108 Girls

Until I reached fourteen I had little interest in girls, though some I couldn’t help notice.

At the end of another Upbury Manor assembly Diane Oakenful was given a round of applause and presented with a certificate for gaining her latest Judo belt. Diane, from Elham Close, had been in my class in junior school and though we moved in different circles and rarely exchanged a word, it pleased me to see one of ours doing well. But this was Diane’s fifth, sixth or maybe seventh visit to the stage for a judo certificate and it wasn’t half getting monotonous.

Shelley Jordan, resident of Hawkhurst Road and a former pupil at Featherby juniors, had caused me quite a bit of embarrassment so I wasn’t too sympathetic on the day she put herself on the wrong end of a massive classroom show up. Mister Rye, our fearsome Maths teacher was marking her exercise book at his desk when Shelley, standing to one aside and slightly behind, thought she’d be clever and pull a nur nur nur nur nur type face behind his back. This serious underestimation of the old growler’s peripheral vision got her an unexpected close up of his enraged face and the full blast of his booming voice.

‘And what do you think you’re doing?!’

Shelley almost jumped out of her skin. Her eyes popped and her sizeable conk looked larger still when her chin vanished into her neck. Then Mister Rye followed up with an observation that threatened to give me serious laughter suppression injuries.

‘And stop looking at me like a startled parrot!’

Startled parrot! He called her a startled parrot! Ha-ha! Brilliant!

Oh, my insides. I thought I was going to die, or at least bite through my lip. Startled parrot – what a wonderful description!

Catholic kids at Upbury Manor were excused from mainstream RE. These periods were spent filling in a questionnaire, based on a copy of that Sunday’s Mass sheet, whilst sitting in the canteen – an exercise in futility that killed time and achieved nothing.

Slouched over a table, I was immersed in holy time-wasting one day when I became aware of a clicking noise. I paid little attention to it, just as I paid little attention to the intermittent rattle and clank of jugs, trays and crockery in the adjacent kitchen.

Click! Click! Click!

The sound of clicking heels grew louder as someone emerged from the main corridor and entered the canteen area. A lazy roll of the eyes brought Lindsay Hawkes into view, passing the main doors on her way to the offices. Taking a message, I presumed. Accordingly, I didn’t trouble myself to look up again, moments later, when I heard the same footsteps on the way back.

Click! Click! Click!

But instead of fading away the footsteps grew louder. Much louder.

‘Hello Gerard, what are you doing?’

If there’d been another Gerard at Upbury I’d have looked around to see where he was. Surprised, if not startled to look up and see Lindsay’s beaming smile, I showed her the mass sheet and questions, and when she leaned over the table for a better look, I was more than happy to explain.

A warm feeling came over me as she sauntered off between the tables to rejoin the class, celestial even, like I was floating on a cloud. Blimey. She’d never spoken to me like that before. And she’d gone out of her way to speak to me, and that really got my interest. Blimey.