Memories of Pen Arthur - 40 Years On
Memories of Pen Arthur
This year marks the 40th anniversary of the first trips to Pen Arthur, the School’s Field Studies Centre that was once a derelict hill farm in the Brecon Beacons. We reproduce below the recent correspondence between one of the pioneers David Camplin (70) and Head of Lower School Pat Taylor, who is currently responsible for organising trips to this much-loved Centre
Email from David Camplin to the Headmaster
Whilst the purchase of Pen Arthur did, indeed take place in 1967, it was not until the half-term of February 1968 that its inauguration could truly be said to have taken place. It is with this in mind that I am writing. On that occasion Tony Cooper, Mike Highstead and Vince Lockwood led a group of seven Sixth Formers to a desolate hillside in South Wales. I was a member of that first group. After a cramped journey, and stops for provisions, we arrived at a bitterly cold, damp, derelict farmhouse – I remember with great clarity that this was the coldest weekend since the retreat of the ice sheets! The unswept chimney mocked our attempts at warmth without suffocation, and light was provided by candles, hurricane lamps and car batteries provided by Frank Kilvington, then Headmaster. 
We slept, fitfully, on the floor in the main room. The next morning saw me sweeping the chimney in the kitchen so that we could have a hot meal without smoke, and a general exploration of the School’s new acquisition. The roof leaked, the hillside had slipped against the back wall, the Dutch barn was full of rotting hay, the cattle sheds were filthy, the stairs were rotten (a memory says that access to upstairs was by ladder, but this may be fancy; certainly a parent later built a new staircase), but the view and isolation ensured that all these problems paled into insignificance.
Over the next two years a transformation took place, and Pen Arthur gradually took on the form that allowed for regular use. As an undergraduate I assisted in taking groups of First Formers for their week’s stay and have fond memories of walking boys up the access road following their coach journey. I remember a group stopping and looking intently at the cliff face, “Sir, look ... a stream!” A first sight, of many first sights, for the week. I remember the tears of homesickness, and the tears of frustration when confronted by washing up in a sink, without the benefit of dishwasher. I remember the transformation that meant that, by the end of the week, everyone wanted to know when they could return. I remember making pinhole cameras that actually worked and wide games at Iron Age forts where the Romans always lost (I suspect more because of their cursed language rather than the brilliance of the defence!) and visits to the far more majestic Carreg Cennon. I remember the caves at Dan yr Ogof and hunting for gold at the Dolaucothi mines.
Most of all, I remember the majesty of the Beacons and the wonder that the peaks inspired in 11 year-old minds. I have a special memory of one boy, whose name has long since been forgotten. In the early 70s the access road was ablaze with the light of glow worms on Spring and Summer evenings. This boy caught one, and carried it back to Pen Arthur in a matchbox, where, of course, it ceased to glow. When we returned it to its habitat he started to talk about his week. “You know Sir, it’s brilliant here. There’s things to do, there’s things to learn and everyone’s different because we’ve come here, but you know what I’ve learned? I’ve learned that there are wild things that belong here and make it what it is. They don’t work if you try to take them away, so you just have to take the memory.” Pen Arthur taught him lifelong lessons that I am sure he has never forgotten. That is why Pen Arthur is so special.
Reply from Pat Taylor
The Headmaster forwarded your email to me and, as the member of staff who now organises the First Form trips to Pen Arthur (yes, they still occur, each form taking a week out of school in the Summer Term, going with their form tutor and other staff), I was struck not so much by what was different, but by what still, 40 years on, remains the same.
My first visit was in 1986 or 87; I can count myself amongst the ‘fortunate’ few remaining staff who remember toilets with ferns growing adjacent, divided by chipboard; the ‘pigsty’ dorm, no heating other than the fireplace you mention (sometimes with coals banked up to the ‘knee’) and of course the one constant: the total isolation. I have seen trees grow to block views –none, alas, from the front door just now, although I live in hope – and parts of the hillside revealed for the first time since your days by the lumberjack’s chainsaw.
I was fortunate to be inducted into the ritual of Pen Arthur by some of the stalwarts: Robin Scase (whose name may be familiar to you?) and Mike Highstead’s influence: because although I worked alongside him as his deputy in later years, I never went to Pen Arthur with him; but I travelled with many who did, and picked up much through osmosis, it seems. The boys still go to Carreg Cennen, and Dolaucothi goldmine; still play wide games on Carn Goch (but not Celts vs Romans – dumbing down, some might say), still walk the Bannau Sir Gaer ridge and play wide games in the woods. They still marvel at a night sky full of stars, and a silence so total that it feels like a blanket; still grumble at washing up, even though there now is a dishwasher; still walk up the track from the coach on their first arrival: so there is much from your pioneering days that has become tradition!
The changes? We now ask (or force!) the boys to leave their Nintendos, i-Pods and mobile phones at home, to maintain the sense of isolation; the ‘short’ track is somewhat overgrown, though we blaze a trail each summer through long grass, nettles and foxgloves; the Post Office opposite the ‘Three Horseshoes’ has gone the way of so many of its rural companions – as has the Three Horseshoes itself, much mourned by those staff who fancied a swift half whilst the boys slogged on foot up the short track!
Pen Arthur has joined the digital age, too - a popular innovation of the last couple of years has been the Pen Arthur ‘blog’, posted daily by First Formers during their visit – even if it does go down a traditional dial-up phone line that loops between the trees to civilisation. But as a counterbalance, parents are encouraged to write real letters to their sons, and the boys write back: how the postman must love the busy weeks of June… And, as this e-mail proves, one of the greatest gifts of a trip to Pen Arthur is the common bond it offers and the conversations it spawns. If I am covering a lesson for an absent colleague and no work is set, and the class starts looking ugly, I merely have to ask: “Tell me about your time at Pen Arthur”, and the class turn to smiles, and jokes, and reminiscence, all uniquely different, yet somehow much the same. In some ways the stones, wood and slates of the building are immaterial: what matters are the people, and the way they are changed by their time in a small, remote, corner of Wales.
To finish, I note the anniversary, and am pleased to acknowledge it: as you can perhaps tell, I am keen on Pen Arthur traditions. I suspect that there will be few (fool)hardy enough to spend time at Pen Arthur this February; but the First Form boys all receive a Pen Arthur sweatshirt when they go away: and this summer I will make sure that the fortieth anniversary is shown on the sweatshirt. If there is any interest, I could make up a few more in adult sizes at cost price. I did also wonder whether you are in contact with any of your group of pioneers; and if you would like a return visit to Pen Arthur at a more hospitable time of the year? Please let me know