Stubbington House School '67 '71

A Memory of Stubbington.

Hello Mark Waller,

I came across your illuminating text when looking for information regarding Stubbington House in regard to my memoir, which I am currently writing. It's fascinating to read the other comments from ex-pupils, many of them dovetailing with my own memories. There were also a few facts that I had forgotten about, so it has been a great help in bulking up the relevant information I already have.
 I was incarcerated there from winter term 1967 to summer term 1971, four years of periodic misery, thanks to a handful of teachers and pupils. It came as quite a shock after having spent the previous idyllic two years in Singapore, my dad, John Moore, being posted out there for a Naval position. 
Firstly, let me confirm that I am absolutely no relation to the dread Arthur Moore, who, as many of your contributors stress, was a tyrant and a bully with the foulest of tempers. When I first arrived at the school, I had to convince the others boys there that I had no connection whatsoever with this dire excuse for a teacher/headmaster. And yes, he was everything everyone else has stated. 
 I was also in the class at the time when he ripped through one boy's exercise book with a red biro and threw it across the room, possibly out the open window. I also recall poor beleaguered Kevin Miller running away from the school; he was a lad who seemed to be constantly persecuted by both teachers (Moore especially) and pupils; I always felt quite sorry for him at the time. 
As so much has been already stated about Moore, I'll only reiterate certain facts regarding his fiery reign. Yes, he did pop out and lick his contact lenses, often during breakfast time, which put you off your cornflakes; he did stink of stale tobacco, a pipe protruding from his upper breast pocket much of the time; the dandruff, always present; the uncanny resemblance to Adolf, sans the moustache, and so on and so forth.
I had one good friend there called Chris Jagger (no relation), who, like myself, was a music aficionado, so we had much in common. We were once both in a maths class, being taught at the time by a teacher with the unfortunate name of Miss Hore. Jagger and myself had surreptitiously taken snuff during the lesson, resulting in me at one point sneezing the roof off the place, which infuriated Miss Hore, she instantly sending me to the next door classroom to explain myself to Adolf (as I refer to him), who was taking a Latin class there. He immediately started bellowing at me, tearing me to shreds, spittle flying in all directions, resulting in tears, and I wasn't one for crying easily. I didn't feel quite the same way about Miss Hore after that little escapade.
I always liked Sally Armstrong, the matron, felt on the whole Renton was affable and unthreatening, unlike his bad cop partner, and thought Milroy was an excellent English teacher (the sole subject I excelled at), who also happened to own a Schmeisser MP-40 sub-machine gun, which he was always reluctant to show to the few of us who were interested. Oh, and I also didn't have any issues with Mr. Field who taught Geography, though I found his teaching methods somewhat dull.
 One name that hasn't been mentioned in the other comments on the site, was the assistant matron at the time, Miss De Lupa, a shining beacon amongst this maelstrom of male activity, seventeen years old and a figure of wanton longing for the few of us who were that way inclined. She was a diminutive brunette with a round, smiling face flecked with a few freckles and a tumbledown of shoulder-length, soft, wavy hair; she was undoubtably the sole object of my affection during my stay there. She would wear a regulation uniform of a tight, nylon, pink gingham smock, fashionably short, plus a habitual pair of knee-high black patent boots and honey-colored tights. She was all I needed to take my mind off the slings and arrows of my day-to-day existence and made life bearable during term time, my ‘Ventolin inhaler’ amongst the claustrophobic madness of teachers and pupils. Chris Jagger felt the same way about her as I did, and during those moments when we weren’t chained to a desk or stuck in a dormitory, he and I would seek her out and have frequent, ongoing chit-chats, to which she responded reciprocatively, always friendly and relaxed. She was only five or six years older than us but seemed so much more at the time and became a constant preoccupation for us both. She must have known we were just a pair of hormonally challenged kids chomping at the bit and somewhat obsessed with her, but she was never condescending, perhaps even enjoying the attention. When C.J and I left, we arranged to keep in touch with her by post, though I don’t think any of us put pen to paper, except in our imaginative heads. But she was sweet salvation whilst I was there, and the only person I missed when my four-year sentence came to an end.   
 And yes, I also suffered under the odious French teacher, a sweaty, obese belt and braces man who should have been behind bars. As mentioned by another contributor, he would whack your knuckles with the edge of a ruler if he felt you were misbehaving, something I'm sure he got pleasure from, but if he took a shine to you, it was even worse. I remember one slight, pretty boy in my class whom he
obviously had a thing for, and once during a lesson he stood behind him and casually slid his hand down the front of the lad's jumper for a not so subtle grope.  He wasn't at the school for long thankfully, being given his marching orders after parents had complained about his 'teaching methods'.
Apart from the aforementioned Chris Jagger and Kevin Miller, other boys I remember were Thwaits, the Skinner brothers, Thompson, a farmer's son, Heywood, and a nasty little brat called Andrew Barkman, who made it his raison d'etre to verbally persecute me whenever he could. Heywood I liked, but he had the worst asthma I have ever seen, and when he suffered one his infrequent attacks, he would go from puce to purple, barely able to breathe, his Ventolin inhaler having no effect; I often thought he was going to croak it, and felt truly sorry for him, having a mild case of asthma myself.
I could go on (Rock cakes that could break your teeth, the woods next to St.Mary's girl's school, TOTP every Thursday, arranged fights in the boot room, the sick bay, bamboo bushes here and there which one could eat the shoots from etc. etc.) but this missive has already been too long. 
Other names mentioned I only vaguely recall: Moffat Potts,  Miss McLean (did she ever teach biology?), Mr. Byers (did he teach English or was it RE?). But after that and the aforementioned individuals, my memory stops short.
Anyway, apologies for the length, but I thought it was worth the time to contribute my two pence worth to an intriguing and ongoing tale.

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