Tales from Big School

More often than you might imagine, a new arrival in the Archive inbox brings a story or photograph that resonates perfectly with something unfolding elsewhere. Previous generations might have put it down to something in the ether; today, we’re more likely to point a finger at the algorithms. In reality, such coincidences are simply moments of connection across the decades. Quietly they remind us that threads of past and present are never as far apart as they seem.

One such moment was a recent email from John Whittaker (School House Red 1954-60). Arriving completely out of the blue, it told of various pranks played on Masters during Prep in Big School. With an unprecedented sense of timing, it coincided with this term’s ‘Tale from the Archive’ in the Lent 2026 edition of 'The Breconian' that explains the recent ‘renaming’ of the Library as ‘Big School’. 

Since its transformation into a flexible teaching and learning space in the Summer of 2023, ‘the Library’ seemed no longer able to do justice to a space that can host a range of activities from yoga lessons to governors’ meetings, and from personal study to public lectures. After considerable thought, ‘Big School’ was revived as nomenclature for the space at the start of the academic year

Constructed in 1881 on the upper floor of the Big School building (more recently known as the Library building), the big schoolroom, most often known as “Big School”, was a large open space with a dais and rows of ‘forms’. In common with other similar schools, the arrangement was a remarkable example of economy in terms of heating and lighting – and only one master was required to supervise the roomful of boys for evening prep.

Taking advantage of the large open space, school assemblies, concerts and Prize Days were also held there, and it was regularly used for exams, slide projector shows, and dramatic productions until the Memorial Hall (now the Neuadd) was built in 1955. 

Although current teaching methods differ greatly from the pedagogy of the 19th and 20th centuries, the ways in which Big School was originally used and how it functions now are more similar than might first appear. In its new life as a flexible learning space, Big School revives elements of its original purpose, while the revival of its original name celebrates the continuity and the change that have shaped the school’s story.

To the modern eye, the bare dais and austere furnishings seen in photographs of the time suggest a stark environment of strict discipline. However, in contrast to expectation, OBs of all generations tell of tricks played on unsuspecting Masters that added a frisson of excitement to lessons or evening prep. 

With no knowledge of the article that was about to go to press, on the day of its release John Whittaker sent us his own memory of a prank played on Canon Donaldson (Master and Chaplain 1902-1956) in Big School the mid-1950s, shortly before his retirement in 1956.

We are very grateful to John for his permission to share his words with you. We hope you enjoy them as much we did.

Big School was once a capacious single great hall used for all major events including the annual dramas and prize givings. When it wasn’t being used for prize givings etc., it was used for evening prep.

At one end was a large stage ahead of an audience area normally filled with bench style desks and seats much carved by past pupils. There were even holes in the desks into which inkwells could be placed, used in a time before ballpoints were invented. A central aisle split the room in two. The stage was some two or three feet high. A rather large desk with an imposing high-backed chair were placed at the front of the stage which was used by the duty teacher.

There was a time when water pistols were all the rage. All Masters were attired in formal black gowns. Canon Donaldson was our resident Sixth Form Greek and Latin teacher and our allocated teacher for that evening. He was a man of mature years and one evening he entered through the double doors and proceeded down the aisle towards the stage.

On the way down, he was targeted by several well aimed water pistols so that his gown was presumed soaked by the time he mounted the stage steps and got settled into his high chair. There was no reaction to our rather puerile joke and it was assumed that he had not even noticed the assault. 

The following evening it was Canon Donaldson again. The double doors opened and he proceeded down the Aisle but, on this occasion, he was shrouded in a very substantial raincoat. Not a word was spoken of the incident. 

What a great sense of humour and, given that he could never pinpoint the miscreants, his action was not only a deterrent to any future such activity but also appropriately amusing.

While Canon Donaldson’s characteristic witty response to the water pistol prank became the stuff of legend, another story John tells may be known only to those who were there. 

The stage in Big School was some 2 to 3 feet in height with a large square access hole several feet back from the front of the stage. The hole was covered with a metal grill.  

Even closer to the edge of the stage was a desk and high-backed chair located with the square access hole behind and used by the master in charge. The metal grill was fitted over the hole for obvious safety reasons. Over the years that metal grill had become somewhat loose and liable, if unlikely, to fall through to the floor below. There was also a small opening at the front of the stage to allow access underneath the stage.

There came a time when one of my fellow pupils with a lively imagination thought that he could make good use of this situation. One day he entered Big School when it was not being used, crawled underneath the stage and affixed a thin rope to the metal plate and then crawled back out with the other end of the rope and left it near his point of egress. The rope remained hidden until our next lesson, a French lesson with master, Charley Williams. 

Our miscreant pupil sat in the front row and retrieved the end of the rope at an appropriate moment during the lesson. Finally, he tugged on the rope attached to the metal plate. The ruse worked better than he might have expected and the heavy plate fell to the floor under the stage. When it met the floor, the sound was more of a disappointing whump than a large bang.

Later, we determined that the thick layer of dust had cushioned the fall. Moreover, it hadn’t occurred to anybody what might happen next. The disturbed dust rose rapidly through the hole and, like a solid funnel, proceeded vertically for several feet into the room behind the master who was sat in the chair just a short distance away. When the cloud reached its apex the dust at the top spread outwards in the shape of a mushroom. By this time the whole class looked on in horror because they could see what the master could not. It was inevitable, the dust storm spread right over and hid the teacher from view for a number of seconds whilst the front row of pupils rose as one and retreated away from the action. The chair on the stage was of sturdy construction and it did not lend itself to swift relocation. The result was a desk, a chair and a member of staff enveloped in dust. 

Following the incident, the obvious conclusion reached by the French master and all concerned was that the grid was dislodged of its own accord, brought about by neglect and aging material. When the story surfaced to the rest of the school, the explanation was universally accepted, barring of course, for the pupils involved with the French period for that day.

If you were one of those armed with a water pistol or if you witnessed that funnel of dust, let us know. There are surely more stories out there. Let Huw or Felicity know if you have one to share. We’d love to hear more.

In the meantime, you can read this term’s 'Tale from the Archive' in 'The Breconian' for Lent 2026 on Issuu or by downloading the PDF from our Publications page.

Photo: Big School set up for Prize Day in the 1950s. Christ College Archive.