Austen, Beattie, Bickham, Brewer, Carter, Colyer, Davies, Day, Eames, East, Edwards, Edwards, Fessey, Hogarth, Jackson, Jarritt, King, Lamb, Loudon, Mackenzie, Marsden, Marshall, McKenzie…that’s all I’ve got. Sorry, Ross, sorry Saunders, sorry Thomas. I haven’t forgotten you, just where you fitted in. Still, to get two thirds through the register (although didn’t get past M) of 1T from 1967/68 isn’t bad after 56 years.
Which shows how vividly I remember those school years, or at least some things about them. They weren’t, as the cliché goes, the best years of my life – those started later when I met Debbie. But they were pretty good.
When I attended Watford Grammar School for Boys in the late 1960s and early 1970s it was quite old-fashioned, in some good, some quaint and some bad ways. High standards were expected and frequently achieved. School winter sport was rugby and hockey, games for gentlemen, and that ruffians’ diversion football was not encouraged. The headmaster and some of the older teachers wore their academic gowns. There was also corporal punishment – on a regular basis, for some miscreants.
One old fashioned aspect was the outdoor toilets. It didn’t bother me because that had also been the arrangement at my primary school. But in the view of Mr L.K. Turner M.A. outdoor toilets had no place in a modern school.
Mr Turner had been known as Trog for as long as we could remember. Nobody knew how he got the nickname, but somehow it fitted perfectly. I had joined the school in 1967, and I imagined it might have had something to do with popular beat combo The Troggs who had enjoyed a worldwide hit with Wild Thing the previous year. But my older cousin who also attended the school said it had been his nickname almost as soon as he arrived at the school from Bradford Grammar in early 1963, and might have followed him from there.
To settle the matter I asked an open-ended question in a Bradford Facebook memories group: did L.K.Turner have a nickname when he taught at Bradford? Old Bradfordian Michael Murphy was immediately able to enlighten me:
“Trog. I got into trouble when he looked at the front of my exercise book – it should have said’ ‘Trigonometry’. It said, ‘Trogonometry’.”
So the nickname predated his time at Watford, but I still don’t know how it came about – perhaps from the cartoonist using the pen name Trog, who wrote a strip in the Daily Mail called Flook.
You would never have guessed that Turner had attended Leeds Grammar School as a boy: his accent was extremely plummy, a parody of southern poshness. He regarded himself as modern and progressive, but could be inconsistent, and was not above using his fellow masters to administer old-fashioned violence – or sometimes using it himself – to enforce discipline. While I thought him remote, I always felt that he was doing his honest best, and I found him pleasant enough when I returned to visit the school in 1984.
It was probably in about 1968 – but certainly before 15th February 1971 – when the shiny new indoor toilets were opened. It is not recorded whether there was any ceremony to mark the first user. But one boy (or more), saw his opportunity to make a mark. On the very first day, the toilets were vandalised – either by breakage or graffiti. If I ever knew which I’ve forgotten.
Understandably Trog was furious. A school assembly was called in the middle of the day – possibly even replacing a lesson – and we assembled in an atmosphere of freaky holiday. Trog lectured us on standards, expectations, responsibilities, his anger and his disappointment. Then came the sanction: unless the guilty party came forward, every boy in the school would be fined a shilling. That’s right, one full silver shilling. (ok, one full cupro-nickel shilling.)
This strategy seemed unlikely to uncover the culprit. Now that Trog had shown how angry he was, the vandal would need to be brave or stupid to come forward: he could expect the most severe punishment. A one shilling fine in comparison was a let-off. Also – although I lacked the terminology to complain – it was regressive. A shilling was more to an eleven year old than to an older boy who might have a paper round or a Saturday job.
We were immediately struck by a sense of injustice. We hadn’t personally done the damage, and this wouldn’t help find the culprit. Ever the democrat, Trog opened the assembly to comments and questions. Some responded: not habitual troublemakers, but smart, articulate boys who protested the unfairness and likely ineffectiveness of the punishment. The boys’ anger was directed not at the vandal, but at the headmaster.
For a couple of days the school buzzed with the thrill of the drama. A plan circulated to pay the fine in twelve (old) pennies to make it as inconvenient as possible for the school – although of course it would be the poor form masters dealing with it.
Here my narrative fades. I’ve a feeling that the fine was not enforced in the end, leaving us disappointed that the diversion was over, but free, as it were, to spend our pennies. If so I suspect this was because the staff persuaded Trog to calm down, rather than because the guilty party had been identified. We got back to our lessons.
After five and a half or so decades, there may be guys out there who know more about these events better than I do, or who remember them better. Or maybe a man now in his late sixties or early seventies who is ready to take this chance to confess before he is called to meet his maker. It’s a perfect opportunity. Trog can’t hurt you now. And perhaps you owe me a shilling.
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I posted a link to this article on the “We grew up in Watford” Facebook group, which produced many interesting comments. (See my response below summarising them). A former pupil called Richard Gibson wrote this:
“Oh yes! I remember it well. Most of us had not even seen the new loos and didn’t get to for a number of weeks. First was the telling off and the demand that the culprit(s) come forward or be grassed on. Not a peep. So then the scattergun one shilling fine for the whole school (even the lad who was away ill). The ending was sad – Trog shot himself in the foot. Little Jimmy’s mum came in to school – saw Trog and said little Jimmy was a good boy and would never do something like that. Trog paid Jimmy’s shilling and proudly told the whole school he had done so! – no more shillings were forthcoming.”
Assuming Richard’s recollection is accurate it raises another question: had any boys already paid their shilling? And if so, did they get it back? It would add another layer of injustice if the “good” boys were penalised for paying up promptly. I feel sure I would have remembered that detail, so I doubt if it happened that way. But it’s good to know someone called Trog out on the injustice of it, and it sounds like he did try to retreat gracefully.
As to when the event took place, we are no further forward. Paul Smith writes “Must have been prior to 1969, the first year I was there, as I only remember indoor toilets.” Meanwhile Don Sayers writes “I arrived in ’70 and both outside toilets were still in use and the inside ones were yet to be built.” There was certainly a period when both were in operation. But the inside toilets can’t have been installed both before 1969 and after 1970. Take Your Pick, as Michael Miles used to say. Ah yes, I remember it well.
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I found a pointer towards the date which had been quietly sitting on my bookshelf, on page 5 of The Fullerian 1968-1969. It confirms Don Sayers’ recollection above:
The shilling fine places the event clearly before decimalisation on 15th February 1971. So it seems the Great Toilet Outrage probably happened in 1970. Thank you everyone for your recollections.
Ramblings 
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