Mary Anderson in London (opposite St Pancras station) on the way home
01 Pamela Rockett - 02 Barbara Pagdin - 03 Stephanie Hutchinson - 04 Rita Burrell - 05 Kay Clark
Photo 02 01 Margaret Evans 02 Miss Thorold
01 Barbara Pagdin - 02 Ann Derbyshire - 03 Pamela Rockett - 04 Stephanie Hutchinson - 05 Rita Burrell
06 Kay Clark - 07 Neil Howard - 08 XXX - 09 Barry Clarke
Photo 02b 01 Mary Anderson
Photo 03 Mr and Mrs Sleigh
01 Pamela Rockett - 02 Mary Savage - 03 Barbara Pagdin - 04 Kay Clark - 05 Rita Burrell
06 Stephanie Hutchinson
Photo 04 Mary Anderson
Photo 04a Mary Anderson
Photo 04b Ann Derbyshire
01 Malcolm "Rennie" Reynolds - 02 Tony Parr - 03 Barry "Bas" Clarke
04 Michael "Ginners" Earnshaw - 05 John "Fuzz" Fairless
01 Brian Grice - 02 XXX - 03 Dave Revill
04 Keith Bennett - 05 Fred Ford - Pete Butler
Identity Card required for travel in Europe
01 Philip "Multi" Wright - 02 Tony Parr - 03 Barry Clarke - 04 Michael Earnshaw - 05 John Fairless
01 Kay Clark - 02 Ann Breakwell - 03 Rita Burrell - 04 Ann Derbyshire - 05 Barbara Pagdin
01 Philip Wright - 02 Mary Anderson - 03 Martin Weston - 04 Keith Howard - 05 John Fairless
01 Ann Derbyshire - 02 Mary Anderson - 03 John Fairless - 04 Martin Weston - 05 Keith Howard
01 Mary Anderson - 02 Valerie Duckworth - 03 Ann Derbyshire
01 Keith Bennett - 02 XXX - 03 Fred Ford
Photo 09 A view from Goldiwil
Photo 10 Goldiwil village church
01 Kay Clark - 02 Pamela Rockett - 03 Rita Burrell - 04 Stephanie Hutchinson - 05 Barbara Pagdin
01 Dave Revill - 02 Pete Butler - 03 Brian Grice
Photo 12 The chalet that was home for the six boys who could not be accommodated in the hotel
01 Rita Burrell - 02 Barbara Pagdin - 03 Pamela Rockett - 04 Neil Howard - 05 Kay Clark
06 Stephanie Hutchinson - 07 Philip Wright
01 Malcolm "Rennie" Reynolds - 02 Margaret Evans
03 Keith Howard - 04 Mary Anderson - 05 Michael Earnshaw
Photo 14 Lunch at Lake Oeschinensee which was reached by chair lift from Kandersteg
01 Brian Grice - 02 John Moss - 03 Peter Robinson - Above Grindlewald
01 Jacqueline Pearce - 02 Mary Savage - 03 Kay Clark - 04 Barbara Miatt - 05 Ann Breakwell
06 Rita Burrell - 07 Janet Whysall - 08 Jean Ledge
09 Susan Wright
Photo 16 Hotel Waldpark overlooking Lake Thun
01 Ann Derbyshire - 02 Stephanie Hutchison - 03 Kay Clark- 04 Neil Howard
05 Elaine Fletcher - 06 Barry Clarke
01 Martin Weston - 02 Ann Debyshire - 03 Valerie Duckworth - 04 Mary Savage
05 Rita Burrell - 06 Kay Clark - 07 Pamela Rockett - 08 Neil Howard
09 Elaine Fletcher - 10 Barry Clarke - 11 Tony Parr
01 Stephanie Hutchison - 02 Tony Parr - 03 Mary Savage
04 Valerie Duckworth - 05 Neil Howard - 06 Kay Clark - 07 Tony Parr
Back Row:- 01 Keith Howard - 02 Martin Weston - 03 Barry Clarke - 04 Mary Anderson
Front Row:- 05 John Fairless - 06 Tony Parr - 07 Elaine Fletcher
08 Valerie Duckworth - 09 Ann Derbyshire
01 Hilda Bradley - 02 Keith Howard - 03 Margaret Evans - 04 Mary Anderson
36 pupils were on this trailer !!
01 John Fairless - 02 Mary Anderson
01 Ann Derbyshire - 02 Mary Anderson
01 Barbara Pagdin - 02 Stephanie Hutchinson - 03 Pamela Rockett - 04 Rita Burrell - 05 Kay Clark
Photo 24 01 Rita Burrell
Photo 25 01 Barry Clarke - 02 Martin Weston - 03 Keith HowardO
Owners of the chalet - Mother, daughter and father
Owners of the chalet - Mother, father and daughter
01 Martin Weston - 02 Barry Clark - 03 Tony Parr - 04 Michael Earnshaw - 5 Keith Howard
Photo 29 Hotel Waldpark overlooking Lake Thun
Photo 30 Breakfast on Basle station on the way there
01 Barry Clark - 02 Tony Parr - 03 Martin Weston - 04 Keith Howard
01 Brian Grice - 02 Fred Ford - 03 Keith Bennett - 04 Pete Butler
05 - Phil Dover - 06 Dave Revill
01 Tony Parr - 02 Mike Earnshaw - 03 Brian Grice - 04 Dave Revill
01 Tony Parr - 02 Barry Clark
01 Kay Clark - 02 Stephanie Hutchinson - 03 Ann Coombs - 04 Rita Burrell
05 Pamela Rockett
Brochure and Information Pack
of pupils on the Switzerland trip
Switzerland, the land of mountains and men shooting apples off their sons' heads with crossbows, lay before me. For months now we had paid our instalments, and I often wondered whether I was going to achieve anything with this apparent extravagance. July, then, had seemed decades away, yet now, quite suddenly, it was here.
However, a glance at the party waiting outside the Midland Station would have given the impression that we were about to be taken on a conducted tour of a pre-Roman burial ground. It was raining, and our expression reflected the atmosphere around us.
Having commandeered the train, the party settled down for the three-and-a-half-hour journey to London, and from London we went on to Folkestone. Despite a slight incident when one member of the party lost his landing ticket - the penalty for which seemed to be an eternal journey between Folkestone and Boulogne - we eventually set foot, safely on French soil. We were hustled through Customs to the accompaniment of wild gesticulations and shouts from small, moustached porters-and on the waiting train.
As we had been warned, this stage of the journey was the worst, for nine and a half hours in any train is not a pleasant experience. Sleep was impossible; the designer of the coaches seemed to have been making an economy drive when he built ours, for the seats - reminding one of the Victorian era of solid, camel-hair sofas - and the spaces between them were far too narrow.
Somehow we arrived behind schedule in Basle, and the continental breakfast awaiting us there had to be dismissed in a mere five minutes. At Thun, the largest "city" near our hotel, we were rammed into a coach and taken to Goldiwil. The ascent to the latter was a hair-raising experience, the bus taking impossible corners at speeds which only the M.1 could allow. High above us we saw what appeared to be the magician's castle in a Walt Disney cartoon, and we knew that we had reached our destination.
We found, to our horror, that there was insufficient room in the hotel and had visions of nights under canvas. However, many of the party were detailed to neighbouring chalets - myself included - and I found later that we were more fortunate than those in the hotel. We ploughed our way merrily through every scrap of food put before us - even a soup which looked repulsive, but which tasted very pleasant.
The following evening there was some kind of national festival, represented in Goldiwil by singing (quite unintelligible) and a meagre fireworks display. From this I rather gained the impression that Swiss nationalism was not as strong as in the days of William Tell.
The first experience of the chair lift were really quite terrifying, a sickening jolt occurring each time the chair reached a pylon. One soon became accustomed to this, however, and future rides were most enjoyable.
Looking across Lake Thun from the hotel we had our first view of the world famous Niederhorn - a hill in Switzerland, but a mountain in England. It formed the centre piece of the view from the chalet with the orchard providing the foreground. The chalet itself was spotlessly clean and, if sparsely furnished, was extremely comfortable - though "federbetts" (large, cumbersome eiderdowns used instead of blankets) proved awkward, as they were difficult to keep on the bed.
On various occasions we went bathing in Lake Thun, though never for more than twenty minutes, as the lake's source was in some distant glacier and the water was, correspondingly, cold.
One of the most revolting Swiss customs was the spraying of the fields in the morning with liquid fertilizer, which was accompanied by a nauseating smell, especially as the day became hotter. The other cause of hostile comment were the Swiss method of cooking rice with onions and spaghetti - inferior to Heinz - and the place where the cows were kept. In our chalet, the stable was little more than ten feet from our bedroom and we objected, not so much to the smell, as to the noise the cows made as they lowed and kicked the stable door.
The only possible way to end this article on Switzerland would be to describe the mountains, but I feel incapable of this, except to say that the Jungfrau, Monch and the Eiger were snow-capped, even in midsummer, and look quite unreal until one stood beneath them.
John Moss (5A)