My experiences of Penrhos College, Colwyn Bay, span a brief but joyful period from September 1997 to July 1999, in fact, the final two years on its enviable, elevated location directly over looking the sea. This was a watershed in my career, being my first appointment as a Director of Music. The area, too, held many happy memories of childhood holidays.
Facing the challenges of a girls’ school with its long established and cherished traditions gave cause for not a little anxiety. Knowing nobody, I had taken up residence in the last weekend of August 1997 and decided one evening to do some organ practice and generally get to know my way around the place. I had not been sitting at the 1925 Rushworth and Dreaper organ for long when into the Hall came a young lady, lively, confident and articulate and who so obviously knew Penrhos. She said she had thought it best to introduce herself and we shook hands and that was that. I thought, oh, a member of staff, how friendly they are here. Alicia O’Leary had omitted to tell me that she was, in fact, the new Head Girl.
Such was the labyrinthine structure of Penrhos College, a great fortress network of corridors, staircases, roof-scape turrets and countless classrooms, not unlike Castle Gormenghast, all raised on its proud cliff-top site in varying styles from the 1880s to the 1980s, and given that my accommodation was in Top Main, (top floor of the main building over South Entrance), it was perfectly possible to spend one’s entire day indoors, never having to go outside or a give a moment’s thought to the weather. This unusual internal existence soon became rather too much for me and the one sure thing to counter any feelings of claustrophobia was a brisk bicycle ride most evenings up to wind-swept Rhos-on-Sea, or even gracious Llandudno along the next bay, just to get a blast of fresh sea air!
Decorating the length of the Music corridor with a string of coloured Christmas lights proved a popular decision among staff and girls alike and made the place look very festive. We even managed in 1997 to get a Christmas recording of ‘Ding Dong Merrily’ by the Chapel Choir broadcast on Classic FM. Rosalind Powell was nominated the Guardian of the Music Wing, while Kerry Marshall became honorary Music Assistant. Another post of responsibility went to Sarah Somerville who made it her task to turn on the sound and lighting for assembly in the Hall every morning. There was never a better Mistress of the Illumination.
Taking my distinguished A Level Music class - Kerry Marshall and Rosalind Powell- down to the promenade for an ice cream or two from the kiosk was such a jolly daring wheeze, not regretted for one moment, and one to do Bessie Bunter proud. This necessitated a careful choice of escape route in order not to be seen by the ever-watchful Headmaster from his strategically located, first-floor, sea view study which could easily have doubled as an air-sea rescue command centre. Using the main North Entrance drive past the main games field, Hockey One, would have blown our cover immediately, so we sneakily chose the more discreet public footpath going under the footbridge. I have to say an out-of-hours ice cream never tasted more delicious than during an actual teaching period.
Living in the main building brought with it a weekly obligation. My task on Thursday nights was to patrol the entire building - boarding areas excluded - to lock ten doors and extinguish any lights. A colleague, Martin Fenn, and I once had a competition to see which of us turned off the most switches, just to relieve the monotony. I can’t recall the outcome, but I do remember reaching a total of 128, giving an idea of the scale of the task. One such evening at 1.30am, after completing my duty and while watching some late television in my room on Top Main, I decided to collect some provisions available from the staff dining room two floors below. Annoyingly, I found the landing and staircase lights all back on, and while puzzling over this irritation my eye was caught, at the far end of Miss Nelson’s corridor, by a mysterious figure in the half light charging straight for me, brandishing a hockey stick. I stood firm. No, it was not the ghost of legendary Headmistress Rosa Hovey, but Mr Allen, the Headmaster, who just stopped himself in time from clobbering to death his Director of Music to say an intruder had broken in and tried to break down the Medical Centre door where Mrs Brereton lived. This was a worrying and potentially dangerous incident. However, some maintenance staff assisted in the thorough search but no-one was found on the premises.
The Music Department always seemed a good day’s trek away from the quaintly named Salon by the South Entrance, where an oasis of endless tea, cakes, sandwiches and more tea and cake would appear like clockwork every afternoon at 4pm. In order to fend off thirst, malnutrition and starvation in the Music Wing I decided to institute an oasis of my own, commandeering a practice room and commissioning from Kerry Marshall a new door sign telling the world where to find ‘The Happy Teapot’.
Six days a week the whole school assembled in the Hall for prayers which followed the same pattern each day, a hymn, a Biblical reading and prayers with a sung Lord’s Prayer to finish: not a hugely complicated task for anyone, you would imagine. However, more than once I forgot to get the Lord’s Prayer music ready at the start. It was not usually announced and so, after realising with embarrassment that I had forgotten and missed my cue, to the amusement of the choir, I had to fumble and flap like a lunatic in the cupboards by the organ console in a frantic attempt to get the book open at the right page in about three seconds.
On one occasion a visitor wanted to meet me, that is, according to the deadpan Sarah Somerville – straight after the end of term Speech Day service. Sarah could not have delivered her monotone lines better for the RSC, leaving me utterly convinced that a visitor was indeed waiting. I went downstairs in haste to find the ‘visitor’ – but, how strange, no-one was about. My fatal mistake was to have left my door unlocked.
I returned to the Music Office only to discover I had been truly hoodwinked - the room had been festooned with balloons, streamers, a lot of shaving foam, several empty vodka bottles and a note telling me what a jolly lively party I had just missed!
Are you an Old Penrhosian who remembers any of this? I'd love to hear your memories in the comments below.
Facing the challenges of a girls’ school with its long established and cherished traditions gave cause for not a little anxiety. Knowing nobody, I had taken up residence in the last weekend of August 1997 and decided one evening to do some organ practice and generally get to know my way around the place. I had not been sitting at the 1925 Rushworth and Dreaper organ for long when into the Hall came a young lady, lively, confident and articulate and who so obviously knew Penrhos. She said she had thought it best to introduce herself and we shook hands and that was that. I thought, oh, a member of staff, how friendly they are here. Alicia O’Leary had omitted to tell me that she was, in fact, the new Head Girl.
Such was the labyrinthine structure of Penrhos College, a great fortress network of corridors, staircases, roof-scape turrets and countless classrooms, not unlike Castle Gormenghast, all raised on its proud cliff-top site in varying styles from the 1880s to the 1980s, and given that my accommodation was in Top Main, (top floor of the main building over South Entrance), it was perfectly possible to spend one’s entire day indoors, never having to go outside or a give a moment’s thought to the weather. This unusual internal existence soon became rather too much for me and the one sure thing to counter any feelings of claustrophobia was a brisk bicycle ride most evenings up to wind-swept Rhos-on-Sea, or even gracious Llandudno along the next bay, just to get a blast of fresh sea air!
Decorating the length of the Music corridor with a string of coloured Christmas lights proved a popular decision among staff and girls alike and made the place look very festive. We even managed in 1997 to get a Christmas recording of ‘Ding Dong Merrily’ by the Chapel Choir broadcast on Classic FM. Rosalind Powell was nominated the Guardian of the Music Wing, while Kerry Marshall became honorary Music Assistant. Another post of responsibility went to Sarah Somerville who made it her task to turn on the sound and lighting for assembly in the Hall every morning. There was never a better Mistress of the Illumination.
Taking my distinguished A Level Music class - Kerry Marshall and Rosalind Powell- down to the promenade for an ice cream or two from the kiosk was such a jolly daring wheeze, not regretted for one moment, and one to do Bessie Bunter proud. This necessitated a careful choice of escape route in order not to be seen by the ever-watchful Headmaster from his strategically located, first-floor, sea view study which could easily have doubled as an air-sea rescue command centre. Using the main North Entrance drive past the main games field, Hockey One, would have blown our cover immediately, so we sneakily chose the more discreet public footpath going under the footbridge. I have to say an out-of-hours ice cream never tasted more delicious than during an actual teaching period.
Living in the main building brought with it a weekly obligation. My task on Thursday nights was to patrol the entire building - boarding areas excluded - to lock ten doors and extinguish any lights. A colleague, Martin Fenn, and I once had a competition to see which of us turned off the most switches, just to relieve the monotony. I can’t recall the outcome, but I do remember reaching a total of 128, giving an idea of the scale of the task. One such evening at 1.30am, after completing my duty and while watching some late television in my room on Top Main, I decided to collect some provisions available from the staff dining room two floors below. Annoyingly, I found the landing and staircase lights all back on, and while puzzling over this irritation my eye was caught, at the far end of Miss Nelson’s corridor, by a mysterious figure in the half light charging straight for me, brandishing a hockey stick. I stood firm. No, it was not the ghost of legendary Headmistress Rosa Hovey, but Mr Allen, the Headmaster, who just stopped himself in time from clobbering to death his Director of Music to say an intruder had broken in and tried to break down the Medical Centre door where Mrs Brereton lived. This was a worrying and potentially dangerous incident. However, some maintenance staff assisted in the thorough search but no-one was found on the premises.
The Music Department always seemed a good day’s trek away from the quaintly named Salon by the South Entrance, where an oasis of endless tea, cakes, sandwiches and more tea and cake would appear like clockwork every afternoon at 4pm. In order to fend off thirst, malnutrition and starvation in the Music Wing I decided to institute an oasis of my own, commandeering a practice room and commissioning from Kerry Marshall a new door sign telling the world where to find ‘The Happy Teapot’.
Six days a week the whole school assembled in the Hall for prayers which followed the same pattern each day, a hymn, a Biblical reading and prayers with a sung Lord’s Prayer to finish: not a hugely complicated task for anyone, you would imagine. However, more than once I forgot to get the Lord’s Prayer music ready at the start. It was not usually announced and so, after realising with embarrassment that I had forgotten and missed my cue, to the amusement of the choir, I had to fumble and flap like a lunatic in the cupboards by the organ console in a frantic attempt to get the book open at the right page in about three seconds.
On one occasion a visitor wanted to meet me, that is, according to the deadpan Sarah Somerville – straight after the end of term Speech Day service. Sarah could not have delivered her monotone lines better for the RSC, leaving me utterly convinced that a visitor was indeed waiting. I went downstairs in haste to find the ‘visitor’ – but, how strange, no-one was about. My fatal mistake was to have left my door unlocked.
I returned to the Music Office only to discover I had been truly hoodwinked - the room had been festooned with balloons, streamers, a lot of shaving foam, several empty vodka bottles and a note telling me what a jolly lively party I had just missed!
Are you an Old Penrhosian who remembers any of this? I'd love to hear your memories in the comments below.
