Notes on Varley Lodge.
From: Tim Renton (OS)
Following the notes in the Newsletter this round, I felt I should add to any
From: Tim Renton (OS)
Following the notes in the Newsletter this round, I felt I should add to any
comments that may arrive regarding the demolition of Varley Lodge. Brick not
required thank you. I was born there, or rather I was brought from a Nursing Home in Olivers
Battery to Varley Lodge at an age far too delicate for boarding. My brother Andy joined us
three years later. My parents were Joyce and Allon Barron-Renton, Joyce being the daughter
of Doctor P.T.Freeman the then Headmaster. Dr. Freeman and his wife Daisy, my grandmother,
lived in and ran School House at the bottom of Varley’s garden. My father at that stage a
badminton international, taught Art at the School
Physically the house was splendid in those days, the lands ran from the boundary wall of Wyke
Lodge, past a huge green house, which was a lean-to against the wall where the entrance to the
School is now from Bereweeke Road, past the Lodge where Varleys cook Mrs. Searle (wonderful
roast potatoes) used to live and all the way across an hazel copse and vegetable gardens to The
Andover Road. The hazel copse and large trees within housed red squirrels. The lands then ran
from Bereweeke Road South, past the house, the grass bank down to the lawn, the line of trees
including two amazing cedars, down another vast swathe of orchard with gooseberries and
raspberries and goldenrod to the chicken sheds that began the grounds of School House ansd
across to the rifle range and woodwork shop. I lived with my family in Varleys for nine years
only to move “next door” to Wyke Lodge in what must have been 1956 around the time of my
Grandfather’s death. I was to attend the School two years later as an honorary boarder when
John Shields became Headmaster. The House was a very active part of the thriving boarding
community and one has very fond memories of boarders and their parents who were largely from
the forces and were moved abroad. This seemed to be the general trend for boarding families
following the second world war. To be able to hear colourful tales from foreign lands from the remains of the
“colonials” was fascinating. Memories are distant and varied, from my mother setting up cricket fielding
Practice on the lawn using two unruly black-and-white rabbits, to the construction of very dodgy “go carts”
that were propelled down the side path of the orchard to aim to negotiate a ninety degree “left” to avoid an
huge clump of stinging nettles. My regards if this is published to the Perrys, The Metcalfs,
The Stonehams, Slingsbys and all the others who boarded there
