As a child I suffered from asthma and by the age of about 7 it had worsened considerably and so it was determined that I should be sent ‘abroad’ to a ‘special school’ for asthmatics paid for by the NHS. Two schools were mooted. The first in Switzerland and the second on the IOW. The doctors said that if I didn’t go away for my health, then I would die! In the end it was decided by the Hampshire Health Authority that the school in Switzerland was much too expensive and so the school on the IOW was duly chosen by default.

I was sent to St. Catherine’s Home in 1961, aged 8 years of age. It was a boarding school and was also known as St. Catherine’s Open Air School. It certainly lived up to its name as an ‘Open Air School’ as fresh air seemed to be a key ingredient in the treatment of asthma. The school was built high up on a cliff top and a policy of ‘open windows’ was encouraged, regardless of the season it would appear! ‘Brisk and bracing’ were the watchwords of health at St. Catherine’s as were long walks (sometimes two or three hours) along the cliff paths, coves, beaches, rocks, parks and downs.

By the time I left St. Catherine’s I knew Ventnor, Bonchurch, Botanical Gardens, Top Park, Lower Park, The Undercliffs, Landslip and St. Boniface Down blindfold. Naturally enough, as a very young child, when I heard that I had to go by boat to get to this school, I thought that it must be far abroad, a long way over the water! Well, it wasn’t so far away, but far enough to a small boy. Thus my long association with the Island began…

On that first day we travelled from Winchester to Portsmouth by train and then by ferry to Cowes on the Island and then by train direct to Ventnor through the old tunnel under St. Boniface Down to Ventnor Railway Station, which was just at the top of Grove Road on which St. Catherine’s Home was situated. It was an old steam engine, which huffed and puffed along the track heaving with boys (and a few girls too) all bound for this school on the Ventnor hilltop. We strained and craned our necks out of the old style railway carriage windows to see the station ahead as we emerged from the old tunnel under the ‘down’. It was a bit like the old ‘Hogwarts Express’ in the Harry Potter stories, except we didn’t have to use platform nine and three quarters!

My mum, sister and her husband came with me only as far as Portsmouth Harbour where they had to hand me over into the charge of the nuns of St. Catherine’s. We trundled down the steep hill from the station, past the Chapel and the sign that said ‘St. Catherine’s Home for Delicate Children’. The sign now just says ‘St. Catherine’s School’. On through the imposing front doors we were shepherded. As soon as I stepped over the threshold I felt an overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness. I didn’t realise it at the time but this was to be my ‘home’ for the next couple of years without even one visit to my ‘real’ home in Winchester. We were ushered on through into the main foyer, a very ill lit and dull interior. We were then separated off into ‘houses’ and ‘dorms’. I didn’t have far to go though as I was allocated to ‘Top Ward’, the youngest boys dorm on the next floor up. Once up there I was shown to my tiny bed in the corner next to a small conservatory area. The little metal hospital style bed looked very small in the large dorm. It had a tiny locker next to it in which we kept all our belongings. The whole scene looked very stark and grim to me and not at all ‘homely’. I felt a pang of fear creep in deep down to the pit of my stomach. What was life going to be like in this place I wondered? It was called a ‘ward’ but at least it was not as bad as a conventional clinical hospital ward. It probably had a couple of dozen small metal beds in it facing towards the centre. In the middle of the large wooden floored room was an immovable marble slab of a table with a light over it. I only ever remember it ever being used to play board games, penny football or shove halfpenny on. Then there were three side wards, if memory serves me right, with more beds in them including this ‘conservatory area’, which overlooked the ‘Lower Ward’ playground. ‘Top Ward’ was for boys only. The only girls were in ‘Chapel Landing’ right next to the school chapel on the next floor up and below us was ‘Lower Ward’ which was for slightly older boys and Matrons dispensary and below that was the dreaded ‘sick bay’. All the boys in ‘Top Ward’ were about my age.

Once I arrived in the dorm, suitcase in hand, with several other ‘new‘ boys. I was told to unpack and put our things onto our beds and into our lockers for now. Later on a nurse came round to check on what we had. Some things we could keep but some items such as clothes were taken away to be put into storage. We were given a blue and white striped shirt and a pair of grey shorts and socks. Any monies were soon confiscated, as we had no need of money. This was kept in our account in the office nearby. Any sweets were taken off us and put into the ‘tuck’ cupboard for daily distribution under strict supervision.

Well, despite the shock of all this, everything was relatively fine until I realised that I would not actually be seeing my mum or sister for, well, I didn’t know how long! I was so pleased when we were eventually told that we could have ‘visitors’ once a month. I felt that I had been abandoned to these strange people with their black robes and wizened old faces! I don’t really remember much about my first night at St. Catherine’s except this feeling of loneliness and abandonment, not fully understanding why I was there at all. I managed not to cry though until I was in bed that night and then I did cry quietly under the sheets, as did some other boys too! Later on some of the older boys explained to me that these women with black ‘habits’, which covered virtually the entire length of their bodies except their faces, were called nuns. In fact they were nuns of the order of St. Margaret’s but to a small boy they seemed old, stern and strict!

It wasn’t actually until Christmas time that I realised that no one from the school ever went home at all, at least no children, not even for Christmas. It was the schools policy at that time not to allow home visits at all. All the children were there all the year round, which made life all the more difficult at times, especially at Christmas time. My mum and sister came to visit me faithfully every 4th Sunday without fail. They always came on a Sunday and were allowed to take me out for the day. The unfortunate thing was that, during the winter months especially, everything was closed in Ventnor and as we didn’t have a car we were stuck in the Ventnor area and also often stuck for warm places to go and for things to do for the day. Anyway, this monthly visit was looked forward to immensely, particularly as I got to go down onto the beach and rocks and to play on the penny arcade slot machines on the sea front during the summer months. The slot machines at the amusement arcade were usually out of bounds but when parents came to visit the staff couldn’t stop them from taking us there even though they tried! I would put pounds of pennies into those slot machines and spend hours there. My mum would always bring over huge bags of pennies for me. They must have weighed a ton.

Then we would perhaps visit the shops in the town but, of course, most were closed and so I would look longingly in the shop windows, particular in the Castle Toy Shop’ window in Ventnor High Street. The ‘Toy Shop’ was designed to look like a fort with two Grenadier Guardsmen soldiers at either side of the building. It was very well done! There was also an old second hand shop selling tea and cigarette cards, stamps and old books and all sorts of interesting things. This shop was also out of bounds and although I could look in the window, it too was always closed on a Sunday. The only shops that were ever open were the hotels and café’s and sea front shops and the pier. We used to eat out in a local hotel on the sea front especially in the winter months, as it was somewhere to get warm. Sometimes we would have sandwiches and chicken legs, which we would eat on the beach. I did get to play on the 'Children's Island' on the sea front, jumping from the side onto the small Island which had a paddling pool surrounding it. Trying not to get wet feet. In the summer months I sometimes paddled in the pool and was also allowed to play on the 'Crazy Golf Course' and there was always the boating lake with its paddleboats. All this was great fun particularly as the school never allowed us to normally visit these things. Sometimes, in the wintertime, there would not be anyone there but us and the seagulls that used to fight us for our sandwiches! Ventnor used to be dead in the winter and my mum and sister would always complain of the cold even in the summer.

I confess that it was pretty blowy on the cliff tops, beach and rocks but I suppose that I got used to it as we were often taken there on long walks by the school and we swam and played in the sea even on cold days. I never did learn to swim at school though as it was always so cold and there were no such things as indoor heated swimming pools then! The only real downside to these regular monthly visits was the sad farewells at the end of the day. I was always left feeling rather lonely and upset but fortunately it didn’t last long and I was soon back into ‘life at St. Catherine’s’ again. ‘Visitors Day’ was always a bit of a mixture of emotions but I always looked forward to it every month.

I think actually that my mum and sister really believed that it never got warm on the IOW, even though Ventnor had some of the best temperatures in the country. Perhaps it was the wind chill factor that made the difference or maybe it was that we only recall the cold windy days?