September 1964: Now a third year at Twydall Juniors, I set off for
school each morning with my brothers (Dave and Mike) from Crundale Road and
called first, as usual, at Kevin Garlick’s house on Waltham Road. As ever, Mrs.
Garlick welcomed us into the family home to join Kevin in the kitchen where, in
a hubbub of chit chat and Radio Caroline, she made sure Kev was presentable
before the four of us set off to school.
At the bottom of Preston Way four became three when we waved Mike off at
the Infants’ gate, whereupon Dave, Kevin and I turned our attention to catching
spiders. Cobwebs, glistening with early morning dew were plentiful on the
privets that fronted the houses there and we, like many Twydall boys, were
adept at stripping leaves from flexible new growth to make a web scoop. Hooking
webs was good fun and trapping the odd spider an added bonus, especially if it
was a big one. By the time we reached the grass triangle at the top of Preston
Way each of us had gathered something resembling spider candy floss.
In the playground Dave met up with his 1/1 mates (first year top class)
while Kevin and I joined the 3/2 boys (third year second class) at the same
spot each morning to play a guessing game that lasted until the whistle went.
Anyone of Kevin, myself, William Hollands, Nigel Robinson, Graham
Deaville, Clive Ward, Paul Parker, Stephen Browning, Kim Erswell, Stephen
Fellows, Anthony Gardner, Graham Nunn, Colin Clifford, Peter Stephens, Andrew
Akehurst, Peter Anderton, Brian Stammer, Ronald Cross, Graeme Stageman… whoever
happened to be ‘it’ stood against the wall (position 1) and asked a question;
commonly a pop group beginning with a letter of their choice. But before anyone
could answer they first had to run to the field (position 2) and back. The game
produced much laughter, mad dashes and lots of running in vain, as no matter
who was ‘it,’ the correct answer always seemed to be the last remaining possibility.
Some caught on to this and happily let others run themselves daft until the
options had narrowed. A smart move, particularly for a pop group beginning with
S, of which there were loads.
Paul Parker: “Selecting
somebody to be ‘it’ was chosen by rhymes such as ‘horsey horsey in the stable,
horsey horsey out!’ or ‘ink, pink, pudding stink, out goes stinky.”
As soon as the whistle went we took our place in line with the girls of
our class; Linda Bateman, Linda
Barnes, Lynn Braithwaite, Frances Bushnell, Janice Byatt, Elaine Croxon, Geraldine
Davis, Marion Field, Gillian Golding, Lavinia Heath, Lynne Hopkins, Anne Kilpatrick,
Janice MacGregor, Diane Oakenfull, Lorraine Redgrave, Angela Slociak, Linda Varnum,
Linda Webb and Lorna Whitfield.
From our assembly
point by the retaining wall that fronted the toilet steps, Miss Rusted our
teacher led us to our classroom in the bottom hut nearest the canteen.
Each hut housed two classrooms, accessed through a central door and a
central cloakroom. New to the school and new to the class was a fair haired kid
called John Greenland. Directing him to the vacant desk beside mine, Miss
Rusted instructed me to look after him. John was accepted by all and I soon got
to know him well, helped by the fact that we walked the same way after school,
as the quickest route to his home on Wingham Close was via the connecting alley
on Crundale Road.
I liked Miss Rusted too, a lady who frequently dressed in Girl Guides
uniform, of which she held some rank. Lessons were consistently absorbing and the occasional
games we played, such as O’Grady Says and Chinese Whispers, brought some light
relief to the step up of doing sums in pounds, shillings and pence, as well as hundreds,
tens and units.
Paul Parker: “In the morning
we had to say ‘Good morning Miss Rusted.’ But we could never keep together and
it always came out as ‘Good morning Miss Rusted-usted.’ She had a proper pencil
sharpener fixed to the corner of her desk, that we were allowed use when
necessary.”
In one memorable lesson William ‘Bimbo’ Hollands found his way into Miss Rusted’s
good books when the class were asked for uses of water in the home. Hands shot
up in the air and answers came thick and fast until all but one obvious answer had
been named.
‘Any more?’ Miss Rusted enquired.
Bimbo raised his hand. ‘Flushing the
toilet, Miss.’
Miss Rusted was not amused when the class burst out laughing.
Quickly rebuked, we sat shamefaced while she praised our sensible classmate.
‘Well done William.’
In the charts were songs like Pretty Woman, Doo Wah Diddy Diddy, A Hard
Day’s Night, As Tears Go By, Rag Doll and It’s All Over Now, but number one at
that time was Have I the Right by the Honeycombs, a favourite of mine with a
thumping beat.
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