Thanks to Aunty Dux I went to Radley. My great aunt, the Hon. Mrs Field, who lost her only son George Reginald Field with the Guards in the 1st World War, funded the education of both my brother Preston and me. First Preston went with young Kennedy, the son of the US Ambassador, to Gibbs School in London and then to Swanbourne House Prep School in Buckinghamshire as the Headmaster's mother was living in my father's parish of Kew.

St. John's, Leatherhead had funds for the sons of clergy, but the fashion of flicking long hair back off the face met with distaste; Harrow supported by our mother's family, the Hardinges, was not considered right for us; Marlborough, which again favoured clergy sons, would have been too dangerous for impetuous young David since the playing fields could only be reached by crossing the main London-West Country road. It is on such factors parents chose schools.

I followed my brother to Radley for the summer term 1947 especially to attend the Centenary celebrations. The visit of Princess Elizabeth; Field Marshal Montgomery's talk on "How I won the battle of El Alamein" and the drama behind the Mansion were all memorable. A temporary five bed dormitory for F Social was located at the end of the teaching block. Companions were more mature and confident than a shy pre-teenager just out of a Bedfordshire parsonage and a 55 boy prep school, both in the depths of the country.

Fagging was both public and private. If private, perks were gained and some public fagging excused. Making toast, sweeping studies, making beds, polishing shoes, applying blanco to CCF uniform, running errands, serving coffee were all good training. Fagging also included filling one of the six baths to the brim in the evening ready for the whole Social to take the compulsory dip the next morning. This necessitated "shoulders under". Failure resulted in total immersion for a minute, watched by all. Techniques included heels and hands on the sides; some took a determined splash to reduce the water level. Juniors went first for the water temperature rose after 50 bodies had been in and the seniors benefited.

A quick dressing was required to make the 0730 pre breakfast lesson which started daily with Bible reading.

Meals required imagination for cutlery appeared in short supply. The shout for "on fork" was passed down the table so "spoon on fork" or "sugar on fork" meant seniors were in need. Rationing was operational. Butter and bananas were rare. Both were a treat at home, so when clearing the tables both Preston and I would collect up the butter wrap in cardboard and post it home to grateful parents. With little pocket money the 1/6 slice of cake in the Tuck Shop could only be looked upon. However, sweet coupons could be sold. My record was 7/6 for one week's supply of coupons.

Break was time for a compulsory run down the front drive and back up the back drive. Preston suffered considerably, because no account was taken of his hole in the heart condition. Prefects at the back of each Social continued the refrain "hurry up". Although his Social went off before mine, I always passed him, but could do nothing to help.

To be spoken with was rare. To be spoken at was daily. (When I became a Headmaster I was determined that none of mine should suffer likewise.) "Tiny" Southam was a genial Tutor, but only once can I recall a personal word. He came up behind me in the Markets, touched my shoulder and said "Well rowed Prichard". The Chaplain, Charles Neate was excellent and Sunday tea was a touch of home. Bill Llewellyn-Jones was a magical teacher; Chipper Lane taught me all the geography I ever learnt; Nick Eyres and Joe Eason ensured the Boat Club was a delight.

The Precentor, Dussek, tested my voice. Five notes on the piano in the music school produced an acceptable response from me and so I went to the front row of the choir, then in the Gallery. Evensong was a joy, the lights were down, the view, the lit reredos, the atmosphere all gave pleasure. I sang in true parish style and was delighted that the choir was so impressive that the whole congregation turned to look up to the gallery. Halfway through a canticle a prefect came down and touched my shoulder saying "Stop singing". The next day I was in the congregation!

At prep school, cricket occupied every summer afternoon. I became fit running from long stop to long stop after every four, six or 10 balls, depending on the talent of the bowler and the concentration of the master. With a varied number per game, the chance of number 13 being called was remote, so my hands hardly ever made contact with bat or ball.

Not surprisingly, I became a wet bob. To swim the river fully clothed was a necessary requirement. This would have been easier if I had not at the same time to push a dead sheep out of the way. Rowing was in my blood. A great uncle rowing for INO had won trophies at Henley. These are now with the National Rowing Museum.

Joe Eason tried to persuade us to cycle through the village more carefully after complaints. "If you went 10mph slower you would only take two minutes longer". The tubbing was fun; the fixed tank a place to practise "bell notes" and so I progressed from stroke of Colts VIII to 1st VIII. In between came a challenge from F Social to Eason's Social for a race in eights. Common Room apparently took bets. Lusimus was filled with staff. We paddled below the island and, to the surprise of many, F Social beat Eason's. Style appeared pre-eminent. It looked good. We lost the final of the PE Cup but, so certain of victory were the coaches, that music for the Radley song was provided for the band in the Stewards to celebrate our expected victory. Subsequently, I captained Pembroke Oxford; stroked Isis and rowed for London Rowing Club, as well as coached other colleges.

The first term at Radley was lonely. On Ascension Day I attempted to cycle back to my prep school during the whole day holiday. I reached Aylesbury, looked in the direction of Winslow and had to turn back as time was short.

On Sundays, I would cycle through Oxford and on to Rousham House where uncle Tom Cotterell-Dormer lived, to enjoy a formal lunch beneath the Knellers and revisit our holiday bedroom with its Jacobean four poster and the ugly self portrait of Rembrandt. which an art expert had found in a servant's room in the attic.

Southam's shared with Cocks' the largest dormitory in England with a hundred beds each in separate cubicles with a becurtained door and six foot partitions. Bed, chair, chest of drawers, hooks (for suit, gown and trilby which had to be worn when out of College) were the furniture. On one occasion a rat ran across my feet while I was changing.

Social Hall was not only the scene for House beatings, but also for initiation tests. This required learning College names and language, a run around the top of the horse boxes within which were our desks; standing on the large central table to sing the College song and another of our own choice. The appreciation or otherwise was marked by a battering of cushions to the legs till one was prone awaiting more.

However, Cocks' was less benign. Preston arrived in 1945 with Nock and Grey. Their initiation took place in the wash house. A climb up a cold pipe mounted on the wall and then transfer to a ceiling-mounted hot pipe under which was a row of basins back to back. Grey, who remained a family friend, never made it and endured his first term with an arm in a sling.

Medicare was good as I well experienced for, despite rubbing surgical spirit on hands to toughen the skin and prevent blisters from the oar handles which had been roughened up for better grip, blisters formed. These were pricked with a pin. Sometimes a more surgical method was required and I well recall carrying my own canister of oxygen into a room and then begging Sister not to put me off games for my place in a crew might have been in jeopardy.

1st VIII rowing had many rewards, not least the special meals in the alcove at the bottom of the steps leading into Hall. There to improve performance a pint of beer and a bottle of milk were provided at supper, much to the envy of those who passed.

Looking back on the Radley years after a lifetime in schools, one can only be filled with gratitude for the dedication of the Dons and the skilled management of the College. Standards were inculcated, opportunities provided and the provision of a tradition of quality appreciated. Memories abound: blowing a cornet for General Latre de Tassigny; the school cheering an empty rugby pitch in break for failing to support the 1st XV adequately; attending Poetry Society meetings in the staff house by the lake; Sunday evenings with Sub Tutor Fisher at the Lodge; the chemistry teacher who could not keep order so all the coloured liquids were mixed; Dons' plays, school plays, friendships made and a College of which to be proud throughout life.

Warden Wilkes ended my first set of reports that Summer term with these words

" He may be the youngest in the College, but he need not be the worst behaved".

Perhaps we should all leave 1% of our assets to the College in gratitude.

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