School Entrance.

Here we see the main, the only, vehicle entrance into Linton School. Exiting out onto the B6160 road, only a few hundred yards from the crossroads of the Grassington and Skipton road, is the B6265. On the left is the Headmasters bungalow. Relatively luxurious and spacious compared to the rather cramped conditions the other live-in staff would have had to endure. The headmaster of Linton Camp, when I enjoyed my first stay as a live-in pupil, was a Mr. Sternwhite. I can’t remember very much about this time of my life, I would have been about 7 or 8 in the 1950''s when I was, with my brother, at Linton. I really do not recall the reasons why we were there, other than one of possible neglect, or of mother being unable to cope with what life had thrown at her, dad was never around, I do know I was, what was termed a ''Delicate'' boy. But I don’t think our Paul was. So why he was sent, is beyond me. In fact I do not know how long I was there either! This was not my only time away from ''home'' when I was very young. As we were poor, holidays were non-existent. There was a charity scheme for such as me and Paul, where kids could spend a couple of weeks at a type of ''holiday camp''. I knew of 2 such places, both at Morecambe, one called the Bradford Cinderella Home, and I think the one I went to was the Sunshine Home. We were placed on a (steam) train at Forster Square station for the 70 mile trip to the west coast for two whole weeks of sun, sea, and fun. I think I was very, very young, when I first went, around 5-6 years old. There is a vague connection here with one of my two fav comedians, Morecambe and Sunshine, coincidence?
Actually we did see Morecambe & Wise, live in a pantomime, along with a David Whitfield, at the Leeds Grand Theatre, on a school trip from Linton, that was a real treat, but what is strange, my pal David Scriven, who was also at Linton for a time, it was he who reminded me that M & W were on the bill at Leeds, I had totally forgotten, they are my heroes!
The reason for leaving was a sad one. I knew my Nan was ill. I had visited her one time at St Luke’s Hospital, although I could only wave at the window, as children were not allowed into hospitals to visit people. What a dam silly rule that was. I also remember her being in bed poorly at the house on Vere Street on Ripleyville, during a visit to Bradford. (We were allowed some ''holidays'' back home, although I was only to have two weeks, where the rest of the kids had the full six weeks) Anyway we were called in to the school office for an interview with Mr. Sternwhite, who years after, I would be reminded of when I saw that chap in the classic film ''Oh Mr. Porter'', we were called in and told that we were to be shipped home, no reason given, Paul may have guessed.
Nan had died at age 64; this was a great loss to all three of us, and especially my mum. Nan had supported her in many ways, mum had no man, Dad was not good to us, apparently, and mum always fell back on to Nan in times of need. So this loss was to have a great contribution to the onward, steady, downward slope of what was already a life full of upheaval, shortage of money, misery and the rest of it, but that is another story. The result of this was that we did not go straight back to Linton as we should have done, for Paul, well he never did, and it was a couple of years before I found myself on the Morecambe Express from Forster Square Station accompanied by some social worker, back to the Dales.