Submitted by RichardTozer - OB 1959

In 1952, with an eye to my future, my father put my name down to sit the entrance exams for three old-established and respected Bristol boys schools: QEH, (his own alma mater), Cathedral School, and Bristol Grammar School. I was accepted by Bristol Grammar School. and started there as an eleven-year-old. Dad was to pay my fees to attend that very reputable school for the next seven years. I was confused that the class that one joined for the first year at a secondary school was called the third form.And at BGS there were three: 3A, 3B, and 3C. I found myself in 3C, which I guessed at the time was for the boys with the lowest scores in the entrance exam. That was probably right,but all three streams studied the same subjects and I expect had the same teachers.

It was a quantum change from primary school. The mathematics we studied was not just 'times tables ', and there were new subjects like Geography, Science, French, and Latin to contend with. We had different teachers ('masters') for each subject. They addressed us by our surnames, and we called them 'Sir' (although we had nicknames for many of them!)

There must have been some re-streaming based on our performance and aptitude in that first year because there were changes in my syllabus the following year. To my relief I was no longer expected to learn Latin, but it was replaced by a new subject: History. And science became three separate subjects - Physics, Chemistry and Biology.

Many schoolchildren remember a particular teacher that they admired and respected. I encountered mine in my very first week at BGS, when he marched into 3C’s classroom, greeted us with a forceful 'Bonjour', then pointed to the door he had just passed through and - looking at us meaningfully - said 'La Porte! ' Next he strode to the window, spread his arms as if greeting it and, turning to his stunned audience of eleven and twelve year-old boys, carefully enunciated the words 'La Fenêtre' Then it was the turn of Le Mur (with a vowel sound we had never in our lives heard before) and ‘le tableau noir'. Next this extraordinary individual returned to each of those four objects in turn, indicating that we should repeat their names in chorus as he named them.

That was my introduction to the French language, and to the energetic master who taught it at all levels. His name was Eric Dehn, whose powerful personality and sense of humour made him popular with pupils and staff alike. That same week I learned that he was to be my house-master too. 

Eric Dehn was a very active member of the English-Speaking Union and, as a talented and popular public speaker himself, twice travelled on speaking tours to the United States on ESU scholarships. He visited New Zealand in 1967, where he found my name in the Auckland phone directory and visited my home.

I made a number of friends in that first year at secondary school. All of them in my class, and two who were destined to become lifelong friends.

One was Malcolm Seath, who I’d known slightly at primary school. Perhaps it was inevitable that we would become pals, because he lived in the next street, less than five minutes from our house. Malcolm was physically strong and excelled at sport. By the time he was sixteen, he was playing rugby for the school’s First XV, and when he left BGS, held the school record for both discus and shot put.

He and I were to remain close and loyal friends until his death in 2011. Our career paths were very different, but both involved extensive travel. When we happened to both be in England at the same time we would meet up, sometimes visiting old haunts. On one occasion we even called on our former economics teacher, 'Tug ' Dyson, who was long retired by then. During Malcolm’s spell living in Vanuatu, (one of several foreign postings) he, his wife Christobel,and their two daughters made two visits to New Zealand, staying with us in Auckland, and at our house on Waiheke Island.

The other lifetime friend that I met as an eleven year-old at Bristol Grammar School was Mike Tucker. I am glad to say that as I write this, Mike is still in excellent health and still living in Bristol. At age sixteen Mike and I shared an adventure that we remember well to this day. We hitch-hiked to John o’Groats in the extreme north-east of Scotland, then back to Bristol. A journey close to 650 miles (1,040 km.) each way.

It might flesh out the picture of that first year at BGS if I mention a few other boys in that class. One was Dave Priestly. I’ve had no contact with him since we left school, but he warrants a mention because when we were fifteen, he shared another adventure with me. 

We cycled to Cornwall and back on a four day Easter weekend.

Among my other classmates in that first year at secondary school were two boys whose names begin with W: Wren and Wedlock. I don’t think I ever knew their first names. They liked to pretend that they were aliens from another planet, and for a short time they called me 'Rezot ' so that I could be part of their little extraterrestrial clique. I think it was the same two boys who started a competition within the class to see who could hold their breath the longest. There were times that you could look around the classroom during a lesson and see a boy squirming and going red in the face. I myself achieved a 'personal best ' of three minutes during one of 'Chips ' Rendall’s geography lessons. 

That last paragraph is evidence enough that I was not an attentive pupil in my first year at BGS! And I stayed that way for the next three years 

As one of the oldest schools in Britain, BGS seemed to have retained some of the traditions and quirks of its earlier days. The uniform was a grey jacket, trousers and shirt, the monotony relieved by a tie and schoolboy cap in the school’s blue and gold colours. Only sixth-formers could wear long trousers. Even when there was ice on the playground, younger boys went to school in shorts. By tradition the head boy was allowed to grow a moustache.

We attended school six days a week, although on Tuesdays and Saturdays, only for the morning. Morning assembly was held in the 'Great Hall'. We would sit in rows clutching little blue hymn books. Our schoolmasters would face us from elevated and ornately carved seats evenly spaced along both sides of the lengthy hall, keeping an eye out for any whispered conversations - or boys who’d forgotten their hymn books. The headmaster (John Garret during my time) would preside over assemblies, and on Saturdays would often introduce a guest speaker. We were privileged to be addressed one Saturday by the poet and broadcaster, Sir John Betjeman, who went on to become one of Britain’s most popular Poets Laureate, and on another occasion by Sir Peter Hall who was directing plays at the Shakespeare Memorial theatre at Stratford-upon-Avon at that time, and soon afterwards founded the Royal Shakespeare Company. 

Boys who wanted to could have a two-course lunch in that same Great Hall, although for some archaic reason the meal was called dinner. A school prefect would say grace in Latin at the start of the meal. We were seated according to the House we belonged to, and as time went by I became a Dehn’s House 'Table Prefect '. (What an honour!)

The school is probably unique in Britain in that the motto emblazoned on its very fine shield, was intended as a witticism. 'Ex SpinisUvas' looks very fine to those who don’t know Latin, and a little odd to those who do, because it means 'Out of Thorns come Grapes'. Only when you know that the school was founded by two brothers named Thorne does the meaning start to become clear.

I was not a good scholar in my first few years at BGS. There were too many other things going on in my life: friends, cycling, holidays in Germany, and Redland Green Church youth club. Maybe it was the headmaster’s comment at the bottom of a school report saying that 'the traffic light has turned to green', but for whatever reason, at age fifteen, I started to take school studies seriously. It was just in time. In the summer of 1958, just before my 16th birthday, I sat eight subjects at 'GCE O-Level ' – and passed seven of them! The first I heard of my success was at a summer youth camp at Exmouth, when I received a congratulatory telegram from my housemaster Eric Dehn. 

On the strength of those O-Level passes I was able to progress to the sixth form (Lower and Upper). I spent two more full years at BGS, studying Economics, History and Geography and sat 'A-Level ' exams for those subjects in the summer of 1960. I passed all three. 

But BGS hadn’t quite finished with me. I’d been advised that a foreign language qualification would buttress my three A-Levels when applying for admission to universities. So in September 1960, two months after my eighteenth birthday, I went back to school for just one more term - and learned enough French to pass that subject at O-Level. (I’d dropped the subject in my 'inattentive years ', probably after a poor performance in the fourth form).

I applied to two or three universities and was accepted by one: Swansea University. But by the time I received their acceptance letter I was an officer cadet at Sandhurst. And one reason for that brings me to another aspect of my time at BGS: one that deserves a mention.

Bristol Grammar School was listed as a 'Public Day School ' and like other public schools after WWI, It had a Combined Cadet Force (CCF). It was certainly not compulsory, but I was keen to join, and did so at age fifteen. It meant giving up Tuesday afternoons to military training. I wore my army battle dress uniform on Tuesdays and made good progress through the ranks to become a sergeant in my final year at BGS, I drilled my squad of younger boys on the asphalt area in front of the school’s main building on Tyndalls Road and, in a vacant classroom, taught them what they needed to know to pass the Army Proficiency Certificate (APC) test, Level 1. I was proud when all of my class passed! I became quite a good shot in the school’s indoor rifle range (we fired .22 rifles) and was entitled to wear a marksman’s badge on the sleeve of my battledress blouse. We had exciting escape and evasion exercises in the nearby countryside, and one year went to a training camp in Essex, where we were taught by real soldiers.

There is no question that my experience in the CCF influenced my decision to apply for admission to Sandhurst, although at age eighteen, it was an uninformed decision, made with little consideration of what a professional army career might be like.

By 1966 I was settled in New Zealand: a married man with a steady job. Late that year a friend suggested that I enrol at the University of Auckland to gain a tertiary qualification. I took his advice and the following year embarked on a course, choosing subjects for which lecture times did not clash with my working hours.

I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree early in 1973. It had taken me six years to achieve this 'liberal arts' qualification. Most school-leavers would aim to complete a BA in half that time, but I had a full-time job and, just as important, two baby sons who were born while I was a university student. 

To say that university broadened my mind would be an understatement. It shaped my views on many things, and led to lasting interests in science, languages and literature.

Richard Tozer (left) with Ian Rolling (right) in New Zealand 2024