Great War Remembrance Board

A service of remembrance took place at the school on Saturday 12 November 2011 during which the refurbished war memorial boards were re-dedicated by former Headmaster Bryan Short.

The boards, the subject of a recent highly successful appeal by the OBA for the £3,000 cost of refurbishment, were the centrepiece of this year’s remembrance service, now being run by the OBA committee. The OBA veterans, who were the originators of the annual event, were represented this year by Denis Jarrett (RAF) and Geoff Hattie (Army).

Second World War Remembrance Board

Other conflicts Remembrance Board

Relatives of Lt Barry, who lost his life at Cassino, Italy, in a particularly important strategic battle

More than 40 people were present to honour the school’s war casualties, many more of whose names now appear on the boards than originally, following research undertaken by old boy Marc Stewart that revealed many more old boys had perished in the two world wars and other conflicts than had been thought.

Representatives of the school at the re-dedication service

Barry Gilbert, Ken Sears and Marc Stewart - OBA committee members. Marc Stewart carried out the extensive research noted above.

Chris Laming

In September 1980 I was transferred to the Traffic Management Branch of Scotland Yard which was based at Tintagel House on the Albert Embankment on the South side of the Thames in Lambeth. I had returned the area where I had first walked the beat as a constable.

This Branch of the Yard dealt with all matters concerning the circulation of traffic on all the roads in the Metropolitan Police area. It supervised road works, traffic signal installations and major building projects in conjunction with the Greater London Council and the local borough councils.

The Branch consisted of four teams each comprising one Chief Inspector, two Inspectors and two Sergeants. Each team was responsible for a quarter of the Met Police area which meant that an Inspector and Sergeant working together supervised three London Boroughs.

We liaised very closely with the GLC and Borough engineers and with engineers from the Utilities – gas, water, electricity etc. Often these works required road closure orders and traffic diversions. Closure orders for planned work were issued by the Borough engineers and there were regular monthly meetings with interested parties as these orders took about three weeks to be authorised. In the case of emergencies however Police had the power to close roads under the Road Traffic Act.

These powers were used very often especially at night when either the Inspector or myself was called out in the early hours to attend the scene of a major fire or burst water main etc. In these instances we had a very useful facility in the Met in the form of our sign making branch at Merton. We were able to call on them at any hour of the day and night and they would arrive with a pantechnicon full of all manner of signs to implement a traffic diversion. In London this can become very complicated when bus routes are involved.

We had a good working relationship with the managers and inspectors of London Transport who obviously had to be consulted about any major traffic diversions on their bus routes. They attended all the borough traffic meetings. As a spin-off from this, when I was attached to the team working the North-East covering Havering Borough the manager of the London Transport garage at Romford invited us to their driver training school at North Weald aerodrome in Essex. We all had a great day driving the LT Routemaster buses round the obstacle courses and the skid pan.

This period of my service was a very interesting time. I was working with traffic engineers and engineers from the Utilities and learnt a great deal not directly connected with normal policing.

This photograph was taken during an operation to lift air conditioning units onto the roof of Guy’s Hospital.

In 1984 the confrontation between the Miners Union and the Government brought about another change in our daily routine. All Police Forces were supplying officers to the coalfields to back up the local Constabularies. Our branch became the administration centre for collating the numbers of officers employed at each coalfield. We also took turns with other Met traffic units to supply officers for admin duties at various centres where the men policing the coalfields were based.

That was how I found myself with another Sergeant and Inspector driving up the M1 to Nottingham. I can remember thinking back to geography lessons   in Room 4 where ‘Geoger’  Hill taught us about  the  ‘York/Derby/Notts’  coalfields. We eventually arrived at our base which was at an Army tank repair depot at Chilwell, near Nottingham. Our job for the week was to see that the men were up at the crack of dawn, breakfasted and off to their particular pit head and when they returned that they had a meal waiting (cooked by the Army staff not us!!). During the day we did the paper work and we had the easier day as the lads often came back shattered.

The next time that I was due to make the trip I was told on the day before I was due to leave that there had been a change of plan. The Conservative Party Conference was to take place at Brighton and we were diverted there instead. Our base was to be Butlin’s Holiday Camp at Bognor with police officers from Sussex, Essex, Hampshire and Surrey.  The Sussex Chief Inspector in charge was quite amused when the Inspector and I arrived at the camp and introduced ourselves as Gilbert and Sullivan. He wanted to know if we were the entertainment.

We had quite an uneventful week until at 2.45am on Saturday 12^th of October the Provisional IRA detonated the bomb in The Grand Hotel in Brighton. The duty officer received the call soon after and we had to rouse the whole camp and send them off to the scene of the bombing. What happened there is well documented.

At the camp we had a problem, as the whole police contingent were due to leave that morning and allow Butlin’s to carry on their normal business. This meant that all the chalets had to be cleared by the admin staff remaining at the camp – plus one constable who had gone AWOL the night before to visit relatives in Bognor and returned to find that his group had left him stranded. His punishment was to help us empty the camp. Some officers had packed their cases the night before but in most chalets we had to gather up belongings and put those into what we thought were right bags and cases. They were then loaded onto transport to take them back to the appropriate county – we never did know whether the luggage found its rightful owner. It was a couple of very tired officers that drove back to London that eventful day – not quite the ending we had anticipated.

1985 saw the end of the Miner’s Strike and also another change in my career. The Traffic Management Branch was reorganised and the teams were dispersed to the area of the Met for which they were responsible. At the time I was attached to the 4 Area Team which covered the South Eastern corner of the Met area.  Our team was to be based at a new traffic garage that had been built on the old Robertson jam factory site at Catford.

The opening ceremony was performed by the Duke of Gloucester who was himself a keen motorcyclist.

The remainder of my service was spent at Catford and the last project in which I was involved was the building of the A2 road link between Falconwood and the Blackwall Tunnel approach which serves as a permanent reminder of my years with Traffic Branch.

The 35 years that I served seemed to pass so quickly but there is one aspect of my service that I have not mentioned and that is the Metropolitan Police Male Voice Choir. I had sung in Murston church choir since I was 8 years old and continued at Borden encouraged by Peter Jackson. Memories of the Arts Festivals and the mixed choirs with the girls at the County School spring to mind.

When I was stationed at Kennington one of my colleagues was Dave Perks, a Welshman from Llanelly, who was a natural Welsh tenor. One day in 1959 he suggested that we join the Police Choir. It was the start of a long relationship as we both sang with the Choir for the rest of our service and into our retirement.

With the Choir I have sung in all the main concert halls and cathedrals and churches in London. When I first joined our main concert of the year was at The Festival Hall. That continued until the Hall was refurbished under new management in about 1967 and we lost our permanent slot. We then used The Central Hall Westminster and The Queen Elizabeth Hall until finally settling at The Barbican.

Our Christmas Carol Service was held at venues like St. Paul’s, St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, the BBC church St. Giles and the Temple Church. We have also sung in Westminster Abbey and Catholic Cathedral Westminster. It was a great experience and privilege to sing in all those wonderful buildings.

We had exchange visits with German Police Choirs from Lubeck, Bamberg and Duisburg and had some memorable times in those cities. I made many friends there and still keep in touch.

I left the Choir in 1999 when Anne  and I moved back to our roots in Sittingbourne but still retain all the memories and play the various tapes  and CD’s that we made over the years. I am still singing with the Sittingbourne Orpheus and Community Choirs.

I retired from the Police in 1992 and did not regret any of those thirty five years. I met some fine people and made some lasting friendships on that journey.

Barry

Old Boys will be pleased to hear that the sporting prowess engrained in us at Borden is spreading throughout Europe.  Heinie (Wally) Costen and Peter Lusted put their skills to the test and entered a local boules contest at St Angeau in the Charente.

Plan A – Having played cricket together for 20 plus years with Belnor Cricket Club and also the Old Boys in the Sittingbourne Evening League, the original plan was for an over of off spin (with the odd leg break thrown in) from Lusted and a few stumpings from Costen.  The absence of a bat or any wickets soon put us on guard and we quickly learnt that these methods had been outlawed in the first draft of the Code Napoleon.  Whether the similarity in height between Napoleon and a stump had any bearing on these laws is unclear.

Plan B – it is important to give an impression of knowledge and talent, so we noted (and quickly copied) how the throwing line is marked in the dust with a swirl of the right foot and the cochonnet is studiously thrown in position up the court.  Four people, three boules each, nearest the cochonnet – easy!  But then you discover that a stone the size of pea can make a boule weighing  nearly 2 pounds divert at right angles.  How does that happen?  Did we cover it in Physics?  If not it is a serious omission in the school syllabus.  Whose boule is nearest?  In the absence of a laser measure a length of string is used, but even this is disputed by the occasional over enthusiastic player.

Nitere Porro – the school motto which loosely translated means – “when playing Simon Langton, win at all costs” or “when lacking talent – guile and bluff are perfectly acceptable”.  Simon Langton being absent we applied the second.  Amongst our opponents was a young 12 year old who spoke French, English and Spanish fluently – why do we not put so much importance on languages?  We beat his pair thirteen/eleven, ou treize/onze, o trece/once!

So to the final, where we actually won quite comfortably.  If you believe that……you will believe any old boules!

Peter Lusted

It’s not too late to make a contribution to the appeal, which still hopes to provide a travel bursary for those pupils who visit the battlefields of France and Flanders as part of their studies. Please make cheques payable to “Old Bordenian Association”, and send them to:

Neil Hancock,

Hon. Treasurer, Old Bordenian Association

20 Uplands Way, Halfway,

Sheerness, Kent, ME12 3EH

Thank you.

On a visit to his son in the USA in the autumn of 2010

“Our trip to the States is now well and truly over and we have been trying to catch up with the demands of Christmas here in France. The Americans do it so much better. Christmas, it seemed, was well under way when we arrived at the beginning of November : Salvation Army posts outside the mall, with handbells ringing and cauldrons standing by to receive donations, and everybody walking steadfastly past. “White Christmas”, “Rudolph”, “Here comes Santa Claus”, and all of those other tried and true hymns from Holllywood, guaranteed to drive underground the Scrooges of this world by their sheer persistency if nothing else. Sales everywhere. Nodding Santas. Christmas trees. A good two months still to go, and Thanksgiving still to come.

Thanksgiving at our son’s house would have had Norman Rockwell scrambling to get his brushes and palette to commit the scene to canvas. At the table were seated an expat English couple, living in France, five Koreans, one Englishman now a naturalised American and two native-born Americans (I almost said native Americans, but that means Red Indians now, doesn’t it? “Lookee yonder, captain, there must be durn near a thousand native Americans on the ridge there! What we gonna do?”). Our son does the celebratory cooking for the household and had announced that turkey was out this year, and that roast beef ribs were in . Pumpkin pie? No, that’s out too. We were to have chocolate cloud cake. The news set up a low whining from our two grandsons. “Everybody at school is having turkey and pumpkin pie”. “Except you, and that will give you something different to talk about it, won’t it?” Quiet approval from the adults. Continued keening from the kids, but that soon stopped when the ribs appeared.

When we’ve done the mall, there’s not a lot left to see, apart from the Amish, so we set off to visit the oddly named main town of the area, Intercourse. You can get a lot of mileage out of a name like this when you’re writing postcards. The neighbouring town is Blue Ball and the one after that is Bird in Hand. It’s like going back to the America that I think once existed : little grocery stores with mounds of pumpkins displayed outside, sparkling white farms with tall washing lines, covered in sheets and shirts and pillow cases all done by hand because they are not allowed to have electricity ; fields being ploughed by teams of mules ; and, of course, the Amish themselves. The men seem to be confined to the area, but the women in long dresses, clumpy boots and lace bonnets work in the shops outside the area, often at the cash desk. They all seem very contented, despite what must be a very constricting regime, and they spin along the roads in their closed-in, horse-drawn buggies.

The first time we went there, we had a meal in the main restaurant in town and I chose pork belly and grits with a Coke, alcohol being forbidden. Along came a huge platter, heaped high with food and accompanied by a gallon of Coke.  Jan, who eats like a bird on a diet, had ordered the same and looked with horror at our meal, but tucked in gamely. It soon beat her, but I fought on and emptied the plate. Up came the smiling waitress and asked if I had enjoyed it ; then, without waiting for an answer, swept the plate away and returned a couple of minutes later with another helping of pork belly and another bucket of Coke. I fought my way through this one as well somehow, and up she came again and was all set to bring me a third, but I managed to persuade her I could eat no more. This could have been followed by Shoo Fly Pie, but we had both reached our limit. Pity, because :

“Shoo Fly Pie

And Apple Pan Dowdy

Make your teeth say “Hi”

And your stomach say “Howdy!”

(From a film at the Argosy Cinema, Sheerness, circa 1940)

and it had long been my ambition to sample this delicacy.

We admired the quilts on display and reeled in astonishment at the quality of the workmanship and the astronomical nature of the price. We first went there about seven years ago, and found all sorts of little things in the shops that we could take home, all made in the area – apples, pears, slices of melon made of painted wood, for example. The Chinese influence seems to have moved in and the the ancient craft of plastic moulding has taken over from the wood carver.”

On further visits to the Dentist

“I’ve been to the dentist again – twice, in fact. The first visit was as usual – my gazing spellbound in to the limpid black eyes of the dentist, letting her get on without any protest from me. “I’m going to drill down through the top of your head, Mr Westacott.” “That’s fine. Yes, go ahead.” The second was to demonstrate the fact that my mouth was a plague area and needed instant treatment if my teeth were not going to fall like ripe plums. A different dentist this time whisked some dental floss in and out of my teeth, prepared a slide which was thrust under a microscope, the like of which Mr Letouf could never have imagined, and a ghastly image appeared on a computer screen of wiggling creatures being pursued by blobs. “The blobs are white blood cells devouring the bacteria,” she explained. My side, unfortunately, seemed to be losing. “What will happen?”, I dared to ask. “All of your teeth will melt.” I’m putting this in layman’s terms, you understand. “Here,” she said, “take this booklet home with you, read it carefully, and have some nightmares. Then come back and see the expert on this sort of thing.”

Some weeks later, I went back and met another merry little creature who sat me down and went through another booklet with me, one full of even more hideous pictures. And it had my name on it! “You’ll have to come back once a month when the dentist will clean each tooth individually, you will go home and brush and floss three times daily, and, after each procedure, use a special, super-strength mouthwash to kill off those things you saw wiggling unchecked through your mouth.” The name of one of them began with a ‘Z’, so I knew that was bad. “How much?” I asked, thinking it might be a couple of hundred Euros or so. The figure that she quoted was well above that, running into thousands. “Go to the office where the young lady will prepare a devis for you, and you can try sending it off to your insurance. Here’s a toothbrush for you. Oh, yes – and here’s an even worse booklet for you to study with a personal diagnosis.” It took me over a month to pluck up sufficient courage to go back and explain that, while I should very much like to have the treatment, it would mean selling the house. “That’s all right,” said the young woman, flashing me an impeccably-dentured smile, and, when I offered her the toothbrush and the booklet, she very graciously said that I could keep them.”

On the mysteries of wine and the English language

“During a meal with neighbours at a local restaurant recently, a lady sitting next to me sniffed her wine and announced quietly that, in her opinion, it was corked. I thought of doing a John Cleese on her. “Corked? How can it be corked? You’ve just seen me pouring it out of the bottle!”, but good sense mercifully prevailed. I admitted that I simply wouldn’t know if a wine was corked : if it was red and moved, I drank it. A little committee was quickly formed and the wine was judged to be all right. Timidly, I asked how they could tell and I was given a kindly lesson on smell and the causes of corking – it simply wasn’t a case of just ‘touching the cork’, as they put it in French. They also explained ‘ni cole ni filtre’ which was also why I had a generous layer of sediment at the bottom of my glass. They went on to say that, because of this, I should have a baby daughter by the end of the year. My wife muttered something about magi and a star, but I chose not to pass this on.

We have a friend whose daughter has just done her Bac and who has been coming to us to discuss some of the mysteries of the English language. Her mother had advertised her son’s bike on E-Bay, something of a Rolls Royce of bikes, and had received an offer from an Englishman, but was puzzled by his salutation, which she said was “Hello, sailor”. I instantly went into ill-suppressed hysterics, and sat there wheezing and weeping while the lady watched me in alarm. Then, when I had regained control, I launched into this delicate explanation of innocent sailors, in a naval town, in search of a place where they could sip a quiet lemonade, who would be approached from darkedned doorways by some of the friendlier ladies of the town, seeking to relieve the monotony of these young men by offering to spend a few minutes with them. The lady looked very surprised at all this and then said, when she looked it up in the dictionary, the alternative word offered was ‘vendor’, and she only wanted to know if this was the normal response.”

Kindly provided by Graham Barnes

Surrey bred and Oxminster educated Andrew Makepeace sets out to discover how the other nine tenths live by choosing as his first teaching post an inner Manchester community school.He soon lives to regret his decision as he suffers the non acceptance of his privileged background in the staffroom,the hounding of an unsupportive and hypocritical headmaster and the horrors of 4H. He is however rescued by fellow teacher Diana who is also running from the right as she is a millionaire industrialist’s daughter.  At the same time he has been quartered in a run down area of the city where he encounters Helen, an underprivileged girl from a council estate whose father has died young.  He is torn between the two – the raw and sensous Helen and Diana who saves him from dismissal and starts to run his life.  Eventually becoming increasingly politicised by Helen ‘s brother Tom, he rejects all and opts to throw in his lot with Helen.  The two of them just suddenly disappear.

The second part of the novel shifts to Spain where Andrew and Helen find themselves almost literally washed ashore.  Fortune favours the bold and through the intervention of retiree Don they set themselves up as successful restaurateurs and enter into the intricate lives and jealousies of the village’s expatriate community.  Meanwhile however, Diana the huntress as her name implies tracks Andrew down,enters the ‘Periquillo Verde’ restaurant and…….

To say that this is a page turner is a cliche,I know, but there is no other word to describe it.  Despite a hectic work schedule I had it read cover to cover in just three days flat.  How does he acheive this feat?  Firstly the scenes in the novel do not follow a straight timeline.  Key and dramatic events are described first and then the reader has to follow the pages to find out how the characters arrived at the stage.  Added to this ‘who dunnit’ factor is the “who gets ‘im” element.  Will it be Helen?   Will it be Diana?  Will they both ditch the two timer or will Andrew philanderer on until the final page.  The more salacious among us are also urged on to reach the next raunchy sex scene.  One of these, in which Helen unsuccessfully tries to get herslf raped, is used to great comic effect.

Keith also has a Dickensian gift of neatly drawing characters so that you sympathise with them and are anxious to follow their progress whether they are essentially good or essentially evil.  Even the minor characters are memorable – Andrew’s prying sister Deborah, Helen’s kindly caring and past caring widowed Mum and her socialist worker Citizen Smith type brother Tom are all memorable examples of Keith’s creative genius.  There is a lot of realistic dialogue in this novel which would lend it to easy adaptation to the theatre of cinema.  However Keith is also skilled at descriptive narrative.  For example describing what, on one level Andrew is escaping from,”The town was dominated by vast council estates snaking over the hills looking for a distance like black stripes of licorice with crimson borders” and to where he is escaping “The sea was completely still that morning and Andrew was certain he was as near to Paradise as was possible”.

This is the one that missed the scrutiny of “The Booker Prize Committee”.   Those of you who need to have a good book at hand should make sure that, whether they are off to the very location of Costa del Sol or if it is just for an opportune weekend in Brighton, they add ‘Escape to Paradise’ to their packing list for this summer hols.

‘Escape To Paradise”by Keith Minton 2006 is published in Canada by George A Vanderburgh ’The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box’ publishing house.  It is available in The UK at £7.99 through leading book stores and at Amazon.com. The author informs that even though it may say ‘not available’ copies are available, so please persist.

Reviewer: Philip Spencer Drury  May 27 2011

More entries welcome.  Original story can be found here: http://www.oldbordenians.co.uk/events/old-bordenian-tie-challenge/

I returned from Anguilla in December 1970 and the ‘winter of discontent’  of the Heath government was in full swing. There were three day working weeks for some and we suffered numerous power cuts. Keeping warm was a problem and having spent three months in the balmy climate of the West Indies it took a while to get accustomed to the cold of the English winter.

After a few days leave it was back to work at Bow Garage and a more normal working routine. Everyone I met who had served in Anguilla agreed that it was some time before we made that adjustment.

At the beginning of 1971 the Met Establishment were concerned about the rise in motor vehicle accidents and decided to form an Accident Prevention Unit. The unit would consist of eight teams, each with a Sergeant and six PCs., equipped with a van and six motorcycles to cover the whole of the Met Police Area. Sites with high accident rates were identified and each team spent two weeks of high visibility police presence at each site. I joined the team operating from Bow Garage. The aim was to influence driver behaviour mainly through verbal warnings, with the more serious offenders being reported for prosecution. It was a fact that statistics showed when the Unit was in operation the personal injury accident figures were reduced.

In 1974 I sat and passed the Sergeant’s Exam and this began another chapter in my police service. In the summer of that year I spent four weeks at Hendon Training School brushing up on the latest legislation and station procedure. This was invaluable to me because during my years in Traffic, the front office and charge room procedure had changed. ‘Books’ had evolved into proformas and it was all very different being on the other side of the desk in the charge room.

On 11^th November 1974 I was transferred to Woolwich Police Station as a sergeant. I was back at the station that had been my ‘home’ as a cadet. It was quite a tense time, because four days before I arrived at the station the IRA had thrown a bomb through the window of The King’s Arms public house opposite the Royal Artillery barracks. Two people were killed and a number were injured. In the following weeks we answered many emergency calls to ‘suspect packages’ but fortunately they were all false alarms.

The station gradually returned to normal and I was back to the three shift system – early, lates and nights. The Inspector and other Sergeants were a great help on the relief and I settled down to the new routine of the front office, charge room and allocating beat patrols and general supervision. The ‘Panda’ cars were introduced at this time and a system of mixed foot and motorised patrols was set up. The introduction of more vehicles to the station meant that my traffic patrol experience was put to good use.

The IRA had not given up their terror campaign and the central divisions were augmented by men from the outer divisions. On several occasions I found myself with constables from Woolwich patrolling the West End again. My previous experience of working in the central area was valuable and we didn’t get lost. We did have one bomb incident in Smith Street, Westminster while we were patrolling but fortunately the device was defused safely by a  Bomb Disposal Unit who were a great asset at the time doing a very dangerous job.

I had been at Woolwich about a year when I had a recurrence of a cartilage injury to my knee which required surgery and I spent the next two months on sick leave. I returned to duty and after about two weeks I had a call from the Chief Inspector in charge of the Accident Prevention Unit. He asked me if I would be interested in rejoining the unit in charge of one of teams. I replied that I would, but being a relatively new sergeant on Division was not sure how my Chief Superintendent would view it. Luckily he did agree to my transfer and once again I was back in Traffic Division.

With my BMW and the APU van in Dulwich.

The APU team that I joined was based at Lewisham in South London and I spent a happy eighteen months there. We occupied premises at the back of Lewisham police station and I managed to keep up my sporting activities playing for the sub-division cricket team and in the winter played mid-week hockey with the 4 Area team. The hockey team at this time entered a police competition in Sheffield with teams from County Constabularies and Ulster whom we beat in the final.

In 1977 I had another move, this time into the administration office of the APU which was situated at Walton Street behind the Harrods store in Chelsea.

My remit was to do the site research for the Unit and decide where each of the eight teams would be posted on a fortnightly schedule and collate the reports from the team Sergeants. I visited all the sites and so gained a fair knowledge of the Met area which covers 900 square miles.

The recent demolition of Chelsea Barracks brought to mind that my Superintendent at Walton Street was an ex member of the Scots Guards. One day he told me bring in my swimming gear. The next day, at lunch time off we went to the Barracks and being an ex guardsman he was able to use the pool there and we did this regularly. I was sorry to see the Barracks go as it was an impressive historic building and watching the Guards training on the Square was a great sight and privilege.

All good things come to an end and in 1980 the Met had another reshuffle of resources and the admin staff at APU were reassigned to other duties.

I was offered a post at the Traffic Management branch at Scotland Yard which will be the last part of my journey.

Old Bordenian Marc Stewart has undertaken extensive research that reveals many more old boys died in these conflicts than had previously been thought.

We now know that the existing school memorial to victims of the second world war is incomplete. Four sets of brothers were killed, plus a father and his son – all Old Bordenians. There are now 99 names  (37 from WW1, 59 for WW2, and single casualties for the Boer war, Korean war and Northern Ireland)  compared to the 50 or so names we started out with.

This appeal is to finance a new set of memorial boards for the school vestibule where all of the names will be recorded in perpetuity.

Please give generously to help offset the cost. Our target is £3,000 and any excess will be used by the school to fund a bursary to enable current pupils to visit the battlefields.

Please make cheques payable to the Old Bordenian Association and send them to the Hon. Treasurer, Neil Hancock, at 20 Uplands Way, Halfway, Sheerness, Kent, ME12 3EH.

We plan to dedicate the new boards at the annual OBA Service of Remembrance, taking place at the school on Saturday 12 November, 2011,  at 11.00 am.

The results of Marc’s research will be available on a new Remembrance microsite, linked to this site, to be launched shortly.