September 1966
On a bright sunny morning I set off from my home on Crundale Road to meet former Twydall classmates Clive Ward (Milsted Road), Paul Parker and John Greenland (both Wingham Close) at the bus stop on Waltham Road. Seeing each other in Upbury uniform sparked some amusement but the thrill of a new beginning cooled once we boarded the bus for a ride into the unknown. Tales of disturbing initiation ceremonies played on my mind, as did rumours of savage rivalries with other schools, especially when the bus rumbled through the badlands of Woodlands Road.
Arriving in one piece at our stop near the bus depot, we spilled off the bus with other kids in red and grey, one being Diane Wright, my next door neighbour. From there we followed the crowd to Canterbury Street via Copenhagen Road, then crossed the street to Vicarage Road and the alleys that led to Marlborough Road.
On arrival at the school we were directed to the first and second year playground. As the old hands of the second year reacquainted themselves with greetings and laughter we anxious newcomers, intimidated by the school’s enormity, stuck closely together in the centre of the playground, believing safety in numbers lessened the chances of being singled out for something nasty. Amid many strangers there were a few familiar faces fronm Twydall: Diane Oakenful and Linda Barnes had been in Miss Rusted’s class with us; Diane Clark and Susan Johnson had been in Mister Turner’s 4/1 class. Some of the bigger kids had been at Twydall too. Steven Bonneywell, Stephen Austin and Lindsey Bennett were three boys I knew by sight. There were other kids from Twydall too, though it was some time before I learned Elaine Drury, Shelley Jordan, Carol Walker, Stanley Slaughter, Jim Barker, Steven Clay and Phil Jones were fresh from Featherby Juniors.
A whistle went. We first years were invited to sit on some adjacent grass while the second years were led into the building. It was then that I spotted ex-friend Kevin Garlick, who I’d fallen out with before the summer holiday. Must have come in his Dad’s car, I thought, as I quickly looked away.
The first batch of new first years were called and told to follow their appointed teacher into the main building. Assuming that to be the top class, I anticipated me and my friends being in the second class, just as we’d been at Twydall. When none of us made it, my heart sank.
We didn’t make the next class either; or the next; or the next. Then Paul, Clive and Kevin were called and off they went, leaving me behind – in what I presumed to be – the dunce class with John, who was useless at football and had no interest in the game.
But then…
The teacher doing the roll call looked very smug. ‘ My name is Mister Potts. And you’ he addressed those remaining, ‘are 1A1, my class.’
The Twydall boys were reunited at break time when John and I caught up with Paul and Clive under the clock. With them was a boisterous fair haired kid with teeth like Bernie Winters, who I knew by sight as the laughing scallywag who caused a lot of disruption in the Odeon on the night Mam took me and my brothers to see Flipper. Each time I looked over my shoulder to see who the usherette was telling off, her torchlight was focused upon the laughing teeth of the chief culprit. Later sightings of those teeth in the vicinity of Twydall shops meant the scallywag was familiar to me. A resident of Leeds Square, Twydall, and former pupil of Featherby Juniors, this was Stanley Slaughter.
Paul, Clive and Stan laughed aloud as they explained Mrs Chamberlain had asked their class (1A2) to call out their names out, in reverse, for registration. To the amusement of all, including Ward Clive and Parker Paul, they did. And so did Slaughter Stanley, whose name got the biggest laugh of all.
A welcome boost came when the lads said the boys of our classes would merge for PE. The girls of 1A1 and 1A2 would do likewise.
‘How do you know?’
‘Mrs Chamberlain told us, and she ought to know, ‘cause she’s the girls’ PE teacher.’
‘Brilliant!’
Brilliant it was. The opportunity for me to play a proper organised game of football with Paul and Clive, and now Stan, was wonderful news.
Lunchtime/Afternoon break
John and I were drawn once more to the sound of laughter under the clock.
1A2
had just had their first French lesson. Amidst lots of oui-ing,
Monsieur Ward, Monsieur Parker and Monsieur Slaughter were addressing
each other by their freshly allocated French names. As IA1 had yet to
have a French lesson, I felt a bit left out, but I laughed as loud as
anyone when they said a girl in their class had been stuck with the
name of Solange. (Its similarity to Blancmange is hilarious when
you’re eleven years old.)
Me, John, Clive, Paul and Stan were still laughing when we caught the bus home at the end of an eventful day.
Paul Parker: “Started the first day with all my pencils in a brown envelope because my dad forgot to get me a satchel.”
No comments:
Post a Comment