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Floreat
Salopia
Some terms varied a little amongst
Houses, as did the details of the doul call. No doubt some terms have been
overlooked - there were almost certainly a few connected with boats (including
Skulls and Torpids), for example. Naturally, colloquial Salopian
included many other more widely-used slang terms in its distinctively idiosyncratic
vocabulary.
Feedback: many thanks to Tony Walters (Dayboys' 1958-1963) and to Ted Brunning (Moser's, current 2005) for very helpful suggestions.
Stop Press: update to Ted Brunning's 2005 [here] and a recent (circa 2017) "official" effort: Salopian Terminology [here]
On my first day, the Head Man regaled the new scums in the Alleybin to the effect that although many of us had been exalted as monitors, prefects and so forth at our previous schools we were now all beginning at the bottom. An amusing welcome, as to me such turncoats had been The Enemy. In later years, still an Outcast of the System, i found myself doing the scum's jobs when some quirk of time left me as the most senior resident in the study. Why, to this day...
The Postors lived in some style; ours had a private study with a working fireplace, very pleasant in the Winter when the rest of us (except for the incumbents of Head Room) went about with clenched teeth. Within a few weeks of arrival, i was being roundly strafed in there for being "far too cocky for a new scum", although the thrashings only followed later.
In my first year i was a private scum to someone here merely referred to as H in order to protect the guilty. My duties - bringing him a morning cup of tea-style drink, japanning his trotter cases and corps fugs, effecting some long-forgotten procedure with his collars, miscellaneous errands etc - were performed so badly that i jocularly offered to waive the customary emolument of an end-of-year meal at the Tuck Shop. H took this at face value; i expect he went on to a very successful career in the Paperclips Directorate of the Civil Service.
Rose-tinted gig lamps will be donned whilst omitting mention of cold swills, pre-breakfast periods, thin but gristly porage and pilchard salad with wasps, Rugger and much else. The book of Rules and Privileges made quaint reading. Then as now, the notion that things were the best they would ever become was starkly preposterous.
On one surreal occasion after some tedious inter-House sporting event which i had managed to avoid, i was subjected point-blank to the usual protracted and deafening strafe of no discernible rational or inspirational content to the effect that new scums must ... House spirit ... etc etc. Finding voice, i gave as good as i got and, borne up on a wave of applause, realised how Adolf had managed to turn things his way.
Short haircuts, suits and neckties were mandatory, although i discovered that it was possible to wear a black scarf at all times in some mitigation. I have never again had a short haircut nor worn a necktie during my entire life, even (just) at the Oxford ceremonies, although that has meant eschewing certain stuffy old clubs such as Parliament.
Sunday afternoons were the least regulated time and it was possible to potter about somewhat. Fellows fixed their bintzies (using parts from the cornucopia of other fellows' bintzies), recorded 'Pick of the Pops' very badly, trespassed, smoked, drank, became unfit and sometimes wrote begging letters home. It was during this quasi-idyllic time that i developed such culinary gems as Worcestershire Sauce Sandwiches (using as many as two ingredients) and - the speciality - Welsh Fake Rarebit (industrial margarine squashed onto bread and immolated in the Baby Belling until the hogsfat and hydrogen began to explode under the electric element).
When not writing blue penals, running punitive Benjys' etc i managed to notch up something of a record at being thrashed in-House, being postored and encountering the Head Man. This lifestyle eventually became so tiresome that i was sacked - conveniently during the 'A Level' examinations - and was ceremonially struck off some register. There was a special windowless isolation bedroom in the House for those awaiting the sack; from the ceiling hung a robust noose.
All in all, a fitting prelude to a high-flying life. The best of our number can now be found dead, writing in satirical magazines, upsetting television viewers, disk-jockeying and lying drugged on bookcases throughout and off the world.
"Last seen setting out across the Gobi Desert on a motor bike..."
My long-term contact was with John M. Buckley (Rt, 1962-1966) although, alas, we never managed to meet up again and now he is deceased. His brother Christopher (I, 1964-1968), now away in Canada, and very famous for his Salopian rowing career, has kindly kept me in the loop.Secondly, i worked with Tim B. Austin (SH, 1962-1966), a starring Physics Tweak, while we did Oxford astrophysics DPhils together in the 1970s, although he moved on (er - to Seascale, i think) and is not one to exchange Christmas cards.
!! STOP PRESS !! I have just met up with Graham Kingsley-Rowe (Rt, 1960-1964) in Perth (yeah, the Scottish one) after well more than an half century and it was a delight to catch up on very many things [31-AUG-2018]. Golly, what a jungle and what a Borstal the place was back in those benighted days, and hooray for the co-educational transformation, is probably the bottom line from this. Here is an article which he submitted to the Salopian and, mysteriously, did not appear in print: A Salopian Legacy [2019]