1985-6):
Blue Dorm: Mark Gibbon, Jamie Cummings, Stewart McKinley, Chris White, Robert Alcock, Jamie Brooks, John Jennings, Phil Muir, Myself, Duncan Roger.
Yellow Dorm (3rd Term): Mark Gibbon, Stewart McKinley, Chalky White, Myself, John Harding, Michael Moffett, Mark Ollis, Neil Walsh, Lebanese Guy ?
At Quantock I was mostly know as “Blakey�?given that my last name is Blake, but I was also called (unacceptably) “Nigger�?or “Nigs�?(“Afro�?also figured strongly). This ‘nick-name�?arose under dubious circumstances and stuck.
The reason I bring this up - is that to me - the following tale sums up Quantock School in many ways. At Quantock you were often dealt unfair cards and it all came down to how you played them.
A rather boisterous fellow (people in my Year can probably guess), upon learning that his new bunkmate was from Africa drew the complex conclusion that he (i.e. me) must be black, and exclaimed “what a nigger!�?- Once the confusion was settled my dubious nickname was born.
Later that night I earned a second key Quantock character facet. Highly over stimulated with my newfound freedoms, I was playing the tradition game of ‘Prefect Baiting�? However, I had clearly overestimated the tolerance of the ‘Year Bully�?who decided to give me a clout. To the surprise of my dorm mates, the ‘new boy�?didn’t burst into tears and demand to see his mummy. Later that same week the Year Bully, unsatisfied by his earlier efforts, decided to try and intimidate me afresh - and I took more blows without crying out in pain. From this point (and after some more ‘hardman�?displays along these lines) I became know as the “Blakey the boy who could take all pain�? In fact this was not such a bad reputation, as most people thought it a rather mute point to bully someone who could “stand any punishment�?- on the other hand there was always those who were rather keen to test my fabled ability. On one occasion Olu Jinadu and 2 co-conspirators dragged me spread eagle into a metal scaffolding pole, in what was the Little Gym (no euphemism intended)! Overall I received about the same amount of pain and beatings as everyone else, but usually in more concentrated bouts.
Mostly I remember being incredibly cold every night, spending a disproportional amount time huddled on storage heaters against the advice Mrs Proctor who warned us of the plight of piles if we persisted in this practice. Clearly there were the daily dorm inspections by the Prefect on duty and or Mr Phil �?i.e. before being allowed down to breakfast in the order we had attained the required levels of ‘swept floor�?(anyone remember the handy loose floor board in Blue Dorm ?) and of ‘shinny shoes�?�?I’m sure you all know the drill �?
When it came to bathing - I think we had scheduled showers about twice a week and had to run the gauntlet of the Head's liberally applied "bell-flucks" (if you don’t know what I’m talking about �?you’re a better person for not knowing). The Head set himself up as a sort of Robin Hood figure, levying shampoo-tax from bathers that pasted his tub-station, so as to donate to those that were without. Strangely every tenth person or so had to sweep the water into the wholly insufficient drain to avoid the shower area overflowing. Every pupil that took part in the “bender-showers�?must remember the joy (and the jockeying) that occurred so as to get a "good shower" i.e. one with more that three pathetic dribbles of water coming out of it. We were all subject to the �? minute rule�? where the Head ran a conveyer-belt system in the showers, where every 2 minutes a pupil was ejected to make room for the next participant. This resulted in a shower that never lasted more 10 minutes and this was barely enough time to soap-up and rinse �?especially if you got a crap shower! The other thing about showering at this age at Quantock - incredibly - it was all but optional, so many a pupils would go through quite a bathing drought!
Some might remember a Junior Wing wide pillow-fight, between two major factions ‘The Ninjas�?(identifiable by a dressing gown cord tied round the noggin) and ‘The Mercenaries�? However there was a small faction of 20 or so (to which I subscribed) ‘The Neutrals�?who fought the faction present in the least numbers at the time. This bout of pillow pugilism resulted in the confiscation of these pillows, which nearly filled “Playboy Dorm�? The eventual release of the contraband pillows sparked further commotion as people tried to ‘up-grade�?pillows in the confusion - a good bludgeoning pillow was often not the best for sleeping on.
At one point the people in my Year took it upon themselves to climbing up the Junior Wing’s rather lofty corridors by bracing theirs arms and legs against the walls and slowly ascending crab style. Safety precautions were not neglected, with a layer pillows being deployed on the ‘linoleum�?floor below. This caper ended when Mrs Proctor came onto the Junior Wing. Kyle Windsphere, Nick Russell and myself currently aloft watched as Mrs P stopped, examined the curious layer of pillows, paused and then craned her head upward and did not seem too surprised to see 3 of us roosting quietly near the roof. She screamed something along the lines of “get down from there you brainless fools�? resulting in us nearly releasing our grips and hence putting our safely equipment to a threefold test.
I also remember getting �? of the best�?from the Head. Ian Newbold (the year below me) decided to take me (the New Boy) on a covert tour of the school. We ended up in the old abandoned shed, just over the low wall by Matrons fishponds. Newbold then started bashing the dilapidated building with a sizable plank - the ruckus subsequently lead to our capture by Matron. Neil assured me that he would confess to the crime solely, and thus clear my good name. However, at the moment of truth (when confronted by the Head brandishing the stick) Newbold remained silent, and we both received equal strokes, and were ordered to sweep the old drive of it’s bounteous foot high layer of leaves. 4 hours later upon completion of our task, the Head appeared and offered us payment for our post-autumnal work. To add insult to actually physical injury, Ian reminded the Head of “our�?crime and so we remained pained as well as penniless (probably for the best actually).
About this time I got the reputation for being willing to eat anything, from whole bars of soap to boot polish and for drinking shampoo to tadpoles! Certainly makes me kinda worry nowadays I must admit!
Also about this time Mark Gibbon started training Starsky (the Head’s current large German Shepard) to hunt Jubs. Yes you can all blame Mark Gibbon for Starksky’s malicious nature �?you heard it here! Mark’s training regime consisted of slapping Starsky on the nose, running off yelping and faining a limp (the only thing missing was a pork-chop attached to Mark’s arse). It doesn’t take an expert to realize that this stimulated Starsky intrinsic wolfin instincts �?resulting in Starsky chasing after him nipping at his heels. From this point onward Starsky became ever more vicious!!! All must remember queuing outside the Head’s office for paper, knowing that you were gonna have to face a hound baying 3 inches from your face - yep I say it again it is all Mark Gibbon’s Fault!
One of the most enjoyable things that I participated in at Quantock was drama with Mr Yates. We had to devise plays in about 10 minutes and then each group presented their work to the class - Duncan Roger, Paul Galley and myself were a tight unit in this department. Anyone remember Mr Yates�?“Nail Game�?where 6 inch iron nails were used as currency - you bough and sold clues written on paper, with the aim of deducing a well known phrase - you could try and guess the answer at any time, but it cost you 3 nails a guess - the prize was 20 nails for a correct answer. The group with the most nails at the end of the session won the whole game. In typical Quantock fashion, people started to make forgery clues which were sold to the opposition.
Link to Stories on QS-MSN Site:
Cross-Country B-trail (from QT)<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
Slug Bug Beatings (from QC1)