Recollections of the school in the 1930s

Early in 1935, as my eleventh birthday approached, my parents were giving serious thought to my future education. At that time I was attending St Anne’s School, Ancoats, where the headmaster was the much-respected William O’Dea.

My father very carefully filled in the form that required the names of three schools in order of preference, and he wrote down his choice, namely, St Bede’s, Xaverian and lastly St Gregory’s. The first two educational centres were well known and long established but St Gregory’s was something of an unknown quantity, then in its twelfth year of existence. The entrance test was duly taken at St Gregory’s and was presided over by a teacher whom I recognised from S.V.P. meetings to which I had been taken by my father. He was Ted Corney.

I think my mother and father were very disappointed when I did not reach the standard required to get to either St Bede’s or Xaverian, but they never once reproached me, then or in after years. And so it came that in later August 1935 I entered that awe-inspiring, yet drab doorway facing Ardwick Green Park. I wore all the accoutrements befitting a new boy, but before many weeks had passed my [metal] cap badge became a lost item, and my new and stiff leather satchel was still rather newish in appearance. The first two or three months at a new school are not looked on with any nostalgia, for it was a question of survival and readjusting to a strange environment. One was fair game to the older boys and the medieval practice of ducking was something to avoid if at all possible. In an effort to steer clear from this sadistic violation of one’s human rights, I had my dinner out of school, either at nearby fish-and-chip shops or in the open air by eating chips in the street. Not a practice to recommend but, nevertheless, there is a certain flavour associated with chips on paper.

Looking back, I regret not taking my place in the school’s dining area because I missed being one of the vast coterie of admirers of Mrs Wilson, who, together with her husband [Sam], took care of the school. Due to moving away from the centre of things, I never knew “Dinah”, and as a consequence could never claim recognition in after years. Old Gregorians more qualified than I will testify to the sterling characters of the Wilsons. They were much loved and respected by staff and pupils during their long association with St Gregory’s. The dictionary says a caretaker is one who takes care of an unoccupied building. If that is so, the Wilsons were caretakers outside school-hours, but at other times were taking care of generations of pupils and a succession of teaching staff, which extended far beyond the basic job description, to quote modern management parlance. May they rest in peace.

Before many weeks had passed a new interest occupied our lunch-hours. The nearby New Manchester Hippodrome, familiarly known as the Ardwick Empire, offered a glimpse of another world. For a short period a group of some ten to twenty boys from St Gregory’s and nearby Ardwick Central would congregate around the stage-door much to the annoyance of the stage-door keeper. He would leave his seat of omnipotence and scatter us to all points of the compass. As with most things, for the majority it was a nine-day wonder, and there were just three of us, namely, Bill McNamee, Ken Worrall and myself. It is with much sadness that I realise I am the sole survivor of that trio. Bill died of wounds having taken part in the Normandy landing of 1944. Ken died at the end of the [second world] war. We were eventually accepted by the stage-door keeper who became quite a pal and advised us whether or not any of the stars were “in residence”.

We kept up the practice of collecting autographs throughout the four years and, with experience, became selective as to the weeks we should go. Some of the stars were very temperamental and we made a mental note of their idiosyncrasies. Albert Sandler, the violinist, sitting in an open-topped car, shooed us away as though we had the plague, and Tommy Handley, the future star of ITMA (It’s That Man Again), was also very abrupt with us. On the other hand, Nellie Wallace, that great music-hall comedienne, was goodness itself and walked with the three of us along Hyde Road chatting away merrily. The names of the famous and the not-so-famous spring to mind. Ted Ray, Tollefson and his Accordion Band, Chili Bouchier, who was rather glamorous, Dante the Magician and Jasper Maskelyne, the latter’s rival in the magic business, and Frank Formby, the brother of the more famous George. There were others and to list them would read like a music-hall Who’s Who; but it was a pleasant interlude during one’s boyhood, and I only regret swopping my first autograph book for a pile of American comics.

The school had a long tradition of sporting prowess and the playground provided an unsponsored opportunity for soccer trials. From time to time I joined in, but my inclusion was merely to make the numbers up and at no time was it a threat to the regular members of the school’s soccer teams. For better or for worse, athletic pursuits were not for me, and even when the minor sports and trials were held at Swinton Park, I suppose my participation in the races was to come in last, and thus give a moral boost to the others. Nevertheless, it is true to say we all basked in the reflected glory of the school’s successes on the football field.

On the occasion of the school winning the coveted Daily Dispatch Shield, the victorious team entered the school yard via the rear entrance on a coal cart. It was a momentous occasion, with the headmaster [Mr Holmes] and his staff paying homage to the victors, and the boys giving resounding cheers with the enthusiasm of the chorus from H.M.S. Pinafore. This success entitled the team to enter the county competition and they met St Elizabeth’s, Litherland, on [Manchester] United’s ground and won five-nil. The second-round tie, against St Mary’s, Horwich, was lost two-nil.

On one occasion, Johnny “Nipper” Cusick, the Manchester boxer and past pupil, visited the school and everyone clamoured around him as he walked in the school yard. A contemporary of Jackie Brown and Johnny King, he was one of the famous sporting personalities to come from St Gregory’s. Our physical training instructor at the school was a mountain of a man by the name of Norman Fitchett. He was a former amateur boxer, of whom I was to learn later was a perfectionist. 

But my own enthusiasm for the gymnasium was dilute to say the least, and I would beguile the art master to keep me back from attending the last lesson on a Wednesday afternoon in the gym. Perhaps it is true to say the art room was the only place where my talents were given full rein. Drawing and painting were the best subjects of which I was capable and Mr Eddie Hanlon, and later Mr Bill Hannon, appeared to encourage this talent. But not always did they encourage my getting out of P.T. 

Mr Rocca, who was to succeed Wilfrid Holmes as headmaster of the school [in 1951], was the music master and we attended in the old hall for our music lessons. There would be dutiful renderings of the traditional airs beloved by music masters, such as Bonnie Dundee and Widecombe Fair, which, incidentally, included reference to Mr Danny Whealing and was sung with great gusto. The hall, which would later be broken up into small classrooms, was the centre of the school’s dominance. At one end was the altar and at the other the stage. The annual Christmas party and concert allowed the boys a little latitude of freedom and the teaching staff were seen to have human traits. The past pupils always took part in the concert, which included a dramatic one-act play.

Ambrose Rocca moved upstairs to take over Jack Lovelady’s subjects when the latter left to become a headmaster. During the interim period Mr Holmes took us for English and for me it was the only time in my life when the works of Shakespeare were made interesting. But when Ambrose finally handed over the baton to Mr Harry O’Brien and came to teach us shorthand, we rather thought it was ourselves teaching him, and not vice-versa. It seemed incongruous to our immature minds that a music teacher could have an understanding of Pitman.

Our first two years in learning the rudiments of English were in the loving care of “Tusker” Waldron. How we enjoyed hearing him read to us the escapades of one William Brown, a boy of perpetual mischief, from the fertile mind of Richmal Crompton. The highlight of his weekly lesson was the story reading from Just William and other books in that series.

So the four years of schooling drew to their inevitable conclusion and, in the summer of 1939, those of us due to leave received our certificates from Dean Charles Dunleavey, parish priest of St Augustine’s, York Street. Not for us was the awe-inspiring environment of the Free Trade Hall, with acclamation from proud parents and friends. The certificates were nevertheless handed over with due deference by the Dean from the stage in the old hall. I cannot recall his words of advice as we went one by one to receive this piece of paper that gave evidence of four years’ education at St Gregory’s Central School. No doubt the Dean offered some very sound advice, which alas is more often lost on those to whom it is directed.

We left the school by the same door we had entered in 1935. Outside an ice-cream cart offered a tempting combination of chocolate flake and ice-cream, known to us as a 99. Leaving Ardwick Green some of us made our way towards Piccadilly. Little did we then realise that a war was to change the way of things for us all, and before its end many Old Gregorians would lose their lives. Even the revered gentleman who had a short time before handed over our certificates was to have his beautiful church ripped apart in the blitz, one of his curates killed, and his own health shattered so much as to lead to his own lamented death. Fortuitously the future was unknown as I made my way home to Droylsden.

By September the country was at war with Germany, and I commenced work as an apprentice fitter at a textile engineers in Ancoats where my father worked as a grinder, and where my grandfather had worked before him.

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