We are delighted to be able to share with you a fascinating excerpt from Captain David Wixon RN's memoir, Every Second Counts.

The chapter below reminisces about his years at Aylesbury Grammar School from 1947 to 1955. Presented with his characteristic humor, captivating anecdotes, and generous candour, it offers a lively portrayal of school experiences, and we trust you will find it enjoyable.

AYLESBURY GRAMMAR SCHOOL – 1946

Wendover C of E Primary school was a monolithic red brick Victorian building set between the Clock Tower and Heron Path which led to St. Mary's church. There were eight classes, four in the separate junior section and four in the seniors. Children from eight to fourteen were taught there when fourteen was the school leaving age. In the event, I was happy to have passed the scholarship at my second attempt as it meant I was then two years behind my brother at Aylesbury Grammar School rather than only one. It was a safer distance, as he did not like me being at the same school and would have no contact with me. So, in September 1947 I donned my double-breasted, grey flannel, short trousered suit with its red and black cap. I caught the bus at the Co-op bus stop along with half a dozen or more 'Grammargogs' to start in Form 2.20 with Miss Taffs the Form Mistress. She was tyrannical, feared by all, tubby and grizzled with a foul temper. To top it off, she wore a wig! It was a co-ed school, which was unusual at the time, and our classes had about 28 or 30 pupils.

I remember most if not all the teachers from school. Mr Good, our maths master, was a young, charming man. He persuaded three of us to go to a camp that was taking place at Lymington during the summer holidays. I agreed to it but hadn't realised that it was run by a religious group called the Scripture Union. This meant everything we did revolved around the Bible. For example, if it was raining and we were indoors, we had to do activities to do with the Bible, such as making biblical figures from paper cuttings. Then, when not raining and we were outdoors, we were playing games with a connection to the Bible. It was all a bit tense! I rang my parents asking them to come and take me home. They sympathised but told me to stick, it out.

Sport was to become a compelling component of my life at school. As a second-year student, I followed the school rugby 1st XV in their coach with a friend to away matches. I can remember to this day watching the match versus the William Borlase school at Marlow. Our hooker was playing an outstanding game. In those days hookers really had to hook the ball. I still have this vision of him in the scrum swinging right between the legs of the opposition and scrum retrieving the ball. I became completely hooked! (No pun!) The games master, the red-headed Hywel Evans, left the most extraordinary stamp on the school. He joined when I was in the 6th Form. A former Welsh rugby international, he wore the famous scarlet shirt of Wales when coaching us. He seemed thoroughly pleasant and friendly, settling in a large detached house in Wendover. Later it was discovered that he took his responsibilities to unacceptable lengths, behaving inappropriately whilst training one of the more talented young girls who was a county athlete. His trial appeared in the News of the World, reporting his conviction and prison sentence.

The school celebrated its 350th anniversary while I was there. The event was marked by the whole school walking in crocodile style from one end of town to St Mary's Church in old Aylesbury for a service of thanksgiving. The old Grammar School building, now a museum was close to the church. The school speech day that year was held in one of the two cinemas instead of the school hall. The famous head of Eton, Robert Birley presented the prizes. I failed to see the relevance of this choice and concluded that a certain degree of snobbishness was at large.

I was generally well-behaved at school and the worst punishment I ever had was detention. I was never given the cane. One did hear of corporal punishment at some schools, but there was never any evidence of it being used in my experience. I was something of a conformist but by no means a goody-goody. It was more that I simply enjoyed toeing the line and liked to be useful and helpful. My brother was not a conformist and, in some way, he rebelled by playing soccer rather than by playing rugby for the school and tried avoiding all other school activities except cricket where he opened the bowling as a fast bowler and played for Bucks County schoolboys. Fortunately for him, he was naturally bright and did not have to make much effort, whereas I, on the other hand, did have to work hard.

My brother Mick was such a talented sportsman, and by association, I was expected to win the junior 100 yards sprint on sports day. Indeed, I was quite fast and should have won. However (and I remember it to this to this day) my father had bought me running spikes and after the gun, I was leading the field only to trip headlong just a couple of yards from the tape. Not even second on this occasion, but I did, nevertheless, go on to represent the county in the 110 yards hurdles at the All England School Games in Ashington, Northumberland.

I can't recall writing anything at school except for a report on the Major Stanley's XV versus Oxford University rugby football match at Iffley Road, Oxford in my last year. This annual visit to Iffley Road was a great treat as we joined with many others from schools in the Home Counties. It was the annual Major Stanley's team versus OURFC and their final work up against an invitation team of international class players, before the Varsity match. I left school mid-sixth form with the fear that I'd not converted the games master's request to provide a report on this event for the magazine (I hated writing essays). To my greatest surprise over fifty years later I found the article had been published in the school magazine of the year that I had left. What's more, I was quite pleased with the report! On my way through the school, I captained the Rugby Colt's XV and in my final year, the Ist XV. I was fast and played as a three-quarter until my last year at school. I remember playing Thame Grammar at home and we were being beaten, losing because their team had a particularly good lineout forward who was winning the ball for them at almost every lineout. Inspired, I decide to change my position and became a second-row forward for the rest of my rugby playing career.

I had a friend Roger Jerome, who sadly had a serious illness which kept him away from school for almost a year. It seemed strange when he returned, he joined in the year behind with his mind much broadened by his experiences in hospital. He seemed somehow more aware of the more exotic or remote facts of life than we who were cosseted in the leafy glades of Beechey Bucks. Roger was a born actor and in later life had a successful career as a professional, retiring in America. He was studying the arts and was putting on a French play for the school's drama competition. I was a flannelled fool and muddied oaf' doing Pure and Applied Maths and Physics. He did however dragoon me into playing a non-speaking gendarme in this play. I tried very hard to find a gendarme costume but only succeeded in borrowing an uncle's fireman's jacket. I remember a catchphrase to this day which I often quote pretending to be fluent in the French language: ‘Ou est le longe de la temps quand la universellement parle francais.' (How long will it be when the French is spoken universally.)

Roger had a delightful, cheerful personality and interestingly his father was the landlord of the Millwright's Arms just a stone's throw across the Walton Road opposite the school. I think we used to creep into the off-license to buy some form of contraband, be it fags or illicit booze.

Interestingly, his family changed their surname by deed poll from Jones to Jerome, because as we understood, Jones is an extremely common name. He must have blessed that decision as there must be a multitude of Roger Jones's but only one actor called Roger Jerome.

It could be that my friendship with Roger was the catalyst for the joy I've always had in amateur dramatics and simply fooling about on the stage. When as sixth-formers it was our turn to entertain with sketches at the Christmas parties, I recall performing a sketch where I was set up as a TV presenter. I wore a black tie with just my head and shoulders in view. The denouement was that when I stood up I surprised everyone with my missing trousers.

Our headmaster, Mr Furneaux was a gentle gentleman and I suspect was a little tired and not strict in any way. Rules regarding the wearing of uniform were not enforced. Not all of the pupils bothered to put on the school tie, cap or even a regulation jacket. It was not until Mr Tidmarsh arrived when I was in the Upper Fifth form that we were suddenly expected to wear white shirts, school ties and caps and either grey suits or navy-blue blazers at all times. As I said I was a conformist. I have digressed.

I had just joined Lower 6th Science to read maths and physics. Every day I caught the green Easter National double-decker bus for school at Wendover's walled Co-op bus stop for the five-mile journey to school. I would climb upstairs with the passageway on one side and plonk myself down on the crowded four-seater bench, pull out my packet of five Woodbine cigarettes and puff away until we arrived just outside the school. Smoking was a pretty common practice for a large number of boys. We had a smoking fraternity who would gather at break time and disappear into one trap of the loo and have a quick fag. We were never caught, but in retrospect, I'm certain the staff must have been aware, but, turned a blind eye. On this particular day, tripping lightly off the open back of the double-decker bus and crossing to walk beside the school wall, I looked up; something was difterent: the roof was charred black and had fallen in. A great deal of the school's main building was burnt almost to the ground. The centre of the fire was the school hall where we congregated for assembly. All the trophies were badly damaged and the honours boards which listed pupils who had been awarded scholarships and exhibitions were burnt to ashes. We were told to go home and await further instructions and after a week or so we were recalled. The sixth form was located in the four outside classrooms next to the gym but the remainder of the school was moved to the secondary modern school quite close by. This was so very exciting. We sixth formers felt very mature with no pesky juniors taking up time and space.

I was in the school choir together with my girlfriend Helen. We were performing the Stabat Mater for the general public in the school gym for one evening. It was under the direction of the music teacher, Mr Pope, a balding, gentle man whose son, Courtney was a contemporary amusingly enough, a member of the smoking fraternity I seem to remember. We assembled for this concert and enjoyed the first half. The choir dispersed and Helen and I slipped away to an outside classroom for a surreptitious cuddle. To our horror, by the time we got back to the gym the second part had started. My inclination was to run and hope Mr Pope had not noticed, but to my surprise, Helen insisted we stay and apologise. This we did, saying we had nipped out for some air. Whatever he thought, he simply smiled saying how sad it was that we'd missed singing the final anthems. I was left in even greater awe of Helen.

I've not mentioned the school holidays abroad. I went on two such holidays in the summer breaks. The first was to Achenseehof by a lake in Austria and a year later to Koenigswinter on the Rhine in Germany. The Austrian holiday was by far the more memorable. The two members of staff responsible were Mr Lloyd-Jones, the geography teacher and Miss Williams, who taught French. They were each handsome and attractive in turn and delightfully hands-off in their supervision of us boys and girls. They arranged for us 16-year-olds to visit the very famous Hofbrau Haus beer garden in Munich. Tommy Bulley, a neighbour of mine in Chiltern Road got absolutely tanked after drinking many a litre of Hofbrau lager from their famous pottery litre tankards. On the trip home, as most of us snuggled down in the coach with our respective girlfriends, poor Tommy had to stop the bus several times for very obvious reasons. It was a delightful holiday, with youth blossoming, and hopes springing towards eternity.

I became a prefect in my last year when once again the second-class nature of things became apparent, although not true for me. We were advised that prefects should wear the standard blue blazer but were to have red piping on the lapels, sleeves and pocket tops. The school supplied us with three or four yards of red piping cord expecting families to sew it on. This was often done haphazardly to my eyes and looked pretty second-rate. I remember the school captain, "Titus' Harrison having to sport three stripes on his sleeve which were particularly crooked. I decided this was not for me and had a blazer made for me at a local tailor, who applied the cord immaculately. I even got them to pad the school badge. I'll also admit to wearing a rather snazzy waistcoat which no one seemed to object to. At the start of this last year, we had our first 'Ridley' house meeting chaired by housemaster 'Jim' Helliwell, the physics teacher. We were to choose House Captains. John Collins and I were nominated. John was short, a good cross-country runner and slightly scruffy. I, on the other hand, was tall, smart, competed in all team games and was involved in all kinds of activities. I thought it a no-brainer I would be elected. To my chagrin. John was elected. I came in second once more. John was a good choice.

One of the innovative tasks introduced by the new headmaster was that prefects were to read the lesson from the bible at the daily morning assembly. I quite enjoyed my reading and became interested and amused that one teacher, in particular, was very impressed with my delivery and wanted to coach me. This she did and it came to me that I liked performing in this way. In my last year, I got the part of the Duke of Venice in The Merchant of Venice. I remember the famous courtroom scene and uttering these fine words:

Make room and let him stand before our face,

Shylock, the world thinks and I think so too,

That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice

To the last hour of act, and then tis thought

Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange

Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;

And where thou now exact'st the penalty

Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,

Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,

But touched with human gentleness forgive a moiety of the principal

Sadly, I was to leave school before the production was staged. The director Mr Dalby-Ball was very complimentary saying how he enjoyed the way I interpreted the role.

It was during these latter schooldays that I became very determined to join the Armed Forces. I was going to be a commissioned officer, nothing less. Originally, I had wanted to fly, but after a flying aptitude test, it was discovered that I was colour blind. Although only slightly so, it was enough to prevent me from becoming a pilot. Wendover was very close to the RAF establishment at Halton, already mentioned. Many of my friends had parents in the RAF and I still thought a career in that service was a strong possibility. As my father was an engineer, I was pretty engineering orientated. I used to work with Dad's fitters and mechanics during the school holidays and I felt this talent could be of use in a future career. My girlfriend Helen's brother was a Fleet Air Arm pilot and it was through this relationship that I began gaining some knowledge of the Royal Navy. I understood the Navy had an engineering branch. This led me to enter the Civil Service Commission exams for 18-year-old entry into the officer corps of the Armed Forces.

Halfway through my Upper sixth form, I took the Civil Service Exam which was held in the Civil Service Establishment in the Savile Row area of London. This was my own decision. My parents took little interest in my hopes and fears and on no occasion did they discuss schoolwork or my life after school. I purchased old copies of exam papers to study and to my surprise, found I came about 30th out of nearly 400 candidates. I left school immediately and worked with my father for two months before joining the Navy. During this time, I had a medical at Queen Anne's Mansions in London. Together with this, I was measured by a charming elderly gentleman from Gieves, the Naval tailor, for not only my uniform but for the only plain clothes we were allowed to wear at Dartmouth which were a blazer, grey flannels and a trilby hat with choice of colour, brown or green. The uniform arrived home by post and I was invited to wear it to travel to Dartmouth with other recruits.

I feel I owe Helen and her family a great deal. In my family, one didn't discuss girlfriends. My family had no social life except within our extended family. We were never invited to bring girlfriends home to meet our parents. I have the feeling there was some sort of inferiority complex stemming from their torrid courtship. Helen's family was quite the reverse. I was invited to their home which was the village school in Wooton Underwood. They lived in a house attached to the village school where her mother taught just two classes of village children. Her father was an engineer working in London and famously worked on the Pluto project (Pipe Line Under The Ocean), a strategic fuel supply across the Channel in WWII. They took me to Twickenham to watch the Combined Services play the All Blacks and generously allowed me to visit Helen her home. They equally generously gave up their sitting room when I cycled the 10 miles to see her. There we would sit together in the evening and canoodle (the only accurate description I can find) until it was time for me to cycle home. I have to admit that the youth of my era had to contend with rushes of hormones coursing through their veins in a generation where young women were brought up to keep both feet in one shoe. Oh, for the 60s!

The great day came and dressed in my smart Number 5 uniform and carrying the huge Navy brown canvas kitbag full of other belongings I said farewell to my parents at Wendover train station. The journey to Baker's Street was not without incident. I climbed into the crowded bench-seated compartments (doors on either side and no corridor) of the steam-driven train and managed to heave my heavy kitbag onto the narrow luggage rack. I sat down in the completely crowded compartment but to my horror, as the train lurched out of the station, my kitbag crashed down onto the head of an unsuspecting fellow traveller. My profuse apologies fell on stony ground and the journey was completed in deathly silence.

We new recruits met at Paddington station which was when the point ot wearing uniform became clear, as we could all now identify one another. It was a crowded train and I had to stand for most of the way. I got talking to a fellow cadet, Roger Cross, who has now sadly died. "You know I know very little about the Navy," I said. He replied, "Oh, I have made rather a study of it!" I did feel that the public school ethic which Roger had, gave all those from that background a slight advantage in terms of confidence. Public schools at this time were the main source of entrant for the officer corps. By contrast, I was one of only four former grammar school boys in our entry to Dartmouth. It didn't worry me too much. although I appreciated the difference and knew I had some catching up to do. These cadets had been brought up with an expectation of leadership whereas my school had focused on academia.