Lots of interesting stuff from Michael J Howard.... who??? Read on...

Hi folks!

Great to find such an active site for the old place. I, like so many others before me, discovered it quite by accident as I idly punched the single word - Woolverstone - into 'Go' Express Search. (A very good search engine for those of you who haven't come across it yet!) I waited for the familiar - no sites found - advice to come up on my screen and up popped the WHOBA.

I approached the site cautiously, just in case either 'Fred' Mudd or 'Plimsoll Pete' were lurking round the corner to administer another 'six of the best' when they saw me with a fag in my mouth. (I'm down to 100 a day. Honest!) How well I remember those famous words. "This is going to hurt me far more than it hurts you, boy!" Funny thing that! I'm sure they actually believed it!

Finding that the site was relatively danger-free, I continued. (I did, however, get slightly worried about Mike Volpe! He does seem to get worked up about things. Think that I may have seen him on the box. Do you turn green and split your shirts when things really get to you Mike?) Suddenly I was faced with a plethora of familiar names from my distant past. Roger Friend - Eric Coates - Barry Clark - Ian McColl - and of course the 'untouchables' who we regularly worshiped at the altar of Church Field on wintery Saturday afternoons. House - Marriot - Couttes - Walker, and so many others.

Long forgotten memories rekindled their embers and burst into flame. So many unanswered questions. What happened to the guys that I shared a dorm with? Did they all realise their dreams? Were any of us able to make a difference to the world on achieving adulthood? Who was it who carried the cadets up from the hard and put them in Diana's pond? How the hell did they get that car onto the roof of the science block? Did we really have to keep off the grass?

Unable to harness the raging inferno within my subconscious, I sat down at my keyboard and gave it rein. This is the result. I hope that you enjoy it.

It is a fairly common syndrome, when one hits middle age and encounters the barrier of the male menopause, to remember one's schooldays as being 'the best days of our lives.' In a setting such as we were privileged to share at Woolverstone, it is fairly logical that we should remember our time there with such affection. Cast your mind back, however, to those first few weeks, when the vast majority of us, torn away from the bosom of our families and deposited in the wilds of Suffolk, suffered the abject misery of homesickness. First form dormitories rocked with the sobs of unhappy 'nujees' as we tried to come to terms with our exile. If the nights were bad, then those first few days were worse. Remember the annual 'nujee hunt' when we were fair game for anyone in the second year and above. How many of us were stripped almost naked and chucked unceremoniously into the nettles down by the bamboo patch? Then came Stonehenge rugby, currently sponsored by the WWF, and renamed Summer-Slam. Being a confirmed supporter, as opposed to participant, when it came to bloodsports, I remember spending sixty terrified minutes trying to keep as far away as possible from any of the dozens of rugby balls that were flying round the pitch.

Finding myself to be the smallest boy out of @360 and possessing the surname Pratt, (I had no idea what it meant in those days!) I was a fairly natural target. I remember being bundled into one of the old wicker laundry baskets and hoisted, facing downwards, up the front of the main building. I don't remember how long they left me there. 'They' being the inhabitants of the dreaded prefects room, situated on the top floor of the main building, next door to Stretch Poole's French classroom. I do, however, remember who instigated it, and will undoubtedly remind him of his foul deed if I ever bump into him again!

I spent that first 'character building' year trying to remain invisible. When pecking orders were finally sorted out.... Guess where yours truly ended up? I was very definitely a follower, not a leader. At least I made it through. Some, and sometimes they were the biggest bullies, just couldn't hack it. Anyone remember Michael Linden, and how he used to make my life a misery? Wonder what ever became of him after Bryan(?) Beavan showed him that he wasn't quite as tough as he thought he was? Wasn't it great though, when we returned the following September as...wait for it...second formers.

You may possibly be getting the impression that my time at Woolverstone was all doom and gloom. Please don't! I loved the place! I just thought it would be a bit of fun to remind those sports 'jocks' amongst you, that for those not at the forefront of every activity, life was not all hearts and flowers. To show you the other side of the coin as it were. Not all of us remember the annual inter-house cross country with deep affection!

Third year. Moved to Hansons. Lectures from Sandy on how we were now seniors and should always bear in mind the honour of the house. Discovered the sailing club and found, at last, something that I was good at. Should have won the novices plank but had a migraine during one of the final races and my crew, Pete McNair, ran good old Sleepy aground when he sailed for me and was in the lead. Nice one Pete!

Fourth year. Took to the boards. Fourth Form Follies. Bet you don't remember this one Rog. My acting debut consisted of riding a beaten up woman's bicycle onto the stage, turning it upside down, and using an old protractor in the revolving spokes, imitating the sound of a projector for an old silent movie routine. My big moment came when I had to pretend to take a lunch break and Roger Friend, playing the theatre manager (and the villain I think) ran across and booted me up the arse to get me working again. It was a great part, but only because Erica may just have once sat on the same saddle!!!

Fifth year. Hansons win the inter-house sailing trophy for the second year running. ( History or the Janus may correct me on that one, but I think I'm right) Then, O-Levels. Jesus, how I hated exams. Knew all the answers on the way in, but as soon as I turned the paper over they all went. History was a doddle until we found that Johnny Johnstone had told us to revise the wrong subjects. What I didn't know about the Jacobite rebellion (1745), the Corn Laws and the American war of independence hadn't been written. Problem was that the Cambridge board forgot to ask me about them! Struggled to get an F.

Summer holidays '63. Was I going back? Had I passed the requisite number? Results through. Yes! Yes! Yes! I was a sixth former! Got two more O-levels at the beginning of the sixth, but rapidly realised that I was out of my depth and left at the end of the first year to work in a bank in the City. Hated every moment of it.

Anyone remember an old Radio Luxembourg DJ called Jack Jackson? (Spelt K - E - Y - N - S - H -A - M.) Ended up as my manager when I was recording songs for the Embassy label. (The cheap ones that you used to nick from Woolies when you weren't pinching books from the Ancient House) Recorded with some great bands as a backing singer until I got married and ditched showbiz.

Next seventeen years? Weird stuff! Strange jobs! Best forgotten. Ended up, somewhere down the line, with qualifications in psychology from an obscure Atlanta college and an HND in agriculture. A throwback to my days in the young farmers club perhaps. Remember all that pig-swill? Yuck! Ran a dairy farm in the channel Islands for a couple of years. Messy business!

'84. Met the lady that I now live with and my marriage broke up. I ended up running my own small private clinic dealing in psychotherapy - psychoanalysis and hypnoanalysis, specialising in long term illnesses like ME and MS. I was eventually offered to opportunity of going to Malta to study for a doctorate in hypnosis as part of a group whose qualifications the BMA finally agreed to recognise. The whole thing was a fiasco and when the venue was changed to Milan University and we were asked to write a thesis concerning hypnosis before attending, I started to get a bit worried. I chose stage hypnosis, simply because the subject had always fascinated me, and approached it as the devil's advocate, determined to prove that it was all faked. Six weeks later I did my first show and within three months was appearing all over the country. The rest, as they say, is history. I have done shows in many different countries and have numerous TV appearances to my name. Very strange how things turn out sometimes. Ten years ago, after a dispute with the BBC and a rather large bill from a certain government agency, I went to live in Spain. I have now moved on to the Canary Islands and live on the beautiful island of Lanzarote. I have written two books and am halfway through a third. I hope, touch wood, that the first one will be published this year. I also write for some local publications. And that brings me bang up to date. Sorry to be so long winded, but I am hoping that some of my old friends will recognise the name and get in touch after reading this article. If you see that I am appearing at a theatre near you, on one of my rare trips back to Britain, please make yourself known to me, whenever you were at Woolverstone. We are all, regardless of race colour and creed, Old Woolverstonians, and I hope that you, like myself, are bloody proud to be so.

MICHAEL J HOWARD
(Titch Pratt)
ORWELL/HANSONS 1958 - 1963/4

P.S. Strange thing. Saw Ian McColl's e-mail address on the site so I contacted him.
Turns out that not only did he remember me but that he had watched my show twice in the last year during a holiday on Lanzarote and didn't know that it was me. Hope he enjoyed it, he didn't say in his reply. Bit worrying that!
Obviously I haven't changed a lot! Ian asked me why I changed my name. Wouldn't you?

P.P.S. Can anyone remember what I used to look like? I have searched both the '62 and '63 school photos and still can't find myself. I know I was small, but that's bloody ridiculous. Answers on an e-mail please.

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