London again, back to the streets that were the fodder of my growing years. Back to roads, alleys and railway embankments where we playing knock down Ginger. Back to Clapham Junction and running to pop our heads over the parapets of the bridges as the steam trains thundered under us, getting the odd ember in our eye and returning home smelling like a coal fire. I returned to discover my old school mates had become petty criminals. I wonder today if it was not for the fact of our moving, if I would have followed the same path. The sad thing is that later on three of my acquaintances would die of drug related causes.
There was no opening for me at the local Grammar school so I attended the comprehensive. Once again I was in for a rough time. My middle England accent did not help. Factions and friendships were in place already. A hard time once more but what the hell. The school was divided into two areas. The lower school, which was housed in an ancient Gothic towered building with a massive Saint George slaying the Dragon statue above the main entrance, was like something from a Dracula novel. It was surrounded by a common and a new high rise estate. The upper school was all very 1960`s. Glass, metal, bold colours and very square. To get this section out of the way I will now précis 6 years of life and then hop back for the non school bit. A collection of memories that goes as follows.
I began to learn to play the Cello, the teacher was a snuff addict he reeked of it. All down his waistcoat and all in his beard. I then went on to do classical percussion; snare and timpani were my forte. I once got slippered for practicing, as I had been told to, in a room next to the lower school head masters office. We had two head masters. I joined the choir and sang the descant to “Oh come all yea faithful” in Latin. I can still remember a snippet today. I was very good at art and pottery. There used to be a tuck shop and smokers corner was around the back of the pottery sheds. Because I was from a Catholic family I was excused RE and took extra art instead. I was good potter and stone carver. The pottery teacher was a communist; he used to go on marches and would throw copper pennies that he had sharpened on a grindstone at the police. He and a few coloured friends of mine would smoke joints in the kiln room. Of course I was unaware of the odour of marijuana at that time and thought them to be French or Russian cigarettes.
The entire gym class was slippered by the teacher because someone had a crap in the showers and didn’t own up. He was a short stringy little imp and lined us all up against a wall. He told us where he was going to start the punishment. So as you can guess all the big bully boy cowards pushed themselves to the furthest end, he knew this and once the line had form and we had all assumed the position he announced that the slipper was going to move faster and harder as he moved down the line. I was near the start; I can still hear the whacks echoing around the gym and the odd whimper. We all knew had done the dirty and luckily he was very late in the slippering order.
My mother joined the school as a dinner lady. I had bigger portions and had to eat all my greens. I did enjoy the food in those days. At home we ate a lot of Italian dishes so it was a change. I really used to love semolina or “Frogspawn” as it was called. With a big dollop of strawberry jam in the middle it was gluttonous. Mum left after a while as her illness was worsening and I returned to the tuck shop queue and Wagon Wheel lunches. Do you remember how big they used to be compared to nowadays? You could have used them on a wagon!!
I joined the film society and made a film called “Silver Toe” it was a spy film and I played the part of the jailor. I remember the first screening of it in the main hall and the entire school cheering as I was beaten up on camera. I don’t think it was personal, more a reaction to the story line, my superb acting and the fact that the tray I was using as a prop just happened to have “Frogspawn” as the main dish and this was rubbed into my face. The strawberry jam mixture made it appear as though my brains had been forced through my nose. The best zoom shot ever. My film making went and we made a cartoon using a stop gap camera. This was a fun time because we experimented with colour film and did all the processing and printing ourselves. We had an exhibition that went down a storm.
I cried when one of my art teachers left the school, Mr Beecroft. He looked a little like Salvador Dali and was very into surrealism. I blame him for warping my artistic talents. He was a good teacher and I think it was because he encouraged my art that I thought of him as a friend. I still feel sadness as I write this; it is one of those collected memories that hold a trauma and even to this day I wonder what became of him? Did he have a good life? I hope so.
During one open day I was in the biology labs to present some experiments to visitors. This was so funny I hope you can grasp the imagery from what I am about to write. Imagine if you will an old wooden paneled room with shelf upon shelf of jars full of specimens that we had opened up to reveal inner workings. One group of jars held the remains of a dog. The head of this Labrador was floating skinless in preservative alongside some paws and feet. One visitor, a lady, stared at the head for a long time. She went away and came back with the caretaker and one of the teachers. There was some tearful discussion and it turns out that she was a friend of the part time caretaker and during a visit to the school her dog had gone missing. They never found it and assumed it lost. It had in fact drowned in the open air swimming pool and the full time caretaker, totally unawares, had taken it to the biology section where the teacher and some sixth formers had carried out a dissection. The headmaster had to apologise. It was the look in the eyes of the specimen that she had recognised, a look that she remembered from when her pet had wanted to go walkies. I promise you we didn't laugh until she had left.
I will stop there for now only because it is late and I have a long day tomorrow. Sitting here in my air conditioned room with an empty bottle of wine and reminiscing is very hard on the soul. All the emotions I carried through those growing years are but a veil away from reality. Thinking of them now and running the film fast forward is very tiring. My head aches and for obvious reasons I feel sad. Must be the thought of me singing all those high notes in chapel dressed in a long frock with frilly collar.
Later XXX
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