Grammar School days

Life at the village school went by happily enough. I was lucky that school lessons came fairly easily to me, and eventually the family decided that I should try for a place at the Sir John Leman School, Beccles. After a period of intensive swotting I passed the entrance exam, and started my Grammar School education.

I didn't fully appreciate the fact that it must have created money problems to get me kitted out with the necessary clothes, sports gear, and to provide my season ticket on the train. I was too thrilled having a pair of football boots to worry about where the money came from. I loved football, and it remains my favourite game even today, when the nearest I can get to playing it is to watch it on the telly.

My school days at Beccles were really enjoyable. The school was co‑educational, although we were segregated fairly strictly. Academically I had no particular problems, finding the work interesting and not too difficult, and I kept a respectable position in my form. Organised sport was new to me, and it was this that I enjoyed most, especially as I soon got into the first eleven at soccer. Talking of the segregation of the sexes reminded me that the sports master and mistress got together and decided that the first soccer eleven should play the girls hockey eleven ‑ at hockey, of course! I'm pretty sure that none of us boys had ever touched a hockey stick before, and we weren't allowed any practice. We were never allowed even to watch the girls playing hockey. The fact that the girls were all nattily turned out in short gymslips probably had something to do with this, I reckon.

Eventually the great day arrived. We were given a short talk on the rules, and we were ready to bully off. My word, that ball seemed awfully small and difficult to hit. The fact that I played on the left wing didn't help, as I had to stop and turn round to get a right‑handed whack. Still, we did our best, and the game went on with plenty of noise and well‑meant advice.

Now, our centre forward, a big hefty lad, was sweet on one of the girls. He was careering down the field with his eyes on the ball, not noticing that his girlfriend was advancing to tackle him. He ran straight into her and over she went, sprawling on the grass. He then realised what he had done, threw his stick down, stopped and gathered her in his arms and hugged her frantically. The fact that the whole school, staff included, were looking on was all forgotten. Well, he may have forgotten, but no‑one else did, as they all cheered to the echo. I can't remember the result of the match, but it was such a success that it became an annual event for some years.

Friendships between the boys and girls were very much frowned upon. Why, I don't quite know, but it was all to no avail anyway. If we were caught walking out with one of the girls outside school hours it was a case of up on the carpet next day, for a well‑intentioned but totally ignored lecture. In fact, it added a spice of adventure to the whole business. As with youngsters of any period, it was in love one week and out the next, with much passing of notes in the classroom, and plenty of leg‑pulling.

It was not entirely confined to the boys and girls, either, for some of the younger members of the staff got crushes on each other too! You can guess this didn't go unnoticed among us. It soon went round the grapevine that Miss So 'n So had been seen out with Mr So 'n So. One morning when one of the mistresses in question was taking our form, one of the boys threw me a screwed up note which landed on the floor near my feet. Unfortunately the mistress, who had been standing with her back to the class, suddenly turned round as I was stooping to pick it up, and asked me to take it to her. I did this, and she unrolled the note and read it. Then the balloon went up! She came at me, black with anger, taking a swipe at my ear which would almost have knocked me down had it landed. I ducked in time, absolutely dumbfounded, for I had no idea what the note contained. Luckily for me, the lad who had thrown it owned up immediately, and we were both ordered to report to our form master for an order mark.

Now the system of punishment in general use at that time was that any culprit caught misbehaving had to report to his form master or mistress for what was called an order mark. The punishment came in the fact that these order marks were noted on our end of term reports under the heading 'Number of times reported for unsatisfactory conduct'. I don't suppose we would have minded collecting a dozen, but the fact that we couldn't conceal it from our parents was a different kettle of fish. After the hoo‑ha had subsided, everyone was wondering what on earth the note contained to provoke such a violent reaction, and when break time came the lad who had written it was almost mobbed. It turned out to be a very clever but quite innocuous limerick, linking the two names, and nothing really to make a fuss about. When we reported to our master, he let me off and gave the other lad a few hundred lines, so all ended satisfactorily.

Sports Day was the event of the year, when most of the parents turned up. We had the swimming sports first, on a different day, boys in the morning and girls in the afternoon ‑ strictly segregated of course. The girls could watch us, but we couldn't watch them which seemed totally unfair to us. Unofficially, those boys who were good swimmers got in the river a few hundred yards from the pool, swam down and watched the girls through gaps in the fencing separating the pool from the river, and then swam back and regaled us poor swimmers with stories of what we had missed in the way of feminine pulchritude.

Sports Day proper was a mixed affair ‑ no segregation here, except that we all had our own events. Taking parts in the sports, enjoying refreshments, showing our mums and dads around, all contributed to a really happy day. One of Mother's chapel friends had a daughter at school, so they came together on the train, while Father came round in his wheelchair, cranking himself the four miles from our village. The last half mile was all uphill, and a steep hill at that, so I met him at the bottom, giving him a shove up. He looked very smart in his dark suit and trilby, white collar and dickey. There would be a few words with the headmaster and others, with introductions to one another's pals and their parents, and the day went all too soon. Then the long walk to the station for Mother and her friend, while I walked home with Father who felt more comfortable with company in case he got a puncture in his chair wheels.

One of the not‑so‑happy memories of those days was the lack of money. At the village school this was no problem because no‑one had any, or for that matter particularly wanted it. At the Grammar School it was different, for every week there would be something ‑ a book to buy, train fares for away football or cricket matches, subbing round for refreshments when we had home matches ‑ it seemed as if I always wanted money. There were even problems after school. The train for our homeward journey didn't leave Beccles until six thirty. We had a fifteen minute break after school, and then had to go back to our classroom with a master in charge, and do our homework until six o'clock. This was a good thing, as it kept us off the streets and best of all, we got all our homework done so when we eventually got home it was all leisure.

The trouble where I was concerned was that at four thirty the caretaker made tea, and for twopence one could have a cuppa and a biscuit. Everyone except me took advantage of this, and went downstairs for a tea break. I didn't want to be the only one left in the classroom so I trooped down with the rest and hung about until they came back, as I had no money for the tea. It wasn't so much not having the tea, but feeling that everyone knew why. As a matter of fact, I don't suppose anyone either knew or cared. However, after a few weeks the caretaker's wife who made the tea found out what was going on. She took me aside one day and said I was not to worry about the coppers, but to join the others and have a cuppa. It may seem to have been a very tiny act of kindness, but believe me it wasn't a small thing to me, and I was more than grateful to the kindly lady. I did my best to earn a shilling or two, but opportunities for this were not many, especially in the village. Things altered a lot when I started marking wireless sets, and how I enjoyed the sensation of having a little money of my own.

When listening to an interview on the radio, the interviewer usually winds up with the rather corny question "Did you have any really embarrassing moments?" If anyone had ever asked me, I would have been tempted to tell this one!

A school pal and I met a couple of girls after a football match and walked down into the town with them. As bad luck would have it, just as we were passing the local cinema, it started to pour with rain. My pal, whose people kept a shop in the town, said "Come on, let's go to the pictures". The girls soon said "Yes, let's, but only if you let us pay our share". To my horror Eric, my pal, said "Certainly not, we wouldn't dream of letting you do that". Now, I hadn't a bean on me, and stood there wishing the earth would swallow my up. Fortunately the girls turned round to look at the posters. I have Eric a nudge, and pulled the lining out of my pockets. Good chap that he was, he caught on and went and bought the four tickets. He not only got me out of that muddle, but flatly refused payment when I eventually had some cash. Here again, I suppose if I had explained the situation on the spot, no‑one would have thought any the worse of me, but I just couldn't do it.

Mind you, I wasn't the only boy with financial problems. I was now playing cricket for the school Second Eleven. In interschool matches, whites were compulsory. I was all right in this respect, as Mother used to belong to a clothing club, paying a shilling a week, and her very first purchase was a pair of white flannels for me. Now, there was one lad who, in the first match, turned up in a pair of dark grey trousers. I knew why, as his mother was a widow and just couldn't afford to buy whites for him. In the meantime, much to my delight I had been elected captain, but as such it was my responsibility to see that all the team were properly dressed. I was in a bit of a quandary, and matters came to a head when our sports master took me on one side and we had a natter about it. He was a good and thoughtful type, and when I explained the reason he said he thought the same.

He then offered to help, telling me there was a pound or two over in the entertainment kitty which was contributed to by the boys to provide refreshments for visiting teams. He asked me to approach the other lads in the team to see if they were agreeable to help. They were all pleased enough to do so, so the flannels were bought out of the kitty and were most gratefully accepted. What pleased him most was that no‑one had suggested taking the easy way out and picked someone else in his place. He told me afterwards it made a world of difference to be able to walk out with the rest of the team and not feel and look the odd‑one‑out. I suppose it all looks very snobbish by modern standards, but in those days school rules were laid down and intended to be kept.

By and large, the days went by happily enough. There was plenty of hard work in the classroom and lots of fun and horseplay outside, but no bullying, thank goodness. I suppose, looking back, that the teacher's life was quite a bit easier than it is today. Discipline was strict enough but no‑one questioned it, and anyone stepping out of line was very soon put back. Home life must have helped a lot. The fact that most of us had to toe the line at home made it much easier to accept the discipline at school.

Of course there were occasions when circumstances got the better of us; such as the day when the Head had been telling us off for something or other. He went storming out into the corridor, but unfortunately the door blew shut behind him and caught the end of his flowing gown. This brought him up with a jerk, and he fell over backwards to land with an almighty thump. This was just too much, but the subsequent howls of laughter did us no good at all and we lost our games lessons for a week. I wonder why it is that the funny happenings stick in our memories, while things more worthwhile are soon forgotten.

One that stuck with me over the years was when our French master left and was replaced with another who was indeed French. He spoke good English, of course, but with a decided accent. On his first appearance with us, he thought it a good idea to go round the form one by one, calling our names and having a word with each of us. No‑one gave this a second thought until he came to a lad whose name was Philip Watson. "Now" he asked, "which of you is Pheeleep Watson?" We all woke up with a jerk at this for one of the girls was named Phyllis Balls. Horrible lot that we were, we sat smirking and waiting for her turn to come; when it inevitably did, it all happened just as we had foreseen. Hardly were the words out of his mouth before we all broke out into helpless laughter. The poor master was astounded, but soon recovered himself and as the laughter died down he said "Aha, I love to hear you laugh. I must have made the joke, but what was it?" Needless to say, no‑one felt inclined to enlighten him, but Phyllis acquired a nickname which stuck for a long, long time.

The only school activity I never really enjoyed was swimming. The pool was a sort of bay excavated from the river bank with a quay heading formed for walking round, and it was fenced in with piles. Now the Waveney at Beccles is tidal, so the depth of water varied a lot from time to time. We were taught to swim by the sports master. He would walk along the side carrying a long pole with a sort of horse collar suspended on a rope. One by one, us non‑swimmers slipped the collar under our arms, while the master took the weight so we didn't sink. I suppose the water must have been warm sometimes, but all I can remember was being freezing cold and floundering about trying to keep ourselves afloat. Now and then the master, probably with malice aforethought, would let the rope slacken and we would immediately sink to the bottom. It was probably the best way of teaching us, as after three or four duckings we managed in desperation to splash around hard enough to keep ourselves afloat.

The worst part was after we were able to do a few strokes. He made us swim to the middle of the pool, where the mud had made a sort of mound where it was possible to stand. Most of us had had enough by the time we reached the shallower water, and there we had to stand in a shivering group until we had recovered enough courage and strength to do the return journey. The master, no doubt with tongue in cheek, promised faithfully that unless we swam back we could stand in the middle till the cows came home as far as he was concerned. Needless to say, we made it back somehow.

When we eventually got proficient enough to swim the length of the pool, we got a certificate to prove it. I did my length after a lot of struggling and splashing with the master looking on, and he summed up my efforts by saying that I did the finest imitation of a crab swimming sideways that he had ever seen.

If swimming was the lesson I most disliked, woodwork was what I liked most. I have often wondered about hereditary trends in families. If physical likenesses are hereditary, I don't see why certain proficiencies shouldn't be passed along in a similar way. Of my father's nine brothers, five were carpenters, including him, and several of their sons, including both my brothers, took up the same trade. Consequently at school I took to woodwork like a duck to water. So much so, that when I had some especially interesting project in hand I would, with the master's permission, go back after school hours to continue on my own. With the well‑equipped workshop at my disposal I passed away many happy hours, and it certainly stood me in good stead in later years.

As the time passed, thoughts of a future career arose. I was recommended by the Head to take up a teaching career but this meant going on to college or university, depending on examination results. Looking back, I don't remember having much say in the matter as the family decided it couldn't afford to let me go to college, but that I must enter something and earn some money to help the family exchequer. At the time I was bitterly disappointed, and felt that my education had been wasted. Nevertheless, even at that early age, I was something of a fatalist and I decided that if I must leave school, it was all for the best and all would turn out right in the end.