In 1959 - probably at the end of the summer term, but I don’t remember - I was a second former in Berners and half-asleep in the Old Orangerie dorm. Suddenly, the lights went on and two monitors became visible to the awakening boylets. I think the monitors were Glynne Thomas and George Meredith, who slept in a corner of the dorm behind a curtain as I recall. These were fair and decent chaps. George was a bit funnier and Glynne a bit gruff; he reminded me of Taffy. Anyway, completely out of the blue they announced that we were going to “raid Orwell House”.

Nothing remotely like this had ever happened, so we pitched in enthusiastically, not quite knowing what to expect. Under the older boys’s rigid military discipline, we prepared a quantity of plastic bags, some filled with water and others with flour; they had clearly thought this all out and prepared. When we were ready, we slunk commando style out of the Orangerie, past Diana and down on to Orwell House. Their defences were non-existent and it was very dark, so we crept in unnoticed and went up to the dorm. Major Meredith and Captain Thomas knew exactly where to go apparently ……

On their command, we burst into the first dorm and then on through the rest. I seem to remember that they were rooms with four pupils in which were all linked with inter-connecting doors. As we went we launched with hideous war cries our dastardly ammo onto the sleeping kids, who must have had the fright of their lives. Details are a bit vague, but I DO remember completely missing any viable target with my flour and water, a bitter regret that has stayed with me all my life.

It was all over in a flash and we hoofed it back fullspeed to the Orangerie, leapt into bed and played dead.

Well, some few minutes later we heard the inner door open and Shakey appeared along with the main lights …….. I didn’t SEE it was him but we all knew it had to be. I was at that point well under the bedclothes facing the wall and snoring heavily. I could sense and hear Shakey going round the room, which was rumbling ominously under the sound of heavy snoring. He must have decided that any retribution would have to wait until the morning, because after hovering for a while he left and the lights went out again.

The funny thing is that I don’t remember the subject coming up the next day. Perhaps we were going home or perhaps the staff took it in good humour and/or decided there was nothing they could do. And I don’t remember discussing it with any Orwell kids.

So ended the Legendary Raid on Orwell House. Nothing remotely like it had happened before or happened after ……. but it sticks indelibly in the memory. But what sort of life is it when one has never done anything as crazy as we did that night - thanks to George & Glynne?

Sometimes I wonder if it was all a dream, but then I feel a bit like that about life itself …..