60 Early Days at Upbury

At school, I made a nice copper ashtray in Metalwork. New-to-us subjects like Drama, Technical Drawing,  Woodwork and  Metalwork had a lot of novelty value. Other lessons like History and Geography and other core subjects, although familiar, were on a different level to the stuff taught in the juniors; algebra being a prime example in the maths class.

Something I didn't expect was an announcement in assembly one morning.

‘Are there any Catholics here?’

A sombre looking teacher led the few of us with raised hands to a classroom were some older pupils were waiting. 

'What are you here? You should be at Saint John Fisher, why aren’t you there? asked the glum teacher. Instead of going to assembly we - the children of the damned - would attend catholic prayers in his classroom every Tuesday and Wednesday. Furthermore, we would not be doing mainstream RE. Instead, we'd report to his classroom during those periods for some work (prepared by him) to do in the canteen for the duration of that period.

A pupil at Upbury Manor is all I wanted to be, same as my friends, but in a matter of minutes my future had been redefined. I was no longer a pupil at Upbury Manor. I was a Catholic pupil at Upbury Manor, and that made me an outsider.

I cheered up when my class had their first French lesson, though it was disappointing to learn the only difference between Gerard in English and Gérard in French is a bit of phlegm. Much to my delight Shelley Jordan, formerly of Featherby Juniors, was renamed Solange. Naturally, I couldn’t wait to see my 1A2 pals at break time and tell them we had a Blancmange in our class as well.

During the course of the next French lesson Miss Lake dried up when addressing Shelley. She couldn’t remember Shelley’s French name. Nor could Shelley. Miss Lake appealed to the class.

‘Does anyone remember what Shelley’s French name is?’

Naïvely, I raised my hand, the only kid to do so.

‘Yes, Gérard?’

‘It’s Solange, Miss.’

‘Ah, mais oui, Solange! Merci bien Gérard! Tres bon!’

Happy to accept praise in any language, I smiled my humblest you’re welcome smile until – in a moment of mischief – Miss Lake pounced with a question loaded with ooh la la.

‘And how did you remember that was Shelley’s French name, Gérard?’

My smile disintegrated as a jeer erupted around the classroom. I didn’t know where to put my face.

I like Miss Lake, but next time she needs help she can piss off.

Reconciliation: Kevin and I made our peace. Whatever the reason behind our fall out, the ties that bound us proved much stronger. My blood brother and I had shared too many things to let a punch up come between us. Kevin and me, the original fatty and skinny, were friends again.