92 What a Wonderful World

May 1968

In the charts… Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World hit number one.

On the telly… Mary Hopkin was making a name for herself on Opportunity Knocks.

A Golden Wonder promotion to help our athletes in the Mexico Olympics encouraged kids all over the land to do their patriotic duty and stuff themselves with crisps. The empty crisp packets were then returned to Golden Wonder. How the athletes benefited I don’t know, but it was nice to believe we were doing our bit.

At school…

Being a proficient non-swimmer, I was never in a hurry to get to the pool. By the time I joined the other nervous ninnies standing near the shallow end, the accomplished and the confident were already splashing about and engaging in high jinks.

‘Lynch, throw me a float!’

Happy to oblige, I complied, but even as the float flopped on the water, an angry voice boomed out.

‘Lynch! Get back in the changing room!’

Back in the changing room I got dressed and spent the rest of the period stewing. Fate had got me out of the lesson but at what cost? Throwing things into the pool was forbidden, everyone knew that, but I’d responded to a specific request and that was different. I thought so, anyway. How Sir had seen it was another matter. More worrying was what he was going to do about it.

Sir didn’t stand on ceremony when the class returned at the end of the lesson. In less time than it takes to say mitigating circumstances, he was in and out of his private room and brandishing the infamous stoolball bat.

‘Bend over, Lynch.’

Clenching everything I could clench, I braced myself for the full force of a bat wielded by a fourteen stone lunatic in a black track suit.

THWACK!

‘Argh!’

At home… I went for a ride on the old bicycle I shared with my brothers. I’d seen older boys ride one handed, no handed and even arms folded. Now it was my turn. It didn’t matter that the back brake was worn and useless. Braking wasn’t a problem if the front brake wasn’t applied too sharply. Feeling confident, I pedalled up Crundale Road.

After turning right onto Minster Road, I tentatively took my left hand from the handlebars and rested it on my lap, just like the big kids did. Yes! For the next few seconds I was Cool Hand Luke with his head in the clouds, immersed in the achievement and concentrating only on getting the pose right as I passed Sandhurst Close. I didn’t see the back end of a milk float looming until the last moment. Instinctively, I grabbed the brakes. Sure enough, the front wheel locked and I shot over the handlebars, landing inches short of the milk float. Lying in the street with scraped hands is not cool, but what bothered me most was a stinging sensation in the trouser department. I pedalled home as fast as I could, fearing terrible damage from the handlebars. With great anxiety I ran to the bathroom and dropped my pants…

Of all the places to get a blood blister… Ouch!