Reunion at Earshill D-Day June 6th 2004

Elatus non Erectus - oh! Earnshill envoi

One could see by the arrival, at least half an hour early, that a group of Old Durlstonians were pretty excited about seeing the school they had left sixty years ago. Excited, too, to see each other after six decades. We’d know what the school looked like but what about ourselves? John Teather had done the sensible thing and printed name badges in 24 point sized letters - that really helped. In the event we seventy year olds looked pretty much the same though if somewhat less erect we were very much elated.

The occasion was planned eighteen months ago to give as many OD’s from the days at Earnshill a chance to see, to reminisce and to wander unashamedly down a memory lane that encompassed the uncertainties and excitements of a grand country house, the war, food and clothing rationing, the freedom of an isolated rural setting and the boyish enthusiasm of Pat Cox and his team to make the best of everything. Twenty-four of us were not disappointed.

The 6 June was, of course, the 60 anniversary of D-Day and we had all watched in the morning on television the magnificent ceremonies at Arromanches and Omaha Beach. The day was thus appropriate for us, too young to have taken part in the war, to recall what we were doing at that time.
 

Our host at Earnshill, a special delight, was none other than Richard, the six year old boy we so well remembered from 1944, the son of Mrs Combe whose husband, killed at Dunkirk, had owned the house. The celebration of British valour that day was thus very appropriate.
Wives and children were also welcome and David Wansey and John Teather, with their wives, made the party up to First Pimms on the lawn in front of the house, a meeting with Richard Combe and his wife Bridgett, and a chance for the usual salutations, recognitions, forgetfulness, historical catch-ups and ageing anecdotes. Perhaps we should have submitted our CVs beforehand. Cameras clicked and the latest digital thingummies flashed, as they always seem to even in bright Sunshine. And bright it was. Perfect weather such as we had remembered all the summer days had been so long ago.

Richard Combe took us on a tour of the lower garden, the walled garden, the flower garden, the topiary and down to the huge cedar tree by the stream. Memory flooded back. We’d ‘Dug For Victory’ here and planted potatoes, we’d killed small birds in the trees with our catapults, we’d fished though never caught much, we’d searched that very hawthorn for caterpillars that looked so like brown twigs that only sharp young eyes would spot them (might have been the Brindled Beauty moth Lycia hirtaria - we knew all the names, of course), we’d bounced the precious topiary into shapeless scrub, we’d fought fierce battles for possession of the massive woodpile. Nature and Richard’s nurture had returned the lower garden to pristine glory.

The lawn at the north front of the house has now been planted with forty apple trees - scrumping would have been the order of the day in 1944. The stately oak trees in the park seemed mostly to be there and a quick recce was made to see if our houses still existed within these aged trunks. Alas the narrow holes we had clambered through were closed and severe remedial work would be necessary...

And so into the house. In the warm afternoon sunshine Earnshill, mellow red brick and pale stone, looked exactly as we had all remembered. Androcles and the Lion being performed by the front staircase, the ‘Corps’ marching up and down to drum beat with visiting General looking on approvingly, the cricket pitch now with long grass, stables where we did our carpentry, changed for games and, amazingly, one loose box where the remains of our one and only shower were still visible. The Art School had reverted to a store for garden equipment but one somehow expected Shelly to emerge in corduroys and sandals and nail up his signboard over the door.

Probably the greatest pleasure was to see the rooms where we had studied, slept, eaten, prayed and caused throughout the mayhem that still lives in the memory. Twenty or more beds in an elegant dining room and drawing room now seemed quite difficult to picture. Boys doing the circuit of jumps from bed to bed around the room, picking up the slop pail at the end and swing it round their heads, this was hard now to imagine. The huge family portraits we instantly recognised though in our time they had a protective covering of wire netting. Cox almost appeared from his study and Ellis quietly ascended the oak staircase. Every one had their own special memories and shared them with the rest.

Our hosts had arranged a superb tea - a school boy dream of neat triangles enclosing the thinnest slices of cucumber, strawberries massed on top of tiny pieces of pastry and, most welcome of all, a chocolate cake to die for. Old Durlstonians and their wives sat contentedly in groups chatting about the day’s happy outcome.

Finally a group photograph to fix the event in all our memories. Like the old soldiers at the D-Day celebrations, sixty years is probably going back far enough and thus we were both grateful and satisfied that this splendid visit had taken place.

Oh! and one final tale. In an upstairs bedroom, overlooking the park was a name and a date scratched into the stone at the window. ‘A A W DIX 1944’ it read. The perpetrator and Earnshill’s owner exchanged glances - all was forgiven after sixty years.

Sir Rowland Whitehead
10th June 2004

Who was there?

Simon Bond; Stephen Bond; Bill & Daphne Canning; Richard Combe and Mrs Combe; Robert & Prudence Cooper; James  Croft; Christopher Croft; John & Mrs Joanne Dickenson; Nicholas Dickenson; Piers Dickenson - Age 10; J H G and Mrs V R Dix; Anthony & Mrs E Dix; JPH Goodison; N P  Goodison; T Hembrow; Richard & Penelope Hoare; Robin & Jennifer Lalonde; Mike & Janette Lushington; Andrew & Monica Salmon; John Sutcliffe; Neil Sutcliffe; Ann Sutcliffe; John & Suzanne Teather; Peter Tennant; Harry Tennant; Martin Tremlett; David & Tessa Wansey; Sir Rowland & Lady Whitehead; Hon Philippa Hamilton; K Wolley Dod and Jane Wolley Dod.