Boarding School Beginnings: Memories of Tor

I’ve been busy over the past few months working on a new project: my memoir, which spans the 80‑plus years that Wyke Champflower has been my home. Writing my life story has been an unexpectedly reflective experience, giving me the chance to revisit the people and places that shaped me. One of the most influential was Tor School in Chilkwell Street, Glastonbury, where I was a boarder from the age of ten.

I was never particularly academic, but once I overcame the initial homesickness, the school suited me well enough. Even so, I missed life on the farm terribly. I would sit at my desk gazing out of the classroom window, watching the weather change and wondering what Jim was doing back home. Had they started haymaking yet? What was happening in Ivy’s dairy? I longed to be there with my brother, part of the day‑to‑day rhythm of the farm.

The food at school wasn’t awful, but it certainly wasn’t Mum’s home cooking. I’ll never forget the first time we were served spaghetti and tomato sauce ladled out of large catering tins. I’d never seen pasta before, I thought it looked like worms and wasn’t at all convinced it was meant to be eaten. Pasta was still very much an Italian 'thing' and hadn’t yet found its place in English farmhouse kitchens.

When I first arrived at Tor School, cheese wasn’t served at all. Cheese and butter were still rationed until 1954, so they remained in short supply. This worked in my favour later on, as I would return from the school holidays with proper farmhouse cheese from home. My early trading instincts kicked in, and before long I had both the masters and the other boys queuing up to buy cheese from Wyke.

Most of the masters weren’t trained teachers, but graduates who were deemed suitably educated to teach. Many were musicians too. In the evenings they would play guitars, and we’d sing along. Music was something else I missed from home, so those moments meant a lot.

I especially admired Mr Hollingworth, the Head Teacher. He had been to Oxford and entertained us with endless stories from his student days; it seemed he had done everything. Above all, he was a stickler for courtesy. He constantly reminded us to be respectful of others, a lesson I still hold dear today. In life, and certainly in work and business, mutual respect and understanding count for a great deal.

Our school caps were an essential part of our uniform, and Mr Hollingworth insisted we wore them whenever we went outdoors. Walking into town, we were expected to raise our caps to anyone we knew. Our shoes were leather lace‑ups, and we weren’t allowed out for a walk without first polishing them to a high shine.

I wouldn’t have chosen boarding school for myself, but looking back, I can see that my parents made the right decision. The structure suited me perfectly and prepared me well for working life.

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Of course, there are many more memories from my schoolboy days... stories that I’ve shared in full in my memoir, which will soon be available to read in print.