I have just been led down memory lane by Martin D.J.Buss! I, too, went to BCJS 1968-72. The uncanny thing about reading his article is that many of the same teachers / Head Master were there when I arrived! I have often thought that there was a lack of interest in the JS yet the Senior School would have been NOTHING without us Junior School graduates!
Inspired by Buss, in the near future, I will write my own memoirs of the BCJS.
One quick one whilst I have a minute: The air-raid shelter was still there in the late 60's and it was the case that when we were in Dorm 2, on the top floor of the main building, one of the dares for the new dorm 2 boys was to go down to the shelter at midnight and bring something back.
Some of my dorm 2 mates were Tim T.P. Smith, Geoff Bailey, Spiro, Simon Bannister (Nephew of Roger, or so he said) A.G.D. Sinclair, Paul Mendoza. Anyway, a couple of us planted some "tuck" from the sweet shop in the air-raid shelter during the day and then recouped these treasures and brought them back to the dorm for all to enjoy as a midnight feast! You might ask why the prefect allowed this to happen. Well, it was the bribe of the tuck being free to him, and a boat-load at that, which enabled him to turn a blind eye as long as we were not caught.
All was honky-dory right through the scoffing of the fruits of our endeavour. However, when the sugary sweets got to our hyperactive brains, we could no longer keep the noise down and thus Mr. Rendall (Apparently a Scottsman) came storming in from his office next door and demanded to know what was going on. No one uttered a word as the snickering slowly died down we could hardly contain ourselves. Muttering something about giving us a good hiding Rendall started to leave. Considering we had ultimately escaped with the whole dare and eaten our bounty to boot, all we had to do was shut up and go to sleep. BUT NO! As the door was about to close, ensuring the dastardly deed was accomplished scot-free (pun intended), Tim Smith blurts out with a full gutteral braun, "Hoots- man!" To which, Rendall flings the door back open, flicks on all the lights, narrows his glare to the general vicinity from which the offensive exclamation came, and blares out, "GIT OUT OF BED IMMEDIATELY, IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU!" Nobody moved an inch. Rendall, sensing that Smith was the one, yanks him out of bed, at the same time taking off one of his size 11 plimpsoles, and whacks him six times.
Neddless to say the snickering ceased and Tim braved the onslaught with nary a tear or wimper.
I remember waking up the next morning to a pillow of melted chocolate that I hadn't dared to eat or move that also smeared my left cheek and hair!