70 Early 1967

January 1967

In the news… Alf Ramsey got a knighthood. The newspapers started calling him Sir Alf.

In the news… Donald Campbell died trying to break his own water speed record.

At Upbury Manor… John Greenland had been the only Twydall boys in 1A1, but after struggling in the Christmas exams John was demoted to 1A2. I was sorry to see him go, but I’d made new friends and with a full term behind me, the future looked bright.

John and me still sat at the same dinner table. All was fine in our cosy first year world on the day we rose from our dinner table and headed out to the school playground. But on a dull, miserable day, the wind was biting.

A kick about would have warmed me in no time, but to my surprise and great disappointment, there was no sign of the usual gang. Not a single one of them could be seen. Stranger still, at a time when the playground should have been bustling, it was almost deserted. There were barely a dozen kids dotted around. Where was everybody?

John and I were no wiser by the time we drifted up the slope to the top corner by the field, where we turned our backs against the icy blast coming in from The Lines, and reflected on the mystery.

Exposed to the elements, we shivered. Then a shower swept across the playground. Hands in pockets and hunched, we backed against the wire mesh fence, a feeble attempt to shelter.

We’d not been there long when a prefect emerged from the building. Striding briskly up the slope, he came straight to us.

‘You two… Mister Potts’s room,’ he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

We didn’t need telling twice. As he swung to his left, John and I raced for the building.

‘Good old Sir!’ I thought as I ran, thinking Mister Potts had taken pity on us and found us a nice little job in his nice warm classroom.

After charging up the staircase we burst through the classroom door… and caught the full blast of a raging Mister Potts, who shouted at us to get out. He manhandled us back through the door just as four boys were rushing in behind us, resulting in a crunch in the doorway.

The door slammed shut, leaving six shocked and bewildered boys waiting in the corridor. As the gravity of the situation dawned and confusion turned to fear, we spoke in whispers. The ferocity of Mister Potts’ outburst left us in no doubt that we were in trouble, but for what? The question gave us something to ponder while we stewed.

It seemed an eternity before 1A1 trooped in for afternoon registration. The wait hadn’t cooled Mister Potts’s temper. Even with the door closed, I could hear the snarl in his voice as he called the register...

‘Adams, Austin, Bassadona, Burtenshaw…’

...he was still in a stinking mood.

‘Lack, Lodge… Martin.’

My heart ached a little more when he missed out my name. Then everything went quiet as Mister Potts came to the door and ushered us into the room.

I’d seen what happened to boys sent to him for punishment. I knew the routine; the posturing and sneering and the mental crushing. As uncomfortable as it was to witness I trusted my teacher and believed those boys probably got what they deserved, but now I was standing in the shoes of the condemned and it all looked very different.

‘Vandalism,’ I heard him say.

‘Vandalism?’

‘Vandalism!’

‘What vandalism?’

‘Wilful damage to school property!’

‘What? He’s gone bonkers.’

In a tirade of twisted nonsense, played out in front of my solemn classmates, Mister Potts damned six innocent boys.

‘Surely he’s not going to cane us?’

A mixture of disbelief and terror set in when he got his cane. Nobody walked a straighter line than John and though I wasn’t averse to the occasional mischief, I wasn’t a bad kid; I’d worked hard, tried my best and always done as I was told. And I wasn’t a vandal. None of us were. Even as I held out my hand, tears welled in my eyes at the injustice of it.

Good news… my parents had no time for parent/teacher stuff. Letters I took home for school trips to Europe went straight in the bin and no wonder, when Mam couldn’t afford to keep our school photos. Not that I cared. I didn’t want to go to France or Belgium anyway. Football though, was another matter and my eyes lit up when I saw a notice for an England schools international at Wembley Stadium, in April. A sudden rush of excitement was only tempered by the cost, 12s/6d. I’d just have to ask Mam. At the right time. Very nicely.

Saturday February 4^th was a momentous day. A first visit to Priestfield Stadium for John Greenland and Kevin Garlick, and a second visit for me, as we attended the Gillingham v Swansea Town game with Paul and Clive. The match was nothing special, ending in a 0-0 draw, but I enjoyed the camaraderie and it was fun to follow the lead of other kids and climb on the wall at the Redfern Avenue/Rainham End corner of the ground. For a few minutes we had the best of views, until a stadium announcement requesting us to get off the wall was backed up by the arrival of a policeman.

‘Who’s that copper with the helmet on? Dixon, Dixon,’ sang the Rainham End to the tune of Camptown Races.

Kevin and John’s first match turned out to be their last but I was back again three weeks later, with Paul, to watch Gillingham play out a goalless draw with Torquay United. Just my luck; four and a half hours of professional football and I’d yet to see a goal.