ࡱ> 02/ bjbjqq 4"ee  90$i ^```:````(` 09`i>"i`i`D``9i : Stick and String Extracts from the autobiography of Terence Tinsley It was 1939, I was seventeen years old and there was just enough time for me to take an entrance exam to Cambridge to gain a place there before I was called up. Armed with enough credits in school certificate and a pass in the exam called Little Go. I applied to ͨs College and was accepted for a place in the engineering school of the university. In my early days at Oundle, we juniors could choose to join the Boy Scouts for our first two years before going into the Officers Training Corps (OTC). I joined the Scouts because I expected to join the Regular Army after leaving school. (p.9) p.12 After the rigours of square-bashing at Ripon there followed six glorious months at the colleges for which we had obtained places. I spent this happy period as a war-time undergraduate at Cambridge. I had a room on R staircase in ͨs College which I shared with another member of 100 party, Steve Millar. The university was not very full at this stage of the war as was proved by our experiences on the river. Steve and I had just come to the conclusion that all work and no exercise might be bad for us when the college captain of boats paid us a visit. Like Ratty in the Wind in the Willows, he extolled the pleasures of messing about in boats and suggested that we might like to join the college boat club. Neither of us had ever rowed as a sport before and this seemed an excellent chance to do so while the Army was paying for us. We therefore threw in our lot with the Wet Bobs and duly turned up at the college boat-house on the Can, just beside the Victoria Bridge. We never regretted the decision. The college boatmans name was Twinn, a name of renown on the river. He warned us of the serious problem we would encounter as the result of much sliding forwards and backwards on hard, unyielding seats. This ailment went by the name of boaters bum and Twinn recommended that we should get on the panel of a Dr Edward Bevan. Since the doctors surgery walls were covered with Olympic and other splendidly decorated oars, it was plain that we were in good hands. Steve and I were taken out regularly on the river by experiences oarsmen of the college and by our good friend Twinn. We went out in safe, heavy tubs to start with, and spent a lot of wine churning the water while sitting in the static boat tethered to the landing stage of the boathouse. We slid until our bottoms were as sore as we had been warned they would be, and we laboured at the oars getting splendid blisters to show for our efforts. After a while we progressed to lighter, more elegant and much more precarious craft. One day Twinn rashly let the pair of us go out in two very slender craft. He called them either a whiff or a funny, I forget which, but they were delicate indeed. He pushed each of us out and we made our way gingerly upstream towards the weir above the boathouse. At this point we had to turn round. As I ripped ignominiously into the water I was comforted by the sight of Steve in equal difficulties. We both recognised the impossibility of getting back into such a precarious craft and wisely swam with the boats back to Twinn at the boathouse. I think he expected us but he was quite complimentary that we had both reached the weir... p.13 Life in college was not all work and body-building; we found we could also have fun. Although the university was very empathy there were plenty of dances to enjoy, especially if one could find a partner to go with. The dances were usually in aid of some club or other and were often held in the ballroom of an establishment known as the New Dorothy Cafe. You did not have to belong to the club or society; it was your money that they were after. It obviously helped to know about Scottish dancing if you attended the Caledonian Ball but you did not have to be a communist to enjoy what were reputed to be the best dances simply because they were fun by the Cambridge Left. If we wished to go to a dance on a Saturday, we went to whatever dance was on that night. When my cronies found out that I knew a girl at Girton this opened up new horizons for them. They encouraged me to make contact with my friend, Mary Callender, and to extend this to several of her friends. We might all now be able to savour the delights of the New Dorothy. My old school friend, John Waterstone, leant heavily on me to fix things. He even guaranteed that he would teach us all to dance! John won a half-blue for boxing and was light on his feet. He set up dancing sessions on R staircase and nobly reversed round the room encouraging us to lead him in the waltz or fox-trot. In due course Mary and her friends were being propelled inexpertly, but enthusiastically, around the dance floor at the New Dorothy in aid of any club or society whose tickets we could afford. When the six glorious months at Cambridge ended we were sent to complete the next part of our course. This meant a further six months at an Officer Cadet Training Unit/ John Waterstone, Donald Good and other friends went to 141 OCTU in the centre of Aldershot, while the group I was with went to 142 OCTU. We were billeted in Malta Barracks some way out of the town, between Aldershot, Farnham and Fleet, sited among trees on the banks of the Old Basingstoke Canal. Our official title was 24 Class.  K L tu'-LwIJ}{guvwh h3hS:h&ohk,phylhylhV56hylhyl56:DE j~ 21h:pV. 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