Aspen House                     Part Two: Reminiscences - 1                      by Patrick Noakes

I dearly loved and will always cherish my days at Aspen House, and wondering where I might begin here, I've settled for academic progress. I was seven-going-on-eight when I went there, and apparently about as backward as you could be. I say, "apparently," because speaking with a psychotherapist friend I once mentioned how extremely dense I'd been. She assured me I'd never been dense in my life. But I knew nothing then, that's for sure, and what the school gave me, overnight it seems, was the ability to read and write

The reason for this spurt was the appearance, for one year only, of a rather strange teacher, someone who called himself Major Sadler. I still have his Christmas Card: To Patrick, from Major Sadler, Christmas 1949 He had flowing moustaches, wore a military-style dark blue blazer with shiny brass buttons, had a confident, easy manner, and was a pleasure to be taught by. He not only knew how to teach children, he could also make them laugh. Under Major Sadler, from being a class dunce I very quickly became top speller, along with another boy, Joe Picardo. When he was replaced by Mr Cullen, also a lovely teacher, I was invited to provide a story, plus a lino-cut, for the school magazine he founded.

Academic progress was probably never going to be outstanding at such a school, especially for a boy so careless and empty-headed as I was. But what Aspen House provided will not be found on any curriculum. It was a school where there could be no bullies, and there were none. It was the perfect environment for a boy like George Chreighton, so poorly when he came that saying "boo!" might make him cry, to gather up his losses and become a real boy again. Here naughty Brian Brewer could in secret scratch his name on a tiny melon, only for teachers and pupils to watch and enjoy the joke as the fruit, and his name along with it, ballooned to a massive size. When you were leaving, if you were his pupil, Mr Perkins, the wonderful Welshman who sat in Class One, would walk the school paths with you. His leave-taking talk with me is one of my treasures. He made the parting meaningful with advice, and with interest in how I might go on from there.