A merry Whacking Christmas

CHAPTER 7

Halls Naval Academy AKA WNTS.

I don’t remember how I got to HNA, but I was very pleased to be back

with my brother after a year of separation. Christopher seemed changed.

He was in Class 2B when I arrived on 16 December 1936. I was exactly

ten years and five months of age. Christopher was in Seven Company

and I was in Six Company, each company having about forty-five boys

between the ages of eleven and fifteen-and-a-half. I had two days of

schooling before the Christmas break, when I was told I would be in 1A

not the 1B class.The Headmaster had obviously read the letter from Mr

Pointer, my previous headmaster.

Halls Naval Academy was a charity school with a nautical theme run

on militaristic principles. The estate was located in the Suffolk rural

countryside far from the outside world. It was situated on the edge of a

plateau that sloped east to a valley near the river Eastham where the
school farmed the land.

HNA had a population of a large staff and about three hundred

students between eleven and sixteen years of age. The students were

allowed to take two three-week vacations each year during the summer

and at Christmas. All other holiday periods were spent at the school.

Students without guardians never left the school. Students had no access

to the outside world, arbitrary access, or personal rights. Discipline was

strict. Hunger and fear of punishment were constant. Love and affection

were non-existent. All communication to and from the school was

censored. Those boys who never left the school on vacation became

conditioned to their surroundings (like caged birds) and were probably

happier at the school than those of us who had occasional release from

our incarceration.

On the 20 December 1936, having been told by my brother that he was

going home again to Auntie Parker, I raised the roof and said, “I should

go, too!” I was told, “No money, no ticket, no permission. Sorry, you’ll

have to stay”. Like bloody hell, I thought. Then the bugler sounded the

action stations call and the lucky ones – about half the population of the

school – marched to the East Oakville Station.

Two or three hours later, I was on a train that had stopped at a large station
My friend, Ernie Booker and I had no idea where we were going

and must have looked conspicuous.
The ticket bloke and staff at the station locked us up. Soon after,
we were back at HNA. Living in a dark cloud of rejection,
I was totally at odds with that place. I wondered how much more
I would have to suffer.

22 December 1936

My brother had arrived in Chalgrove. Meanwhile, I was confused and in

a state of apathy. Ernie and I were in serious trouble. Having only been at

this place for six days, I was to get six cuts of the cane. Having no one to

turn to for help, I was wretchedly homesick. It was suggested by a few

teachers that because it was so close to Christmas we should be forgiven,

but our Capt. Superintendent replied, “Peace on earth and goodwill to all men applies only on Christmas day.”

The remaining population of the school gathered to witness our

punishment. A box horse for us to bend over was produced, plus the

biggest rattan cane – even bigger than the one at Charlham School. Ernie

went first. It seemed like a bloody execution – minus the knitting hags,

the French National Anthem, and a basket for our heads. Ernie was brave

but white as a sheet after his six, and had to go to the sickbay. I later

learned he had received a testicular injury.

Ernie going first made little difference, as another instructor, ‘Gunner

Martin’ was to be my tormentor. I felt bloody awful. My thin trousers

barely hid the bleeding welts across my buttocks. After the six strokes, I

shouted in agonising pain, “I hope you die, you rotten cruel sod!” and

got number seven. Gunner Martin died during the war about four years

later. I was unmoved.

Christmas in HNA was over. Our total excitement had consisted of

two church parades, an apple, an orange, and cake. Where was Charlie

Dickens? What a pity he missed out on this place.
This school was was strictly Cof E.. The Capt Superintendent

considered to be the cruelest the school had experienced. Years later

I received an Email from his grandson. which reads.

Hello,

Thank you so much for replying so quickly. It really is amazing how the internet helps with these things. My mother (Captain Campbells daughter) was sent off with her mum and twin sister to Boars hill during the war. Captain Campbell divorced my grandmother and I know a lot less about him than my grandmother and her family. I'm beginning to think my mother was so quiet about him because he was such a nasty character.
I am getting the family tree together and I will send you more information as I get it. Its funny that you are from Oxfordshire as that is the part of England that meant most to my mother. She is buried in Berwick Salome (which I think is quite close to Chalgrove) along with her mother. End.

(I Vest visited both graves in 2009 (While visiting the U/K). twenty Min's walk from my former home in Chalgrove.)

I am in an Internet cafe now so I can't write for long but I will get back to you again soon.

This email address is the best to use for me. I use my hot mail account only when I have to leave an email address somewhere where it might get picked up by spam robots.
Thanks very much for all the information you have already sent.

Best regards,

Edward.

Sparing the Rod and spoiling the child was unheard of during my growing years.

VEST ...Back soon.