In January I did a talk as part of the Thursday lunchtime recital room series. It was entitled ‘Memories from the Archives’ and I talked about a number of memories from Old Scholars. I’ll share the photographs and text from the talk in several parts on the blog. Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, Part 4 here and Part 5 here.
Moving on into the 20th century now, Eric Henry Richardson was at Bootham between 1901 and 1904, during the rebuilding and opening of the new buildings after the fire. He recounts his experiences in the school fire brigade in the 1914 Register. Below are photographs of the fire brigade from 1911, slightly later than Eric’s time, but they give an idea of what the fire brigade looked like.
Bootham School Fire Brigade 1911Bootham School Fire Brigade 1911
“During my captaincy of the Fire Brigade I had the “privilege” of extinguishing an outbreak of fire in No. 2 bedroom. This was caused by the fusion of an electric light wire melting the adjoining gas pipe and igniting the gas under the floor. The thoughtfulness of Stephenson in turning off the gas meter in some mysterious corner of his “hole”, quenched the outbreak discouragingly soon from the Brigade point of view. One of the masters, realising with great presence of mind that some implement was necessary to tear up the boarding and get to the seat of the trouble, rushed downstairs, obtained a pickaxe from Stephenson (who had already turned off the gas), and proceeded, by excited miss-hits, to do considerable damage to both sound floor boards and mantelpiece jambs. With one bucket of water my Brigade extinguished the smouldering boards, but I have always somehow entertained a sneaking feeling that the honours of the day were with Stephenson. This outbreak occurred at 6.55am, just as the boys were dressing. If the wire had fused 10 minutes later when everyone was in the John Bright Library, the consequences must have been disastrous, and Bootham would have had for a second time to rise Phœnix like from her ashes with greater glory still.”.
The programme for the 2015-16 series of Thursday Recital Room events can be found on the school website.
Owen Frederic Goodbody (Bootham 1903-8), Second Lieutenant, Royal Engineers, contracted enteric fever in the Dardanelles and died at Alexandria, October 20th 1915. He was born in Blackrock in 1890.
A correspondent sent the following for the obituary in Bootham magazine (December 1915), which includes notes from O. F. Goodbody’s diary: ‘After leaving school Owen entered Trinity College and took the Aits and Engineering Degrees of Dublin University. He then joined the Engineering Staff of the Great Southern and Western Railway, and was with them for two years, his industry and skill being much appreciated by his fellow-engineers. When the War broke out he realised the nature of the struggle, that his country was fighting not only for its honourable obligation towards Belgium, but for its own existence as a nation and for those ideals of liberty and justice he had learned at school. In no spirit of adventure, therefore, but from a firm conviction that it was the right thing to do, he put himself and his engineering knowledge at the service of his country by asking for and obtaining a commission in the Royal Engineers.
After some months’ training at Chatham and other places in England he was appointed Second Lieutenant in the 72nd Field Company, R.E., attached to the 13th Division, which was ordered to the Dardanelles in June 1915 – After calling at Alexandria the 13th Division went to Lemnos, and here the Engineers stayed for two or three weeks improving the water supply and building piers at Mudros to facilitate landing and embarking of troops and stores.
On the morning of August 5th they left Lemnos for Gallipoli and arrived off Anzac about g.30 p.m., and came under fire immediately on landing. They were guided to their “rest ” camp, and when, they got there lay down where they were and tried to go to sleep. As O.F.G. says in his diary, “to how many this was possible I do not know, as there were bullets flying over our heads with a horrible whistling noise, and the unfamiliar sound of musketry was not a good narcotic. . . . Daylight brought a fusillade of rifle fire and the roar of deep-throated guns, and for us the chance to examine our position. It ‘ seemed’ safe, as everything went over our heads; however, we were enlightened as we sat down to breakfast (tinned sausages); a shell burst over us: one poor fellow went to his Maker and two others were wounded. The tinned sausages were rather like medicine after that.”
Owen seems to have liked his brother officers, all of whom with one exception were Irishmen; so that it was a disappointment to find the company was to be split up. The 1st and 2nd Sections joined the 40th Brigade, and the 3rd and 4th, under Major Wolff and Lieutenants Bradstreet and Goodbody, the 39th Brigade, to form a Corps Reserve.
An attack on the Turkish position was begun the same afternoon, when the gully (Rest Gully), as Owen says in his diary, “became a place which was very much better to be out of, but we had to remain seven hours there. At last our turn came to form up; we were to be the last to leave the gully, and my place was to be at the rear of the column. What hitch occurred I do not know; but, instead of passing a certain point at 11.30 p.m., we could not pass till 2 a.m. next day. I must admit that the delay made me uneasy, as to move in daylight meant that we should be seen and perhaps mowed down by machine-gun fire. However, we got a move on at last and started moving in short spurts of about 200 yards, when there would be more delay; we were moving along the beach. At each stop every man, already dog tired, immediately lay down and was asleep before he was properly stretched on the ground. This was a great trial to me, who was responsible that there was not a gap in our part of the column or any straggling. I used to go to the head of our lot, and as soon as the column in front started to move would run back and waken the sleepers. I was in great fear of sleeping myself also, and of letting them, or those who were not asleep, go off without me. As we were moving along the beach going north from Anzac two destroyers were shelling the Turkish positions, so that the Turkish fire might not interfere with the general British advance. It was still dark, but dawn was imminent, and we were still very much exposed. Some stray bullets came over just to remind us where we were. One of them went through the sleeve of my tunic, but did no harm. I am very glad no men were hit.
“Daylight was now on us, and we were lucky to have got under cover in a dried-up water-course, up which we proceeded about half a mile inland, where we were ordered to dig in and await orders. We took the opportunity to get a little food, biscuits and bully beef, but must not drink. No source of water was known yet, and all the water the men had was in their water bottles.
“.. . September 1st, on.—Life at Gazi Baba might have been very pleasant, but there were many things which often made me wish to be back in the Agyle Dere. Water was very scarce; half a gallon a day was often our ration, in fact nearly always. The place was very much crowded and dirty, and the Turks shelled us without fail twice per day, sometimes three times. . . . Shrapnel once burst over us while making troughs, every man diving for what cover he could get underneath the troughs, the bullets dropping within a few feet of us and burying themselves in the timber. Another unpleasant encounter with a shell was when a bullet (shrapnel) came through an unfinished part of the roof of our dug-out while we were at dinner, smashed an officer’s plate and cup, and buried itself in the ‘table.’ … .
“We began engineering work in real earnest under the Assistant Director of Works, Major Jellicoe. The company were in charge also of the water supply, which made many problems for us, especially the watering of 2,000 odd horses and mules. We built a number of long wooden troughs ; these were adequate enough, but it was quite impossible to get sufficient pumps to keep them filled, as the animals drank a great deal faster than our small pumps were able to deliver. All the water in the first place had to be pumped into tanks out of a tankship ; we also had road making, and the making of a small narrow gauge trolley to supervise.’
“What further problems arose over the water supply, etc., I do not know, as September 8th saw me on board a hospital ship.”
O. F. Goodbody had enteric fever, and was brought to Lemnos, and then changed to another hospital ship for Alexandria, where he was taken to the 21st General Hospital. The disease seemed to run its course normally; the patient appeared to be getting better, even to be convalescent, and was hoping to be allowed home soon for a change, when complications set in which necessitated an operation. The fever, unfortunately, had left him too weak to stand the operation, and he passed quietly away on October 20th, aged nearly 25 years. He played a man’s part; he showed us an example of loyalty to the right and devotion to duty, for which he was willing to give his life. He will be remembered as a gallant Irish gentleman, beloved by everyone who knew him.”
I am hoping that Old Scholars and other readers might be able to fill in some pieces of the story regarding Hungarian refugees at Bootham c.1956-57.
An Old Scholar sent this memory in response to an email about Bootham’s initial response to the Syrian refugee crisis:
“As a pupil in 1956 we were asked to make wooden partitions between beds for the Hungarian refugees. I remember spending long hours in the workshop doing this. One of the Hungarian refugees graduated in medicine with us in Edinburgh.”
I found this reference in Bootham magazine, May 1957:
“The Lodge found a new use when refugees from the top storey of No. 54 were housed there while the floor was made safe. The ability of the floor to move fully six inches vertically when encouraged had apparently been brought to official notice.”
I’ve yet to find any other references in the records from the period, so if anyone can remember anything about refugees at Bootham in the 1950s, please do get in touch (Jenny.Orwin@boothamschool.com).
On 25th September 1915 Frederic Garratt Taylor was killed by a shell in Flanders. He was a member of the Friends Ambulance Unit and was on duty with his ambulance car picking up wounded soldiers. He was 21 years old.
Photograph of F G Taylor in uniform.
Frederic was a pupil at Bootham School in York between 1908 and 1912. He was known as a fast swimmer, who twice helped his bedroom to win the aquatics team race and gained the Bronze Medal of the Royal Lifesaving Society. He also won prizes in the workshop category of the school exhibition for making chessmen and a cycling tent.
F G Taylor
After leaving school he joined Morland & Impey Wholesale Stationers in Birmingham, before joining the Friends Ambulance Unit in 1914, going to Dunkirk on 4th December 1914.
The Commandant wrote from Dunkirk on 27th September: “We have just returned from his graveside in the little cemetery here, a company of over a hundred members, nurses, and officers of the unit who went to pay a last tribute of honour and affection to a comrade whom every one of us loved, one of the brightest, most willing, and cheeriest members of the unit.” The French authorities awarded him the Croix de Guerre.
His friend Lawrence Rowntree wrote this in the school magazine in December 1915: “When I think of Eric Taylor I am always reminded of Peter Pan: he never grew up. In determination, in pluck, in self-reliance, he was a man, as we all knew him in France; in light-heartedness and cheery good spirits, in his readiness to enter into anything that savoured of mischief, and in his enthusiasm in taking up any new employment, amusement or hobby, he was always a boy, without a care in the world.”
With the bee wall planned for school, and bees in the wider news this summer, this story about the capture of a swarm of bees seems timely. Lynne came across it as she was indexing student magazines. It comes from a student magazine called ‘Bits’ and is from the July 1978 edition.
“After lunch on Wednesday, Mark Wakefield was quietly gardening in ’54’ garden, when some bees suddenly seemed to go wild, covering the whole vegetable garden.” Graham Mounsey, Tim Pearson and Mark Wakefield watched as the bees gathered on Tim’s broad beans. Graham took a few photographs, and Mark found a book about bees, and read up on how to catch them. “A veil and gloves were recommended, so a little later Mark was clad in Wellington boots, tracksuit, gloves and a pillowcase for a veil.” Tim gave directions from the wall, as Mark shook the bees into a seed box, and put another box on top. John Gray, the Headmaster, was then told about the capture of the swarm. He lent a hive to keep them in and supervised the transfer of the bees to the hive. “Next year Mark may be selling honey, although whether it is cheaper than John Gray’s remains to be seen”.
In January I did a talk as part of the Thursday lunchtime recital room series. It was entitled ‘Memories from the Archives’ and I talked about a number of memories from Old Scholars. I’ll share the photographs and text from the talk in several parts on the blog. Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here and Part 4 here.
James Edmund Clark (1850-1944; Bootham 1862-67; Master at Bootham 1869-72 and 1875-97)
James Edmund Clark was at Bootham in the 1860s and returned as a Science Master. According to Natural History at Bootham – the Early Years, he was the first graduate to be appointed to the staff and the first person to be appointed specifically to teach science at the school. In an article for ‘Bootham’ magazine in 1903, he talks about the language used, the classroom arrangements, town leave, columns and top-hats.
“Quaker-boys ways were plainer then. ‘Thee’ and ‘thou’ was the universal language, and, except John Ford, masters had to be satisfied with their Christian names. It was ‘Silvanus’ and ‘Alfred’ and ‘Theodore’ and even ‘Fielden’. Well do I remember the light which dawned upon certain untutored minds, when it was suggested that, at public places, like the baths, ‘Thomas please’ would sound politer with the surname sandwiched in.”
Talking about the schoolroom, “One row of desks was under the playground windows, from the ‘altar’ to Silvanus Thompson’s desk. The central desks were in pairs of four or five each, back to back. On the other side was Mr Fryer’s desk, Silvanus Thompson’s serviceable ‘shop’, contained in the drawers of a table, while the junior master’s desk stood under the central window. Near him dwelt his little flock, their lessons frequently going on here with another class at either end. Their only retreat was the ‘junior class-room’ next to the old ‘senior’, and this was not always habitable. For it served, also, as natural history room, without possessing all the conveniences of the latter for the bestowal of refuse matter. The only receptacle, indeed, for such articles was an ominous looking black-ware vessel in the darkest corner, which only too fitly merited its suggestive title of ‘stink-pot’. Moved by that strange but apparently resistless attraction for doing the thing which should not be done, some small boy almost invariably ventured to give it a stir.”
Moving on to town-leave, he says “How altered is ‘town leave’ now! Six keys, later eight, used to hang up inside the library, and twice a day that number of boys might go out. ‘Mrs Gray’s, please’. ‘Thou mayst; not more that twopence’ was the usual formula. Little hope for a juvenile to be one of the six or eight, the eldest coming first.”
James also remembers columns (including the first half a dozen words on the list), and remembers that “My unluckiest day … was the equivalent of fifteen columns. Two of these were for whistling in the passage; three for leaping the railings of the boys’ gardens; ten for aspiring to the Observatory roof.” This would have been the old observatory, rather than the current one in the science block.
He also remembers that “The Half of my arrival witnessed also that of the first top-hat known in Bootham School. As the wearer measured 6 feet 2 inches in his stockings the effect was that of a city set on a hill. The infection caught on, until, before I left, half the school were victims of the unfortunate fashion.”
Austen C. Dent of the Royal Army Medical Corps, Lance Sergeant, was mortally wounded on his 23rd birthday, July 19th 1915, and died the next day. He was laid to rest in the Military Cemetery, Lancashire Landing, Gallipoli.
He was born in 1892 and attended Bootham between 1907 and 1910.
Roderic Clark (B.1897-1900) wrote an obituary in Bootham magazine. Here is the first paragraph:
“Before me as I write lie two postcards. One of the well known Army brand, with its alternative inscriptions all crossed out save only “I am quite well. I have received your p.c. (our Whitsun greeting). Austen C. Dent, Sergt. July 3rd, 1915.” The other a camp group, with good wishes from nineteen of his friends at Matlock I. this year, which had been posted in the camp letterbox, but not collected before the sad news came, for Austen, or “Mole”, as many readers will still think of him, made many friends, and the frank sincerity of his exuberant boyishness awakened a response in many hearts.”
In January I did a talk as part of the Thursday lunchtime recital room series. It was entitled ‘Memories from the Archives’ and I talked about a number of memories from Old Scholars. I’ll share the photographs and text from the talk in several parts on the blog. Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here and Part 3 here.
Joshua Rowntree (1844-1915; Bootham 1856-60)
Joshua Rowntree also attended Bootham at around the same time as Edward R. Allen (see Part 3). His entry in the 1914 Register includes some memories. “I started life at Bootham as a ‘brat’, subject, with eleven others, to a weekly foot washing by “Pea on a Broomstick”, as a tall housemaid with a small head was known amongst us.” We know very little about the non-teaching staff at the school from earlier years – often the only clues you have are brief mentions such as this.
Joshua goes on to talk about what he learned at school: “One thing I learned fairly well – to make fires. We might volunteer for stoking, receiving, I think, 6d. a week in recompense. It was a longish way from No. 2 bedroom to the schoolroom grates on cold, dark mornings, but a boy ought to know how to build up a fire quickly, and I never regretted the work.”
He also mentions games: “It was the pre-scientific period for games. Cricket was rather haphazard, and the junior club often resolved itself into discussions in the high key. Football had not come. Stag a rag was one of the best playground games with the rare exceptions of a big slide in time of frost, and Run-across was naturally enjoyable to a fair sized fellow. Boys who had sisters at the Girls’ school got a good run each week to accomplish their ‘visit’ in the half-hour after breakfast at Castlegate; and in after years in the hour before dinner at the Mount. The latter time was seriously curtailed when Mr. Hill and the old ferryman happened to be at the wrong side of the river with both boats together.”
It wasn’t until 1862 that the first football match was played, and Lendal Bridge wouldn’t open until 1863. As far as I can find out, Stag a rag appears to have been a version of tag.
Hans Frederick Hundt was killed in action, May 25th 1915. He served in the 1/23rd London Regiment. He was born in London in 1894 and attended Bootham between 1908 and 1910.
Mrs. Hundt sent some extracts from her son’s letters to ‘Bootham’ magazine:—
Somewhere in France, March 22nd.
We have moved twice since I last wrote. We had to march about 15 miles over dreadful roads, uneven cobbles, to a small village about 12 miles behind the firing line. We were billeted in a large farm, 38 of us, and had some excitement with the rats.
France, April 2nd.
Have done very well on this most unique birthday (21st). It is one I am not likely to forget in a hurry. Had heaps of parcels and good things. Yesterday we were medically examined after having a glorious shower bath. I passed through all right. We marched four miles, and used the baths for the miners.
France, April 8th, 1915.
We moved again yesterday about 4 miles nearer the firing line, and expect to be in the reserve trenches next week. I am in a large loft over a cowshed, have plenty of straw, and am quite comfortable. Can get plenty of eggs (cooked) at the Farm House, coffee, bread and butter, so am living like a lord.
April 12th.
It is very quiet here, and if it were not for the sound of the firing one would not realise that anything was on. Last night mounted sentry with one of the Regulars, did three spells; it was rather an experience. The German trenches are some 300 yards away, and the whole space between, is a mass of barbed wire entanglements. The fellows we are with are a very decent lot.
France, May 12th. (Last letter received.)
The next night we were relieved and marched back about 5 miles to a very pretty little place where we were billeted in a large hall place. There was a canal running through, so we managed to get a bathe. It was a treat, and we made the most of it. We marched some 6 miles further back yesterday to the same piece we were last before leaving for the trenches. I am in the same billet, and quite comfortable, have plenty of clean straw. Isn’t it dreadful about the Lusitania? They are simply barbarians! We had some of those pipes, through which they pump their poisonous gas, opposite our trenches last time, but am thankful to say they did not use it. We each had a piece of gauze and some bicarbonate of soda handy to dip it into should they have used it. I believe we are going to have twelve days’ rest; I hope so, for we can do with it. Terrific bombardments are going on, and there is no doubt big moves are being made.
The Old Scholars’ Association met for their AGM on Saturday May 22nd 1915. T. Edmund Harvey, chairing the meeting, started off by saying: “If we had been gathering together for a social function I think we should all have felt that it would be better that the Old York Scholars’ Association should not have met at all at such a time, but I think all of us feel, and we are glad to feel, that our annual gathering is something infinitely more than a social function; it is a time of inspiration and of fellowship, where friends meet together to help each other, to share in the sense of comradeship and of unity and to get inspiration from the ideals that have been lit for us in our youth in the two schools. And so all the more because of the great cloud that is upon us do we feel that it is worth while making an effort to be gathered together to feel the strength that this comradeship gives.” He went on to pay tribute to the Old Scholars who were giving service in many different ways: “There are very many who have gone forth to different services : to the wonderful service of the Ambulance Unit, to help the war victims, to what seems much simpler work at home, and there are a great many who have felt it their duty to stick to what is perhaps the hardest task of all, the service which they have been doing or which lies ready to hand where they are and that does not involve any apparent act of great sacrifice, and yet is essential to the true well-being of the country, and is, it may be, the highest fulfilling of duty.”
Ivy Weston then talked about her work with Belgian refugees at Folkestone, where a local War Refugee Committee was formed. She talked about how they fed as many as five thousand people in a day at the harbour, meeting the boats as they arrived.
Florence Barlow talked about the work of the Emergency Committee for the assistance of distressed Germans, Austrians, and Hungarians in Great Britain, and how she had visited two camps on the Isle of Man.
Philip Baker discussed the Friends Ambulance Unit, and the motives which brought the unit together.
T. Edmund Harvey mentioned the Friends War Victims Relief Committee work, including medical, agricultural and other relief work, such as building shelters and temporary housing for the populations of areas affected by the conflict.
A summary from the AGM report in ‘Bootham’ magazine, December 1915. Both Bootham and Mount Old Scholars were at the meeting. Longer excerpts from the accounts of the various types of work done will follow in later posts.
