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In Viña del Mar we lived on the sea front.  The house was alpine-style wood-fronted, 4 floors, and our flat was on the 3rd floor.  We had a fishing reel to let the front door key down with.  In the space between the house and the seaside road was an Easter Island statue.  I always thought it was rather nice, but today it would be regarded as non-PC, and it has been removed to a nearby museum.  The problem was probably not the offence it might cause, but its target for graffiti or worse.  When we went on the cruise round Cape Horn we went to Viña, and it is all enormously developed, with a 4 lane dual carriageway in front of the house, where we kids could walk across the previous single road.  I was quite surprised that the house was still there, it is in such a prime location 

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It was great living on the sea-front, with a view of the sea under its changing conditions, and (towards the west) sunsets.  There was a small beach right in front of the house, and we used to get big waves there.  A short way from the house was the river Estero, with for some reason a sand bar blocking it from the sea.  We used to fish for tiddlers (4 in long) in the Estero, the whole bridge would be crowded with people fishing..

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There was a system there where the firemen were all volunteers, and when a siren went they would rush off from their offices etc. to the fire station.  We had a friend who was in the fire service, and he invited us round.  I got to slide down the pole, and I remember a delicious steak sandwich, in a Chilean style roll about 6 inches long with a single divide along the length of it.

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My father bought a car, which was exciting and quite something in those days.  It was an Austin A40 pick-up, with a canvas hood over the back.  I remember we went on a trip up north, to La Serena, about 1,000km.  At night we would just stop by the side of the road, with my parents and sister sleeping in the back, and me in the front.  One wouldn’t dream of doing that today – how the world has changed!  Or maybe it was bloody dangerous, I (we) just didn’t realise it at the time.

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I went to The Grange, a posh English boarding school in Santiago.  It was in the suburbs, about 500 boys (50% Chilean), had a nice building surrounded by playing fields, next to the country club (which had a pool), and a good view of the snow-capped Andes,  The head-master was Mr Jackson, who had founded the school, and the assistant head was Mr Balfour.

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I remember being homesick when I arrived at school the first time.  I would cry, and not know why.  Then the assistant matron told it was “home-sickness”, and after that I felt much better, it was just an ordinary sickness.

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A source of great embarrassment was my underwear.  My mother had got me good, oversize bloomers which came down, with gussets, to my knees.  Oh, the horror!

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There was a system of bad behaviour points which masters would give you, and every Friday night at bed-time, in one’s pyjamas, at least 80% of the boys would have to queue to get the appropriate number of cane strokes, 3, 4, 6, and occasionally 8.  Afterwards, you had to say “Thank you, sir”.  It hurt, and afterwards you would have thick red welts on your bum.  But it was a matter of course, a normal part of life, and we didn’t resent it.

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School playground games were emboque, a 3 inch wooden ball with a hole on a string where you had to yank it up and get it to land itself on a wooden stick on the other end of the string.  Then there were tops, wooden and large, 3-4 inch, with a ½ inch spike.  You scratched a 4 foot circle in the earth, with a depression in the middle.  Then you wound string round the top and threw it so that its spike landed within the circle, but then you yanked it so as it would jump out of the circle.  For some reason your opponent’s top would remain in the circle, and then you could spin yours, flick it onto your hand still spinning, and hit your opponent’s top towards the middle.  If you got it into the depression hole you could then take your (un-spinning) top in your hand and strike your opponent’s with the spike, trying to split it.  Then there was wooden yo-yos, about 3-4 inches in diameter, which you threw so that it spun at the end of the string, and then lowered it over a bottle-top so that it shot forward, and you would race another player.  We would customize these toys with round-headed nails, to make them more effective, and for protection.  I forget the name of these games.  No doubt they were seasonal.  There was probably some business you went through to challenge someone to a game.

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If a fight was in prospect, boys would eagerly chant “chocolate, caluga y menta” (chocolate, toffee and mint), form into a circle and hold the pugilists coats.  Someone would hold up both hands forwards, palms upwards and thumbs linked, and if each opponent slapped one of the hands then the fight was on.  Strictly fists, no kicking or wrestling.  I was involved in one or two of these – can’t remember what for. 

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There was football and rugby – I don’t remember any cricket, though there probably was since it was an English school.  I remember Vergara converting a penalty from the centre spot, and Perez de Arce scoring a football goal from a corner kick.

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There was a time at school when one of the servants was murdered.  They lived round the back, and somehow we were able to go and have a look.  I remember looking into a bedroom, and there was a very large pool of blood on the floor.

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They had regular earth tremors, one every few days, and sometimes big enough to move plates about on the table and make the ceiling lamps swing.  They could be juddery, or slow and gentle.  Nobody paid them much attention.

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There were classes in English in the morning, and in Spanish in the afternoon, both with a Chilean curriculum.  For my last 6 months I was put in the Common Entrance class, about 10 boys who were destined to be sent to boarding school in England, and with a completely different curriculum – English history, different geography, Latin, French, etc.  The teacher was Mrs Balfour, wife of the deputy head.  Teaching was so simple in those days - just facts.  I passed my Common Entrance OK, and in only 6 months it was reckoned to be a jolly good thing, and I was awarded the Junior Cup of Honour at the prize giving (and in due course I got given the nickname “Big-head”, and I acquired my intellectual self-confidence, which has lasted until recently).  I was presented with the prize by President Ibanez, who I think was a rival to Allende.  There were 2 annual terms, March-July and August-November.  I would go for holidays home to Viña del Mar on the train.

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We were taken skiing in Portillo.  It was very primitive, we were packed into lorries.  The ski-lift was a simple looped rope, which you grabbed hold of somehow.

About a dozen of us were taken on a mountaineering trip in the Andes.  We wore what clothes we could, and blankets for seeping in a big old army tent.  This was above the snow-line, about 16,000ft.  I was the end one sleeping, and was so cold and shivery that the master got me to come into his sleeping bag. Nobody thought this was at all amiss, and nothing (as far as I know!) happened.  I just contrast it with current twisted thinking.

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I do not remember any sexual angle to school life – it never came up.  Except once I remember in a classroom without the teacher being there we all has an animated discussion about which hole babies came out of.

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During this time my parents moved to Peru.  My sister Alison had already been packed off a year before me to school in England.  I don’t remember being consulted, or even informed, about any of this.  I didn’t expect to be, in those days one just did as one was told.  The thought of having any sort of trauma about it just didn't arise.

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