St Anthony's School Hampstead

St Anthony's Girls School Hampstead

Our Ethos

St. Anthony's aims to provide high quality education in a caring, supportive and Catholic environment, infused by Christ's Gospel, in order that each of our pupils is able to develop fully as an individual, well-adjusted to the wider community.

World War One Lunch

The boys enjoyed a special World War One lunch today.  The menu consisted of: Fish 'n' Chips, vegetarian Maconochie stew with homemade brown bread, mashed potato and carrots.  The meal was finished off with World War 1 Chocolate Cake.  The Senior House boys were all engaged by the assembly on the history of the First World War given by Brendan this morning.

The boys also saw an example of the typical daily rations that were provided for the soldiers fighting in the trenches.

 

20 ounces of bread

1/10 gill lime if vegetables not issued

16 ounces of flour instead of above

½ gill of rum

3 ounces of cheese

maximum of 20 ounces of tobacco

5/8 ounces of tea

1/3 chocolate – optional

4 ounces of jam

4 ounces of oatmeal instead of bread

½ ounce of salt

1 pint of porter instead of rum

1/36 ounce of pepper

4 ounces of dried fruit instead of jam

1/20 ounce of mustard

4 ounces of butter/margarine

8 ounces of fresh vegetables or

2 ounces of dried vegetables

 

 

"Dulce et Decorum Est "

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.