A note for the reader: At the time described in this account, Scarisbrick Hall School was a boarding school. It welcomed pupils from all corners of the world and was home to generations of boarders before later becoming a day-only school.
1969 was when everything changed.
From 1967 I was one of the expatriate kids at Kamenza primary school, in Chililabombwe, Zambia, happily running around barefoot in my spare time, mixing and learning with all races and competing together with them on sports days. It was a wonderful life, but schooling there was almost non-existant beyond the age of 11 so the family began to look at boarding school options in Rhodesia (as it was), South Africa, and the UK.
To me the UK was the odd one out; a place about which I had surprisingly limited memories – mainly of rain, and cold. It didn’t compare well with the sunny lifestyle I had become used to.
The UK it was then, and a few different schools were visited. I think it was a foregone conclusion that my parents would choose Scarisbrick Hall School because if it’s proximity to relatives in Wigan but I now think my parents were guided.
I remember being mesmerised by everything on my first day. The boarding routine, new friends, a school system I didn’t understand, strange accents, and the cold. It was so cold.
And I was homesick. Such a shock for an 11year old who had never been away from home. The loneliness was icy cold too.
But gradually I fitted in. Friendships developed: Simon Campbell, Mike Sargent, Mick Perret, Trevor Carruthers, and others. Then the girls came in our third year – although there had always been a token presence of these strange creatures.
And yes we had all the St Trinians – type adventures with midnight feasts, practical jokes, escaping dangerously down rainwater pipes to take the boat out into the lake at night, etc etc etc. Many memories I couldn’t possibly reveal in public – but I might if you buy me a pint. There was a lot of laughter.
The boarders fellowship was a welcoming place with warm, genuine prople. Mr Geoff Charrett gave countless hours of his own time to encourage us and make us feel welcome. He was a remarkable man and an excellent father figure . I discovered faith there. It wasn’t strange. It was a homely faith, though not one my own family shared – at the time.
End of term trips home to Zambia were always an adventure, and didn’t always go to plan! At least family and friends were waiting there in the sun, and my dread of coming back to school felt like a looming death sentence. Then a day later, on arriving back, I was reunited with friends who had become more like family now. Finding out which room we were ‘billeted’ in for the new term was greeted with mixed reactions!
It was becoming home and although some resident teachers were frightening, others like Mr Freak, Mr Pickersgill, and Val Wright oozed warmth and kindness. I hope I wasn’t too cheeky to them.
By the time we were 6th formers, we knew we were growing up and enjoyed our time together. It really was now a family in all but name.
I remember well the day we all left in 1976. It was the end of a good chapter, where I discovered faith, and a wider family and a wider perspective. While I welcomed the next chapter, it was daunting too.
Scarisbrick Hall School was an exceptional preparation for life, and I am grateful for my time there. It was a great privilege.
Watch the film ‘Dead Poets Society’. So many of those memorable ‘poetic’ legends of those Scarisbrick days have passed on now – some surprisingly young, but they still whisper in my mind ‘Carpe Diem’.
Ralph Hilton, Head Boy, Class of ‘76
