MONDAY 16th OCTOBER

_____________________________

Memo Personal & Urgent to all staff. Please be advised that we will be be hosting a concert from the Minden Brass Band under the direction of their conductor Herr Vindamann. It may be necessary to make a number of changes to the school day at short notice and I hope that I can count on your co-operation. Helen Orme, Headmistress. 16/10/79

_____________________________

8.15am. When Steve, Mark, and I arrive at school we instinctively known that something is wrong. There is an indefinable air of something being not quite right; the atmosphere and the people are just a little off. After close to seven years in the place, we can tell when all is not well in the same way that a good captain can tell direction from the smell of breeze. Of course the articulated lorry delivering large flower boxes and the council cleaners hard at work in the foyer were pretty big clues as well.

We had barely arrived when an harassed looking Orme sees us and hurries over, Steve and Mark retire rapidly to the library having decided that the honour of an audience with our leader would be all mine. Orme keeps it brief - for which I am grateful - and within minutes I am able to pass the word back to the others.
Its a single word...
“Trouble!” I announce.

Editors note: The behaviour of Johnson and Powell might seem a little odd. But as will become apparent, there was little love lost between the Headmistress and the most senior members of the school. Given that the role of the head boy was distracting attention from the staff, it was acknowledged that his role also encompassed doing all the nasty and embarrassing things that the others wouldn't do. Clearly talking to the headmistress was included in the list.


Cook's diary continues...
Mark and Steve look worried when I tell them what is going on. The arrival of some Brass players from a part of Germany that none of us have ever heard of, doesn't particularly concern us, the edict from Orme is, however, something of a different matter.
“She wants us to do what?" Steve is incredulous; I can't blame him for that. I am pretty amazed by the order myself.
“Keep the foyer clear of pupils for the duration of their visit to the school.” I respond.
“How long will they be here?” Mark asks.
“Most of the afternoon, according to Orme.”
We are sitting in the library discussing what I suspect will quickly become some sort of battle plan. Whatever Helen Orme and the staff are planning and whatever entertainment is in the offing does not seem to include the pupils.
“Could be tough?” Observes Mark.
“We have authority to do pretty much whatever it takes to get the job done.” I say.
“Orme agreed to that?” Asked Steve doubtfully.
“No, but if she wants us to keep 800 of the little bastards out of the foyer she will!” I tell them
"We'll need the prefects." Says Mark the ever practical when it comes to potential battle. “Which ones can we depend on, do you think?” he asks.
"Most of the lads, if they know what's good for them and maybe one or two of the girls." I respond.
"Debbie and Jennette?" Queries Mark, grinning. I nod. Jenette Lawley was generally regarded as one of the tougher of the girls (and many of the boys for that matter!) We decide that Beverley and Diane should be our official greeters for the dignities and other schools that were scheduled to appear.

9.15am. It takes only a few minutes to round up the rest of the sixth form, mainly because the majority are keeping their usual low profile in the library. The small number actually in class are pulled out by me citing Mrs Orme as my authority. The rumour of war had already spread so there is little objection to what amounts to a legitimized take over of the school and given that I am proposing mayhem and the opportunity to cause chaos, I am not surprised at the response.

According to Orme's briefing the band would be setting up in the morning with the invited guests arriving around noon. The critical period would be the 12 to 1 time 'dinner break' slot. Many of the sixth form would be away from the school, preferring the local food to the sometimes bizarre offerings from the school canteen.

I decide the best strategy is to block the entrances to the east and west wings with tables and place a couple of the prefects on the upper landing stair well with a table to block access there as well. A number of the teachers, who clearly had not been informed, found this a bit of a surprise and at one stage I was told to remove the blockade by a disgruntled PE teacher. It gave me great pleasure to point the track-suited moron in the direction of Helen's office with a suggestion that he speak "to the boss!"

10.35. First Break: The coach carrying our Germanic guests has arrived and they are in the main hall setting up. At one point one of the band appears in the main foyer her glances around pauses to stare down the long dark corridor of the east wing, spots the barricade with its black clad guardian and hurries quickly back. Nick rings the bell, we man the barricades and for the most part we manage to hold them. For the most part the little boys and girls are only aware that they are being diverted and not that there is something new in the school.

I was forced to reinforce Mark and Ashok's position on the upper floor, when it became obvious that there was a problem with the number of pupls passing that way. Although even when the little bastards managed to break through the lines they simply found themselves in the no-man's land of the foyer, where they were quickly booted back to the corridors by a roving team of prefects put there for that purpose.

The lesson change over thirty-five minutes later is less troublesome, since the majority are keen to make it to their classes in reasonable time - although why escapes me. But by just before noon, the word has gone around about the band. Most of the children instantly adopt geo-political stances most reminiscent of the inmates of the prison camp in film The Great Escape. Given the number of Dr Marten booted, skin headed pro-Aryan types in the school this is a bit of a surprise. Mark offers the thought that they probably haven't actually connected Nazis with Germany and if they did would be expecting the coach to be adorned with swastikas and driven by someone wearing a monocle and a long leather coat!

One pupil wanders into the foyer in direct contravention of any number of rules, not the least of which was the unspoken one that said that this was prefect turf and the others were not welcome here. Mark and I intercept him - his response is predictable.

“Fuck off!” he says as we bar his way.

It’s clearly on his mind to try to barge past us, but I suspect that something about our mood suggests that this would not be a good idea. The various attempts at getting into the foyer have sharpened the hunting edge of the normally passive sixth form and one or two would be intruders have been ejected by the simple expedient of throwing them into the foyer wing doors! Some of the sixth form seem to be in competition with one another for how much distance they can get... It’s unusual for one of the little bastards to come on their own and I wonder if he is either particularly brave or particularly stupid.

“Fuck off!” he announces again.
“You can’t come in this way.” I explain. The boy, clearly a raconteur in his own year group replies “Sez who?”
“'Sez' me,' sez' the teachers and also 'sez' about thirty prefects who will quite happily kick the shit out of you if you don’t fuck off right now…” Mark and I watch the boy retreat muttering threats. “I didn’t know we had thirty perfects.” Mark comments as the disgruntled teen Neanderthal vanishes.
“Fortunately, neither did he.” I reply.

(Not so high) Noon: With guards mounted on the entrance of the foyer, we wait nervously for the end of the break. The dignities have started to arrive and are being shown where to go. Mrs Orme is on hand to welcome the more important ones. But the presence of outsiders means we are forced to tone down the violence a little. To add to our problems, the awareness that something was happening had spread to the entire school and even normally placid members of our little community wanted to get in on the fun. There was something odd about kids goose stepping and performing Nazi style salutes while demanding 'Nazis out' I wondered if our History teachers were listening to any of this.

Although there would be no more breaks, there was still a period between classes which meant a potential assault on the barricades every thirty-five minutes. During the course of the afternoon several prefects drift off to various lessons and I don't feel that I can prevent them from studying for the entire day. Despite what Orme may think we are not a militia – although watching the occasionally more serious assault on the barricades you could be forgiven for making that mistake.













Sketch map of Minden campaign, Ron Cook '79 - click for full size image.

Editors note: We asked Mark Powell for his recollections of the day. His reply is reproduced below.

12 Jan 2045 10:19:28 GMT To: editors@unacceptable_terms.ac.uk
From: Mark Powell mvlp@Vnet.org
Reply-To: Mark Powell mvlp@Vnet.org
Re: Minden Band Visit 1979

On the face of it, what Ron records sounded easy enough. Simply tell the pupils they were not allowed in the foyer while the Minden band was playing. Of course the reality was very different. At this time, the sixth form was still based in the library and none of us felt very happy about being the centre of what amounted to a war zone.

I shall never be certain that the reason that the sixth rallied to the defence of the foyer was not connected more with defending their territory than any orders given by Cook, Johnson and myself. As I recall Helen Orme considered that we were "mature enough" to police the school during this time of crisis. I formed the impression that the same excuse offered to young men were forced to go to war in the first half of the century.

As regards the tactical disposition of our forces. I recall that I was stationed at the top of the stair in the foyer that led to the upper floor. I forget who my partner was. But we had a pretty tough time denying access to the lower forms who once they became aware of the presence of strangers in the building turned into a shoal of blood crazed piranhas eager to attack the intruders.

Mark Powell

Cook's diary continues...
1.25pm. The Minden band starts to play shortly after the end of the dinner break, which this is accidental or intentional to ensure that the pupils are out of the way is not clear. But it quickly becomes clear that their recital will not be over before the end of the school day. They are very talented and the recital includes some music that I have heard before and a lot that I have not. I guess that the unknown stuff is classical. At one point they play 'Hossana' from 'Jesus Christ Superstar' and I spot Kim Lathrope listening to the proceedings and quietly singing along. Being familiar with JC Superstar must make her one of the sixth form classical music cognoscenti!

3.15pm. The day is rapidly coming to an end: I don't think that I can ask the prefects to remain on in the school after the end of the day - for one thing this is a totally alien concept, for another they will simply refuse and also Mark had had been scouting around and pointed out the interesting gathering outside the windows of the main hall. It had started as one or two pupils quickly shooed away but they drifted back closer to the end of day and the numbers were growing.

3.45pm. Mark, Steve and I are leaving the school, making sure that we are the last of the prefects to do so. This means we are forced to remain in the foyer for about four minutes longer than normal and about three minutes longer than safe! An harassed looking Pat Graham rushes out of the hall heading for the playground. From inside we can hear the sound of the band playing but at the same time there is a faint but discernible cry of “Seig heil” Through the door, we can see around 30 pupils, they are marching past the windows of the hall. In addition to shouting they are also executing a series of Nazi style salutes that would have brought a tear to the eye of a veteran of the SS. Mark and I ruminate on the politics of the gesture and decide in that there are none. She casts a venomous glance in the direction of Cook, Powell, and Johnson. I theatrically gesture to the foyer, which is – aside from us – empty.

“No problems here!” I announce with a big smile as we wander off home.