A few thoughts: Lying under the cedar tree in the corner of the playing field “watching” a cricket match & getting hit direct in the eye by a bird. The smell of lime trees always brings back those summer terms.
Huge dark passages with mysterious doors hiding who knew what. K.B.T. lurking in his study like some deity emerging to pronounce or inviting for punishment.
Beds with springs so tired they almost embraced you when you got into them – v. secure.
When my son went to W.D. the authority had thawed and the rigidity gone, but there was the same slightly eccentric atmosphere where an individual was encouraged to be an individual.
What a sad time was the closing terms – squabbling – uncertainty, and then the funeral atmosphere of the sale. The vultures picking the ancient bones of anything saleable.