Gary Peacock
Gary Peacock who was at Princethorpe from 1970 to 1975 recalls his time at the College and his sadness at the tragic early death of his twin brother Greg. He is pictured with his other brother Jeremy at the OP London Pub Meet in June and with his beloved motorbike.
My twin brother Greg and I did not settle very well during the first couple of years despite being "billeted" with a very friendly room mate in Keith "Pinky" Martin who did his hardest to make us feel at home, we found it hard to come to terms with being away from home at such a young age. I am sure all will recall varying memories of how Greg and I reacted to the fire drills !
Most will remember me at PC with a very keen passion to follow my dad's footsteps in to military aviation. Ex-students like Dave Terron, Greg Jackson and many others, were like me, members of the school ATC unit. I remember an evening when Dave Terron and I turned up for evening meal in full flying gear having just got back from a days flying and did not want to miss dinner. As we picked up our meals and walked from the kitchen in to the dining hall we were both met with a full rendition of the Dam Busters March by all the other students, happy days!
While at school Dave Terron and I completed our gliding wings and went solo on the same day, I remember it well, at old RAF Gaydon, which I believe is now the British Automobile Heritage Centre.
I eventually went in to civil aviation at Gatwick with Dan-Air, in 1976 where I stayed for a number of years until I lost very close colleagues in the B727 crash in Tenerife in April 1980.
Due to the economy over the ensuing years, I have moved from one airline to another as they ceased trading and have been made redundant 5-6 times. Although I have abiding memories of my time in aviation, having seen parts of the world and got paid for it, had I known how fickle the industry was going to be, I would have chosen a totally different career.
My life changed dramatically in February 1982, the dreaded call from the police to explain what had happened to Greg. I was devastated beyond any reasoning. The hatred I had for the young girl that killed him, I was intent on finding her................... Years later I eventually find out it was an accident.
Greg was in the RAF and is now buried in the military plot at RAF Lyneham. A waste of such a young life, 22 years of age. Time does not heal, he has been dead longer than I had time with him, the pain wont go, the memories haunt me. I recall the school being informed that it was important that Greg and I share a room as full time borders. The early years were with Pinky Martin and then with Simon Kibble who was a very good friend, love to know where he is.
One year dad dropped us off at the school after summer break to find we had separate rooms. Poor Fr Ryan had a major problem to sort out before my dad had the long drive home.
Those that remember us, will recall Jeremy and my twin brother Greg, were known for our basket ball exploits and lots of other students trying to emulate us. Fisher House managed to win a lot of trophies with inter house basket ball against very stiff opposition from Dave Douglas, Mike and Paddy Cox, "Nags", Mike Evans and the like.
My overriding memories of the school was initially very daunting. As a first year student the school was large, with a cold atmosphere with dark corridors and castle like secret panels, nooks and crannies. We were all well briefed by the sixth formers about the story of the "Half Nunn" in the tower. I remember the likes of Fr Clarkson, Fr O'Connor, Fr Murphy and teachers like Mr O'Grady, Mr Rex, Mr Clarke, Mr Ferguson and I remember a vey nice lady teacher Miss Hanson, towards the latter end of my time at PC when the hormones were becoming active!
The boarding halls were semi military style, wooden flooring and each room consisting of one bed, one bedside table and one wardrobe. No carpets, no curtains and if you were in a room nearest the main stairs end of the hall then the wash basins were a trek away and the showers were in another part of the school all together.
I remember upsetting Mr Jones when we had to play rugby. Now in 1973 I was just over four foot tall and weighed just over a bag of sugar and had no intention of playing rugby and having my anatomy rearranged in a scrum. I was passed the ball and Mr Jones shouting " Run Peacock, run" So I did, I put the ball down and ran and no one could catch me.
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