Pilgrimage to Alton and Cotton
aka Through My Windows XP
We set off on a pleasant Thursday with the sun on our backs and happy memories in our hearts. Father Faber & his Wilfridians would surely grant us good weather on this pilgrimage? It wasn't long before we found ourselves stuck behind the obligatory tractor. I mumbled a prayer to Saint Isidore with little or no effect. We bumbled on towards Alton.
Eventually we came upon a sign leading us to the first stop of our voyage of rediscovery - Alton Castle & St. John's Prep School.
We parked up by the side of the Castle - I could almost imagine Mr. Jeffries watching us , in case we walked on the grass. Each time we left the confines of the car , the heavens opened. Was Father Faber sending us a sign?
The 'gym' had sprouted a new-age roof! It was a reminder that I had entered 'old age'.
St. John's is a stunning place to view and remains basically unchanged - apart from a distinct lack of nuns.
Old boys ( and indeed old girls) will recognise the bridge and the moat. The sight of the nuns walking over the bridge is one that lives long in the memory.
Talking of nuns , this used to be their Convent. All this was their property , bought in 1919 by their Order , the Sisters of Mercy , as a school and as a religious community. They sold out to the Archdiocese and hopefully they are now living in splendour on the proceeds.
Round the back of the church there are memorials to the Sisters who had lived ( and died) at St. John's.
The small , but perfectly formed , St. John's Church , designed by Pugin and built by the money of the Good Earl. In my time , Monsignor Cyril Damian Faye was PP.
The interior remains the same - only the visitors change. Pugin did do a grand job and a coachload of his 'fans' often stop off here on their trail of Pugin creations.
One of the great features of St. John's Church. Many an Altonian had served at this Altar.
The Priest's House is on the right - the current incumbent is Father Philip Gay. On the right is the empty St. John's Primary School. Children now , amazingly , go the to growing and successful Faber School at Cotton. How the world turns.
It was time to find lodgings for the night. Where better to overcome our fati-gue than the Bull at Alton , the haunt of the late Terry Owen.
No wonder Terry loved it here. The surroundings are comfortable , the hospitality warm and the fare is excellent.
The room was spacious and , compared to life at Wilf's , warm & cosy. I read awhile before lights out. Soon I was in dreamland , looking forward to visiting my old school , Cotton College.
It was now time to take the second part of the pilgimage , and we travelled along the Red Road from the old Bridge Cafe until we entered Oakamoor , otherwise known as Oakey. We tarried momentarily at The Lord Nelson , where many a Cottonian has slurped a sneaky bottle of beer on a priv down the Val.
We approached Wilf's and we were suddenly transported back 30-40 years when boys ( and indeed girls) trudged these very roads. The worst punsihment a Cottonian could have was loss of privs which kept him ( or indeed her) within bounds.
The sight of top bounds was staggering. Thosses a shell - the whole place behind wire. A crime really after all we went through as boys ( and indeed girls).
The Sports Hall , one of the last building projects of my era , was in disrepair. I wonder if my football is still on the roof?
Oh dear. This is the entrance to Top Bounds.I grimaced at : a) the sight of the decay and b) the memory of my first day as a Cottonian. It is actually quite painful to see it in such a state. Why have they abandoned us?
St. Wilf's itself is still in regular use. The PP from Cheadle does a Sunday Mass at 8-30 a.m.
The graves of the Profs who died are scattered around. Here lies 'Plum' Manion , former Headmaster.
And here lies Hawksford , one of the great Cottonians. Doctor's Walk is named in honour of this former President of St. Wilfrid's College , Cotton.
The War Memorial lists the names of boys who perished in both World Wars.
The windows around the church remain intact. Here the school badge can still be seen.
Around to the front entrance of St. Wilf's. This view is quite pleasant.
Turning around to look at the school building was a very unpleasant experience.
I felt sick and stumbled as I turned to look at the front of college. I felt forsaken.
Who would allow this to happen?
The Faber Wing - my first dorm! Gutted. It was disturbing to mind , body and soul. Cottonians are worth more than this , surely.
We came upon the cemetery at the back of Faber. Overgrown and uncared for. A number of Profs are buried in here.
Francis (Frank) Gerard ' Whisky' Roberts and his wife.
Also Ian Neilson. A violin is engraved on his headstone. Also further back under the trees was the grave of Richard Davies , Maths teacher who died of consumption (TB) in 1882 , which signifies the history & importance of the site..
The skies suddenly darkened and the clouds began to scurry around. The soul of Cotton was angry , crying out for pity. The ghosts of all the old Profs and OCs had momentarily gathered in torment at the tragedy that lay before us. It was time to utter a quick prayer to St. Charles Houban and make our way back to the safety of the car.
Scampering back through Little Hell , as though Polly herself was after us , we noted that the holly bush was laden with berries , signifying a bad winter. Obviously global warming hasn't reached Cotton.
A final glimpse of the Coll. Through wire. I could almost hear Monsignor Gavin: " Oh , Glynn ... you can play football...RUGBY football!" We paid our final respects.
It was now time to end our pilgrimage. We drove along the country roads that had been our escape all those years ago. We came to the Waterfall - still in the most beautiful of settings. Frederick Faber allowed the sun to glimpse out so that we could see this feature in all its respendance.
The Rocks. Health and Safety means that these are now wired off. Too late , Councillor. The sound of boys ( and indeed girls) in blazers no longer echoes from amongst these ancient stones.
We clambered up to see the sights last seen so many years ago , a tear in our eye.
Atop of the Rocks , we looked back towards Cotton. We stood for a moment , pondering the meaning of life , childhood , death and everything in between. With a shake of the head , we headed back to the present.
Ah...! A nice cup of tea in Audlem was the perfect way for our pilgrimage to end. God bless Cotton College and God bless all Cottonians everywhere.
