Linton Camp School recalled

The journey to Linton in 1946 (I was there until 1950) seemed to go on forever. I had never been on a long bus trip before, and I used to be travel sick on the trams, so every few miles the driver would stop the bus for me to be sick. The houses got fewer, the roads got smaller and the fields seemed to take over, everything was very strange.

When we arrived with our short trousers and brown paper parcel under our arms we were introduced to all the staff and then taken to our dormitories, which were more like chalets: long wooden huts with a veranda at the front end. The first two were for the boys and the top two for the girls and in between were two more for classrooms. We were in Dorm Two, for the younger boys.

That night we didn’t get much sleep. The steam pipes had air in them and were banging all night. One of the new lads was sleepwalking and every one was throwing pumps at him. (I once walked in my sleep. I thought I had heard the bell. I got up and walked across to the wash place, and started to get washed. Then came two teachers, Mr Key and a temporary teacher. Mr Key gave me a kick up the behind and told me to get back to bed.) With all the noise we were making it soon brought a teacher called Mr Robson who said, “Bottoms to the sun”. We all turned over and he proceeded to wallop each one of us on the behind with a slipper.

The next morning we were awakened at about 8am to the sound of the bell, an iron triangle that was used for all events like getting up, meal times and assembly, then over to the washroom to get washed and brushed up. We all had a number for our towel hook. Mine was No 7. Because soap was still rationed we only had liquid soap – one spot on one hand and two handfuls if you were having a shower.

The first ten on the square could play a short game of five-a-side football before breakfast. The view from the dining hall veranda looked out over the whole school. Porridge, bacon and eggs. What a feast! Better than the two slices of bread and jam at home.

Kevin Cawood l I was at Linton Camp from 1966 to 1967, aged nine, and was sent there on the recommendation of my family doctor due to my ill-health. It did me the world of good. I suffered from asthma and was living in West Bowling at the time, in a damp, one-bedroomed back-to-back with my parents.

The first few weeks at Linton were the worst. I hated it, being homesick and not used to the regimental routine, but soon came to enjoy my stay, with the porridge and eggy bread for breakfast, and the biscuits and cocoa for supper, and the tuck shop where you could spend the postal orders your parents sent. I also enjoyed the walk to Grassington every Saturday to buy Matchbox toys.

As my health got better I was encouraged to participate in the many sports on offer – rugby, football, and cross-country running.

In one particular homesick spell, myself and two others planned our escape. We went to bed in our clothes with our pyjamas over the top. In the dead of night we sneaked out of our dorm and under moonlight managed to get to the limestone quarry, where we were spotted and shipped back to Linton in a Ford Anglia.

We intended to walk back to Bradford. I think I got the size 12 slipper on my backside for that. I never did it again. When my time was up I didn’t want to come home. I made many friends, some I still see today.

Tony Blomfield l Bradford wasn’t considered the healthiest place for an asthmatic child in the 1950s so I was shipped off to Linton when I was nine. Separated from friends and family through no fault of my own, frankly I hated it, but retain my affection for the area of Upper Wharfedale.

Linton was an eye-opener for me, as many of the 90 pupils were sent there by Social Services or the Juvenile Court. Having said that, I made some good friends. The regime was necessarily strict, each day followed a defined pattern and we were only allowed parental visits once a month. School holidays were of the normal duration, but we could only go home for about half of them. What I didn’t realise at the time was that some of my schoolmates had no homes to go to, or none worthy of the name, and in some cases no parents to visit them.

We had television, films at weekends and walks to Linton, Thorpe or Grassington. Some of us were allowed out unsupervised, many were not. We slept in dormitories accommodating about 30. There were approximately 60 boys and 30 girls.

Having passed my 11-plus I was allowed to leave at Easter, 1961, and returned for a term to Ryan Street Junior School before starting Grammar School. Mr Sternthwaite was the head when I went, and Mr Robson was deputy. Other staff included Mrs Robson, Mr and Mrs Core, Mr Moorhouse, Mr Robinson, Mrs Woodhead and Miss Tyson.

Charles Priestley l I spent four years at Linton Camp in the 1960s, from the age of ten. I was brought up before that at Springfield Children’s Home near the BRI, and I went back there afterwards. I don’t really know why I was sent to Linton, perhaps I was a bit wild as a child.

I loved it there. We went hiking and swimming, at first being taken by bus to Skipton baths, then Leeds baths, but later at the camp when it had a pool installed. Everything was great there. I loved being in the country, and the meals were fantastic. I remember the headmaster was Mr Barnard, and I can remember the names of the other teachers.

If you were naughty, you had to stand under the clock as a punishment, and other children would laugh at you as they went past. We used to go out into Grassington every week, walking over the bridge and up through the town. There was a farm along the road above Grassington that had a parrot. When you heard the parrot, you knew you’d gone far enough and it was time to turn back.

The only upset about being there was that because I had no family I didn’t get visitors, but a friend’s Auntie Annie and Uncle Ted used to visit me as well as her.

Siobhan Bakes (formerly Christine Sharp).

l I have some happy memories of my time at Linton Camp in the late 1960s and 1970, and some not so happy. If you were bad on a night you had to stand in the corridor and learn a poem by heart. I had to learn Who Killed Cock Robin? I never learned it all so I was left there.

I was a prefect, but not for long. One of my jobs was washing wet bed sheets, or you did bell-ringing. The food wasn’t that good. Who remembers dishwater for supper?

Mr Barnard, the headmaster, used to grab your ears if you were bad, or you had to stand under the clock near his office. He was a big man.

We did bedroom inspection. Beds had to have hospital corners. Everything had to be right or you had to do it all again until it was right. We all had numbers on our clothes. Mine was G41.

Pauline Morris (formerly Wright).