By Peter Gregory (Scarisbrick Hall 1964–1970) 

 

An Evening Mystery Tour That Changed Everything 

The summer of 1964 was a warm, carefree season. My family was on leave in the UK from Libya, where my father was working, and we were soaking up every moment. Many of my friends in Libya had older siblings attending boarding school in the UK, so the idea that I might one day follow in their footsteps had already been planted. But I thought I had plenty of time before that day came—didn’t I? 

Part of our leave was spent in Blackpool, where the promenade buzzed with life and advertised coach trips to the Lake District and other scenic spots. One evening, my parents decided to take us on an evening “mystery tour,” a popular local pastime. For just 7/6d (a princely 37.5 pence in today’s money), the coach would meander through the beautiful Lancashire countryside, usually stopping at a cozy pub for refreshments. 

I didn’t have a care in the world as we set off on that balmy evening. The coach rumbled through the rolling hills and picturesque villages, and as we crested Parbold Hill, the driver began narrating the sights. Suddenly, he pointed out a grand Gothic building in the distance—Scarisbrick Hall—and casually mentioned that it had recently opened as a boys’ boarding school. 

My heart sank as I glanced at my father, hoping desperately that he hadn’t heard. But no such luck. He was already jotting down the school’s address. 

 

A Visit That Sealed My Fate 

The very next day, we were on a train back to Southport, heading for an interview at Scarisbrick Hall. I still remember the sense of awe as we approached the magnificent building, its towering spires and sprawling grounds unlike anything I’d ever seen. Mr. Oxley, the headmaster, greeted us warmly and gave us a tour. By the time the visit ended, papers were signed, and it was official: I was going to Scarisbrick. 

When we returned to Libya, I completed one final term at school. Then, in January 1965, my adventure began. 

The Journey to Scarisbrick 

I set off alone, flying from Libya to Heathrow before boarding a connecting flight on a British Eagle propeller plane to Liverpool’s Speke Airport. By the time I arrived, it was dark, and the airport felt strangely quiet. As I wandered through the arrivals area, dragging my suitcase behind me, an elderly man approached. 

 

“You must be Gregory,” he said without much ceremony. “I’ve come to take you to school.” 

There were no safeguarding protocols back then—just trust. With some trepidation, I followed him outside to an old, battle-scarred Renault. The journey that followed was unforgettable for all the wrong reasons. 

The teacher (whose name I won’t mention, though many will guess) drove with the kind of abandon that made Libyan traffic—camels and all—seem civilized. We careened through Liverpool’s streets and navigated the dark country roads toward Scarisbrick in what can only be described as a white-knuckle ride. His only words to me during the journey were that he’d be teaching History and Latin. Latin? I had no idea what that even was. 

Settling In and Making Memories 

There were about 32 boarders at Scarisbrick when I arrived, and although the first few days are a bit of a blur, I quickly adapted to the routine. The camaraderie among the boys and the dedication of the teachers made it easy to settle in. 

There were many characters among the staff, each with their own quirks and teaching methods. I’ll never forget one particular Maths teacher who handed us books of log and math tables at the start of term, then passed around a pot of glue and told us to stick down the anti-log pages to “avoid confusion.” Log tables—if you know, you know. And calculators? They were still a thing of the future. 

From Billy Bunter to Hogwarts 

Before arriving at Scarisbrick, my only reference point for boarding school life was the Billy Bunter books I’d read as a child. I imagined Scarisbrick would be just like Greyfriars School, with mischievous escapades and strict headmasters. 

Now, when I drive past Scarisbrick Hall with my grandchildren and point it out, they think it looks like Hogwarts. In truth, it was somewhere in between—a place of learning, adventure, and unforgettable memories. 

Gratitude and Reflection 

Looking back, my five years at Scarisbrick were some of the best of my life. The friendships I formed, the lessons I learned, and the moments of laughter and discovery shaped me in ways I’m still grateful for. 

That said, I’ve never looked at a “mystery tour” the same way again!