My dear Raoul,

You are not alone. Fear of girls/ladies/women (a species no man can ever hope to understand and vice versa - nature has a warped sense of humour) may be in the genes of all Sanawarians, perhaps today diluted more than in my time. In me the fear was daunting and paralysing and took many years of nurturing, distant observation and timid, tentative contact to come to terms with, and then only with limited success. Facing a cricket ball directed at my hed at 90 mph (144 kph) or an opponent in the ring with muscles where I didn't even have places were far less fearful than a brief encounter with a girl in the corridors of Birdwood.

In 1937, the impossible happened. The most unthinkable change took place in the school's history. I returned from the winter holiday, which I had spent in Lahore with my mother and step father, to find coeducation had impacted with the the force of a force 4 hurricane. Girls and boys were to be taught in the same classroom by the same teacher! A concept that sent me screaming into Foxy's cave, if you know where that is.

Then a truth hit me, that has remained indelible for the rest of my life: Girls were cleverer than I was. My masculine pride has never recovered from that shock however much I recognise the fact as being indisputable, like discovering the world is not flat. When I later went to London University I conceeded: Girls are cleverer and the world is round.

1937 was also a time when something else happened to me. I noticed that girls had chests that stuck out and walked in a funny way, especially if you saw them from the back. I was a senior. They called us big chaps in our day. Most big chaps belonged to an elite club, from which I appeared to be excluded. I discovered why.

On Sundays boys were allowed to meet their sisters on Peacestead (did you know this name was given after the first world war?). Certain boys were given permission to meet their girl friends, who were not their sisters, provided they did so in the open and with proper decorum. This relationship in our day was called squaring. Boys often asked a girl to square them and sent their letters of request via a boy who had a sister. Chaps who were squaring belonged to the elite club. They spoke a silent language that only they understood. I was envious. I resolved to belong to the club.

But gaining membership proved monumental. I had to find a girl to square me. My brother had squared a girl. He was four years older than I and had left school. I could not draw upon his experience, but he had told me that he had once actually kissed a girl. I remembered her name. She had a sister called Joan who was still at school. Joan was in a form below me. She had the chest and walking atributes I had noticed and also a pretty face.

That was enough. I decide to write her a letter. I was reading a spy novel at the time. I wrote her a long letter of adoration, asking her to square me. When prep was over that evening, I intended to find her and slip the letter into her hand. My plans suffered the blow that fate often delivers to mice and men. I coud not get close to her before she left. Clutching the incriminating letter, I was afraid it may fall into the wrong hands. Like the spy in the novel, I ate it.

Never give in is a great motto. I wrote Joan another letter. This time I kept it short. The last one had given me indigestion. After hours of chewing the top off my pencil, I wrote four words, "Will you square me?" Remembering the spy, I left it unsigned. This time I was successful and slipped the letter into her hand. The contact was sufficient. I did not wash my hand that night. The next evening after prep she slipped a note about 4 centermeters square into my hand. On it was a single word, "Yes". I could not sleep that night.

Romeo was a nut case and so was I. "Will you meet me on Lovers Hill?" I stated the date and time. The answer on the usual stationery came back "YES!". After lights out, the capital letters and exclamation mark created fantasies better left undiscribed.

I ran around the Long Back to Lovers Hill. Joan was standing on the path. Suddenly my knees went weak. Her cool, clean beauty made me realise what I looked like. The sides of my eyes were blue and bruised, my lip was swollen and cut from boxing training. I was sweating and probably didn't smell too good. We walked up the khudside and sat cocooned in long grass. I did not know what to talk about or what to do. Nor did she. We sat there in strained, fidgetty, uncomfotable silence, looking across the valley below. Then I remembered my brother. He had kissed her sister. I grabbed Joan and kissed her. I thought she would push me away. She didn't. She kissed hard against my lips. The cut opened up and I could taste the blood in my mouth. My lip was hurting. The more she pressed the worse it got. "How long do we keep this up?" I asked out of the corner of my mouth.

She shoved me away and stood up. "Not a moment longer," She brushed the grass from her skirt, my blood from her lips and left. That was the worst memory I have of school. I never tried to square anyone again. Hockey, football, cricket and even boxing were better than girls, even though their chests stuck out and they walked in a funny way.

Also, think about it, Raoul, if I had been caught, I would have been flogged and expelled. I would have been a disgraced cad and bounder and obliged to kill myself and I would never have written you this confession. Did I hear you say, "Pity you didn't get caught" ?

I have other tales to tell, a little less raunchy. But maybe I have bored you enough. This is a pretty long e-mail.

With laughter and happiness I send best wishes to all OS.

George

Browne of Havelock 30-37

PS. Lets end on a high note. Here's an extract of Sir Henry Lawrence's speech on his last visit to the school:

The only true creed for man is the service of the Lord, and He is best served by helping the deprived and downtrodden. Look not for gain , look not for success; success and gains will come in time; look to your courage and determination. To give in is not the creed of a Sanawarian - NEVER! You will fail me if you give in - that much you all owe me as your founder.

I was President of the OS Association in the UK in the year of our school's 150th anniversary. The late Sir John Lawrence, the great grandson of Sir Henry, was the honoured guest at our Reunion lunch. I have a copy of the speech he made. It's about a page long. Would you like me to post it on this forum?

Or would you like to know about the last surviving child of Sgt. Tilley? Or both

Are you a glutton for punishment?

PPS. Just seen your last e-mail: If you don't know who Lord Roberts was, what did they teach you in school? He was Viceroy, built the trunk roads, the railways, the postal and telegraph services, taught Indian's English and gave them jobs in government offices, the first step to self rule, etc. He laid the foundations of India's/Pakistan's infrastructure. He was a man of peace. "The pen is mightier than the sword". There was a statue of him in Lahore, holding a pen high in one hand and a sword lowered in the other. He also saved Sanawar from bankruptcy, which is why George Barne named a house after him. George Barne created the 'House System' in the manner of English Public Schools and fashioned Sanawar of the lines of Clifton College his old school in Bristol, England. I can see I'm going to have an uphill task with you, Raoul.