Photographed circa 1940

 

FOND MEMORIES OF THE BOURNE SCHOOL

FOR BAD LADS
 

by Rex Needle
 

A FUNERAL in Lincoln earlier this month has brought back memories of a Bourne institution which existed sixty years ago where lads who had broken the law were sent for punishment until they had mended their ways.

Approved schools, sometimes known as Home Office schools, were established in Britain during the early part of the 20th century for the training and rehabilitation of young offenders found guilty of serious crimes by the local courts or deemed to be beyond parental control. Children who were in need of care and protection or had persistently played truant from school were also liable to be committed and they provided training in engineering, agriculture, gardening and other trades in the hope that the youngsters would find suitable employment and lead an honest and blameless life once they had been discharged.

The Hereward Approved School opened in 1940 and catered for senior boys aged from 15 to 18. There were originally 31 lads on the roll but the total eventually rose to 104. It took over the old labour camp which consisted of an oval complex containing around twenty huts on the very edge of Bourne Wood, twelve of them for accommodation and the others used as a dining room, library and recreation room, clinic, offices and staff quarters, all connected by footpaths while the field to the north of the camp, now in the vicinity of Poplar Crescent, was used as a sports ground and the complex was known simply as the Hereward School.

Among those who were sent there at the age of 15 was Walter Unsworth after being sentenced to three years by the juvenile court at King’s Lynn for stealing three oranges. “We walked from the station to the school and I must admit to some trepidation“, he remembered later. “I had heard some pretty horrific stories about approved schools and on that day in 1947 I believed them all. Quite a surprise awaited me though after we turned into the long drive leading to the school through the gate and saw it for the first time, a wide, open space of lawns and flower beds surrounded by single story wooden buildings, but there was an almost uncanny calm and quiet about the place. After all, there were 80 or 90 teenage boys lurking around somewhere although I found out later that most were at work or in the schoolroom.”

Walter died last month, aged 77, and among his papers was a long letter to his children describing his time there and the effect it had on his later life. “We were not locked up and there were no fences to keep us in“, he wrote, “but we also had to attend school lessons according to our educational level.”

The boys were also expected to take up at least one of the vocational subjects on offer such as building, bricklaying, metalwork, carpentry or gardening and one of the part time staff during this period was Charles Sharpe, a local man who had won the Victoria Cross during the First World War. He taught gardening and physical training and by example, he also acted as an inspiration for many of the youngsters who had come from broken homes and who regarded him as a role model.

“We would be paid each week according to how we performed at work and behaved ourselves“, said Walter. “The money was always given as credit to spend in the school shop. If we failed to obey any of the rules, we would be punished accordingly, from losing privileges to the ultimate punishment of getting the cane. These privileges included such treats as picture leave four times a month, which meant a visit to the Tudor Cinema in town, which we called the Flea Pit, town leave of one hour on Sundays after evening church services at one of the local churches, a necessary attendance unless you were an atheist. This extra hour enabled us walk around town and not return immediately to school, and although it was in a crocodile fashion, we might on occasions, be lucky enough to speak to some of the local girls. I also used to go to the Methodist Church where after the service, the organist would play for us and one of the young ladies from the choir would sing. It was here that I first learned to love good music that has remained in my memory to the present day.”

Walter went on to live a successful life but always retained fond memories of Hereward School. “I enjoyed my stay there“, he said. “This may sound strange but we were given lots of trust and taught to be self-reliant.”

When he left Bourne in 1950, he enlisted in the army and spent the next 23 years serving round the world, married and had a family. “I never put a foot wrong after leaving the school“, he said, “not even a parking offence. The only bad thing that I attribute to being there is that I started smoking and finally gave it up after 55 years. They were strict times but happy ones and I have never regretted a moment.”

Walter’s funeral was held on March 4th and he had left instructions for his choice of music to be played at the service which he had remembered from his days in Bourne, Handel’s Largo which he first heard in the Methodist Church in Abbey Road and The Dream of Olwyn, theme music from the successful 1947 film While I Live which he saw at the Tudor Cinema in North Street.

In the summer of 2003, Walter had contacted me through the Bourne web site and when he told me of his experiences, I persuaded him to write them down and added his memories to my history of the school. But he never mentioned this to his family because his daughter, Christine, has emailed me to say: “We knew nothing about my father’s time at the Hereward School but in the document he left he said it had changed his life completely.”

NOTE: This article was published by The Local newspaper on Friday 19th March 2010.

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