the age of thirteen, I moved to Bedford Upper School and a new boarding house, Kirkman’s, situated about a mile from the main school on the banks of the Ouse. The first thing I saw when I entered my new home was a large board showing the names of all the previous heads of the house, amongst them my father’s against the year 1925.
It was at about this time that, on holiday visits back to Northern Ireland, I started to become more and more aware of the position of Catholics in the Province, who at the time were heavily discriminated against in jobs, housing and almost all aspects of social life. The great annual Twelfth of July triumphalist celebration of the victory of the Protestant William of Orange over the Catholic Stuarts at the Battle of the Boyne often took place in a huge field opposite our house in Comber. As a child, I used to look forward to this as agreat and fascinating spectacle. But now I increasingly found its ceremonies bizarre and its atmosphere ugly. I remember very clearly, from about the age of fourteen, having a most powerful premonition that this could not last, and that violence was coming.
Back at Bedford, however, my first year at my senior boarding school meant that I was required to be a fag for one of the senior boys, or ‘Monitors’. The ‘fag master’ who chose me was someone I had looked up to with something close to hero worship since I first met him, ‘Ram’ Seeger. I later followed him into the Royal Marines, where he won a Military Cross in Borneo. I also followed him into the SBS, where he was (and still is) a legend. He subsequently saw unofficial service in Afghanistan during the war against the Soviet occupation, where he carried out acts of outstanding courage and endurance. He remains one of the most extraordinary men I have ever met. His outstanding gifts of leadership, mental focus and bravery would have better served both him and his country had he lived in a different and earlier age, or perhaps during a time of great war. He asked me to do none of the things normally expected of fags, like making his bed or cleaning his shoes. Instead, I had to join him doing PT in the backyard with a pack full of bricks on my back, or running considerable distances along the banks of the Ouse in large boots and the heaviest clothes we could find. He taught me the techniques of endurance and the importance of physical fitness, alongside that of an active mind.
I greatly enjoyed my time in the Upper School. Not that my academic work was any better, at least to start with. Here is a selection of comments from my early Upper School reports which give the flavour:
On the whole I am not satisfied with his work and progress…. He must try to work a little quicker…. Excessively Irish…. I was glad to see him show such pluck in the House boxing…. He works well but easily gets muddled…. He has some intelligence and with just a little more control over himself and some restraint of his high spirits, he could do quite well…. He has enthusiasm, but not always understanding…. His work is spoiled by carelessness…. Very weak, but need not overly despair [French]…. He is far from being an accomplished linguist [French again], but in his own way he makes a contribution to the class…. Pleasantly argumentative…. Tries hard but finds it difficult.
Sport, however, was a different story. I was in the House rugby team for my age every year and eventually in the School’s First XV. I played in various positions; first hooker, then wing forward, then No. 8 and occasionally in my last years, as I became more fleet of foot, as a wing three-quarter. My rugby, however, was more brawn than skill. Here is what my team Captain wrote in the House yearbook of Christmas 1958.
Ashdown (2nd row). An amazing player, who never seems to run out of energy, even though leading the pack. He was the mainstay of the forwards, shoving like a maniac in the tight, leaping fiendishly in the line-outs and
It was at about this time that, on holiday visits back to Northern Ireland, I started to become more and more aware of the position of Catholics in the Province, who at the time were heavily discriminated against in jobs, housing and almost all aspects of social life. The great annual Twelfth of July triumphalist celebration of the victory of the Protestant William of Orange over the Catholic Stuarts at the Battle of the Boyne often took place in a huge field opposite our house in Comber. As a child, I used to look forward to this as agreat and fascinating spectacle. But now I increasingly found its ceremonies bizarre and its atmosphere ugly. I remember very clearly, from about the age of fourteen, having a most powerful premonition that this could not last, and that violence was coming.
Back at Bedford, however, my first year at my senior boarding school meant that I was required to be a fag for one of the senior boys, or ‘Monitors’. The ‘fag master’ who chose me was someone I had looked up to with something close to hero worship since I first met him, ‘Ram’ Seeger. I later followed him into the Royal Marines, where he won a Military Cross in Borneo. I also followed him into the SBS, where he was (and still is) a legend. He subsequently saw unofficial service in Afghanistan during the war against the Soviet occupation, where he carried out acts of outstanding courage and endurance. He remains one of the most extraordinary men I have ever met. His outstanding gifts of leadership, mental focus and bravery would have better served both him and his country had he lived in a different and earlier age, or perhaps during a time of great war. He asked me to do none of the things normally expected of fags, like making his bed or cleaning his shoes. Instead, I had to join him doing PT in the backyard with a pack full of bricks on my back, or running considerable distances along the banks of the Ouse in large boots and the heaviest clothes we could find. He taught me the techniques of endurance and the importance of physical fitness, alongside that of an active mind.
I greatly enjoyed my time in the Upper School. Not that my academic work was any better, at least to start with. Here is a selection of comments from my early Upper School reports which give the flavour:
On the whole I am not satisfied with his work and progress…. He must try to work a little quicker…. Excessively Irish…. I was glad to see him show such pluck in the House boxing…. He works well but easily gets muddled…. He has some intelligence and with just a little more control over himself and some restraint of his high spirits, he could do quite well…. He has enthusiasm, but not always understanding…. His work is spoiled by carelessness…. Very weak, but need not overly despair [French]…. He is far from being an accomplished linguist [French again], but in his own way he makes a contribution to the class…. Pleasantly argumentative…. Tries hard but finds it difficult.
Sport, however, was a different story. I was in the House rugby team for my age every year and eventually in the School’s First XV. I played in various positions; first hooker, then wing forward, then No. 8 and occasionally in my last years, as I became more fleet of foot, as a wing three-quarter. My rugby, however, was more brawn than skill. Here is what my team Captain wrote in the House yearbook of Christmas 1958.
Ashdown (2nd row). An amazing player, who never seems to run out of energy, even though leading the pack. He was the mainstay of the forwards, shoving like a maniac in the tight, leaping fiendishly in the line-outs and
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