Playtimes were less of an ordeal, since most of my tormentors had moved on and though there were still some aggravation, things changed for the better after an incident outside the toilets one morning (diagram position A). Barring my way down the steps was Steven Humm, a third year. Each time I tried to pass, he blocked me. But then…
‘Oi! Leave him alone Humbug!’
Humbug spun around… and nearly pissed his pants when he saw fourth year Malcolm Aitkin giving him the evil eye from the bottom of the steps. He knew, as did I, that Malcolm wasn’t someone to mess with. No angel himself, Malcolm had poked fun at me in the first year, but enough was enough, it seemed. Now he was sticking up for me and for that I was truly grateful.
(Position
B is where, months previously, I’d acquired the lyrics to Wooden Heart from
Brian Stammer, in exchange for a plastic camel.)
I was
hardly a devotee of pop music but at a time when pop groups made regular appearances
on children’s telly and the whole world was warbling along to The Beatles’ She
Loves You, it was impossible to remain unaffected. I quite liked the song If I
Had a Hammer by Trini Lopez, and I’ll Never Get Over You by the eye patch
wearing Johnny Kidd and the Pirates. Another song I liked, known to all, was You Were Made for Me by Freddie
and the Dreamers, popularised
by Freddie’s manic leaping throughout its performance.
Elsewhere
in the playground, boys were collecting wax paper caricatures of television
personalities such as Armand and Michaela Denis from On Safari. Printed in blue
and white, they came free with packs of bubblegum.
I was
now in 2/2, Miss Bayes’ class. I liked Miss Bayes, a bespectacled, plump lady
of around forty. That her chin disappeared into her neck, or that her bosom sagged
onto her belly was no concern of mine. The warmth of her personality was all
that counted and lessons were much less intense than they’d been in the first
year.
Long
hymn practice on Friday morning, an irritant to most of us, was a feature of
school life. At the end of assembly all but one teacher vanished, leaving us in
the charge of the formidable Mrs Thomas for about twenty
minutes. While she plinked and plonked at the piano, we warbled, and heaven help us if…
'Stop! Stop! Stop! It's as the first disciples did
in Galilee... Galilee,
not Galurlee!’
Or,
during Onward Christian Soldiers…
‘No
stamping! I said no stamping!’
Or…
‘Come
on, more effort! Let me see your mouths open.’
When
she began playing again I didn’t bother to sing, I just stretched my mouth in exaggerated
fashion, so well that I was one several kids that she singled out for special praise.
Embarrassed, I sang like a choirboy after that for fear I’d get rumbled.
Out of
school I was seeing more of my classmates, notably William ‘Bim/Bimbo’ Hollands and Kevin
Garlick. Bimbo I’d known since the Infants and it was a treat to visit him at
his home at the curly end of Hawthorne
Avenue, where it meets Doddington Road, and view his collection
of World War II soldiers and artillery. Just as impressive was the sight of a
dozen model planes suspended from his bedroom ceiling.
Kevin was
just another kid in our class till we found ourselves together when lining up
to go back into school one afternoon. Toy soldiers were our common denominator and
before long I was taking my army to his house on Waltham Road for regular
weekend battles.
On the
telly… some new programmes
started. Armchair Theatre was for grown ups, as was Land of Song, another in a
long line of dreary Sunday offerings with Ivor Emmanuel singing boring songs
and dancing over haystacks. And for kids, Doctor Who. Now that did look interesting.
In the news… President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas.
Such was the magnitude of the event that I and many other kids were mesmerised by the stream of news flashes we saw on television that evening.
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