From the Editorial by G. J. Larcombe: I would like to see more boys join the Recorder Club. Learning to play the recorder is without doubt the easiest way of learning music, an achievement which pays dividends in later life. Making music with other people is a most enjoyable activity, and even alone many pleasant hours can be spent listening to or making music.

From the Headmaster’s Review by C. F. W. Hicks: The musical activities of the year have proved most successful. The performance of the Peasant’s Cantata arranged in conjunction with the Girls’ School was an outstanding success and was appreciated by three very large audiences.

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Contribution List – Click on items shown as links to jump to the entry

Slums by A. Palmer
Printing by A. Robins
Winter Sports In Switzerland by J. Rawlings
The North Yorkshire Moors Hike, by A. Weller
Mayfield School Camp, Isle Of Wight by G. Bantin
Homework by C. Parkhurst
The End Of Term by A. Weller
A Country Town On Market Day by C. Reynoldson
The River Bank by A. Coulson
Traffic Congestion by M. Neale
The Examination Room by P. Lund
Burglar by D. Neal
An Unexplored Mine by David Barnes

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Printing by A. Robins

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The North Yorkshire Moors Hike, 1963 by A. Weller
Early on Thursday morning on the first day of the summer holiday, seventeen boys and three masters set off by train to the North York Moors. We arrived at Darlington after a long journey from Kings Cross, and changed trains for Middlesborough. Here we made a further change, and finally reached Castleton, a village nestling amongst the moors. From here we walked about three miles, some of the time through rain (this was the only occasion when it rained during the whole of the time we were in Yorkshire), to Westerdale Youth Hostel, where we stayed for four nights while walking on the moors.
We walked about fifteen miles a day, leaving the hostel at about ten o’clock in the morning and returning at about five p.m.
On the Monday and Tuesday nights we stayed at the Saltburn-by-the-Sea Youth Hostel. We had Tuesday free, so we spent the day swimming in the sea, looking round Saltburn, and in the evening, playing table tennis and other games in the hostel.
We spent Wednesday night at the Whitby Youth Hostel, which is at the top of 199 gruelling steps leading to the abbey, overlooking the harbour. After arriving in at Whitby we walked along the cliff tops to Robin Hood’s Bay, a quaint little town almost spilling down into the sea.
One of the rules of the Youth Hostels Association is that all youth hostellers must do their share of hostel duties, so we all played our part. During our week youth hosteling, we washed and wiped up after meals, we layed the tables for the next meal, we swept some of the hostel floors, and we made the sandwiches for the next days lunch.
The holiday all too soon came to an end, and after a last look round Whitby, we boarded the train and arrived back in Ilford on Thursday evening.

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Homework by C. Parkhurst
I often hate my homework;
The English is a teaser;
For now and then we have to watch
Will Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.
Science is no better,
I really loathe revision,
As I so very often find
No time for Television
My Art is sometimes boring
Though done with so much care;
I must, I have no option,
My teacher is a scare!
My Maths are worst of all,
I turn them out non-stop.
Sometimes I wish that Parr, Book Two,
Would really go to Pot!
I know I’m not a poet,
As you can surely see;
But oh, I wish I’d never heard
Of the exam called G.C.E.

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The Examination Room by P. Lund
The, large dreary room which housed so many battles is once again ready for war, war between questions and brains. The old clock at the end of the room proclaims to empty desks that there are twelve minutes to go before the battle begins. On each desk is a clean sheet of blotting paper, two sheets of writing paper and the initials of the person who sat the previous examination. Each desk is placed well away from its neighbours to prevent cheating.
As the hands of the old clock creep on, the doors at the end of the room crash open and in swarms an army of students armed with pen, ruler, pencil and rubber. The army splits up and advances to its battle stations. In the front of the room, a teacher calls for silence, and as the hum dies away, he begins to give a short talk. Advice, warnings and threats are fired at the students, who look as innocent as new born babies. He then gives out the question papers, which are eyed suspiciously as though they might contain some lethal trap. The minute hand reaches the top of its circle and the battle begins.
All goes well until suddenly a muttered, dark word announces some tragic mistake. Silence reigns over the room, the only sounds being the scratch of pen nibs and the occasional rustle of paper. After a while many students become bored and attention wanders. It is only with an effort that their glances out of the window at the warm sunlight are brought back to the examination papers.
Half an hour ticks slowly away, and another follows, even more slowly. As time is nearly up pens move more and more quickly. Glances at the clock become more frequent. Suddenly, the words rap sharply out, ‘Pens down!’ The battle is over. Some have won, others have lost.

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