Having failed to reach to the dizzy heights of Grammar school at the age of 11 I entered a secondary school just a twenty minute bike ride from the Guest House. Trusty lunch box in the saddlebag that on occasion carried such delicacies as shredded cheese and vinegar rolls and cheese rind and black pudding.
Usual ragging of the new recruits but only for a short period as in my mother’s words I was ” not backards in coming forwards” ,basically meant I gave as good as I got and would not stand for much crap. Despite that one 2 year senior guy decided to try it on by harping on about my “middle class” status until it was resolved in the toilet behind the bike sheds. Did I mention that I had been taking Judo lessons for 4 years and was the equivalent of a junior purple belt? Anyway, that had nothing to with the mini victory, I struck first and kicked him in the nuts. Strangely enough after that we became quite good friends and shared our first cough after dragging on a ciggy butt we found!
Black pudding
Not too many memories of the teachers although two do stand out. The math teacher who was probably only in his early thirties but to us looked ancient, at least 50. Had the ability to hit errant students on the head with a stick of board chalk from any distance. A criminal offence today of course but he certainly kept our attention. The English teacher looked a bit hippy style and had hair like a Golliwog. A term that is now taboo but was well recognised in those days on toothpaste (Actually that was Darkie?) and jam and toys amongst other things. I was good at both English and math so probably another reason to remember them. The English teacher in particular, who later in my secondary school life gave me some great advice that probably affected the direction of the rest of my days. More about that later.
Golliwog on the jar!
