Happy Days

Someone called school days the happiest days of your life. Who was that person and what became of them? It's not fair that somebody says something at some point in history and then it's repeated endlessly for ever more. However for some reason I have recently been thinking about my primary school days with some nostalgia and affection.

From 1963 to 1970 I was at St James Catholic Primary School in Twickenham with our Scallop Badged blazers, stripped black and white ties and shorts. Did we wear shorts in the viscous winter of 64? I cannot remember – we must have done.

I remember my mother saying she would leave me in the morning all spic-and-span and collect me as a dishevelled mess at 4pm, the end of the school day. Grazed knees I expect – I seemed to spend a lot of time on the ground. We got dirty in those days and I believe the latest thinking is that gave us robust immune systems. Apparently today's children are just too clean, so end up with myriad allergies. “A peck of dirt keeps the Doctor away” who said that one? And did they live a long life? .

The first daily challenge was the compulsory school milk. I hated milk - it was not so bad in winter, I would hold my nose and drink it through a straw – but warm milk 'on the turn' in summer? The big question of the day was “Whats for Lunch?” We had to eat our dinner; usually enforced by the dinner lady or nun on duty. There was no choice – no pizza or chips – it was brutal. Sister Finbar recommended 22 chews per mouthful. Poor Philip C had his dinner, a pudding and then another dinner and pudding – he wolfed it down – probably the only meal he got. They looked after him. Dinner was either horrible or great, Spam fritters anyone? Treacle pudding -yummy. I particularly loathed rice pudding and semolina – that milk thing again. I now eat almost everything but I never recovered from those two.

We knew that the nuns were female but they were definitely in there own very special category. The only part of them you could see was the front of the face and the hands – the face being encased in the white stiff wimple and then covered with the black veil. in fact they were all covered up in black- our thoughts daren't go further than that. They told us our souls were like a mirror and when we sinned we had specks on our mirror. The girls were OK if they were not too girly. When we went out of school in our snaky walking trains - you only paired up with another boy if possible- to hold hands with a girl was extremely humiliating.

The nuns were very stern -though not unkind, apart from the head teacher - a scary tyrant called Sister Mary Michael. The nuns had some strange habits (ha-ha)– wringing your hands, twisting your fingers and pinching the skin on the back – was this some expression of deep libido frustration? Sister Michael released her libido in her frightening singing lessons – singing like she was possessed and showered us with spittle – when we sat on the floor crowded into her office. It was really frightful stuff. She decided in a moment of madness to start having Prefects from the older juniors. With this new found power they “could send you to Sister Michael” for basically breathing. The result was a great long line of offenders waiting outside her office to be dealt with. The scheme didn't last.

We had two playgrounds one out back and a very unusual one on the roof. During fine weather Sister Finbar would hold the class on the roof playground. As we sat roasting on the hot tarmac, Sister Finbar was seated before; us under a black umbrella.; the Canadian boy had the dubious honour of standing next to her holding it. That's the new Canadian boy who had said "Gee-Wizz" on his first day and sister Finbar pulled a face and said we don't use expressions like that. One day he also asked her what she wore in bed; she got quite coy.

My mother went into school to speak to the wonderful Mrs Lane (who later became Head) about me because I was getting into trouble a lot – She said to her “don't worry Mrs Smith Richard just says what he thinks and the nuns don't like it. “ Punishment was “The Slipper” it stung and gave you a very hot bum.

Meanwhile our little school reflected the bigger world, events were absorbed and influenced us quite strongly. “Are you a Mod or a Rocker?” he asked - I didn't understand that one. What with all the strikes, revolution was in the air. So we decided to go on strike too. It was a sit down strike on the roof where for some reason after lunch the Junior boys went on the roof. When the bell went to return to the afternoon class we all sat down at one end of the playground. Eventually Mr Huntingford the deputy head came up and walked, John Wayne like, slowly toward us – a few nervous types started standing up so it didn't last long.

The Apollo moon missions had really captured the nations imagination. Phillip J and I were going further than the moon – Venus in fact. We spent much time designing our space ship. Venus was a paradise where nobody wore clothes. Phillip and I would spend our time flying our space ship. "Increase full consumption" said Phillip, and our desk would raise alarmingly at a 45 degree angle. Miss Durban moved us to the front off the class to keep us grounded. I was at the time possessed by C S Lewis's science fiction books. His description of the naked green lady on Perilandra (Venus) was my first vaguely erotic experience. (My Red Indian heritage fantasy is covered in another blog - I want to be a Dog).

Our neighbouring school was St Mary's Protestant, it was common for those kids to shout “you filffy Caffolics -at us on the walk home. Religious bigotry in Twickenham related to the Northern Ireland troubles no doubt– I blame the parents.

There was also a rumour about something called the “Facts of Life.” A boy asked me if I knew them and I didn't – he told me that the man puts it up the ladies bum and she gets pregnant – meant nothing to me and it sounded quite reasonable. Later aged maybe 10, I was told the correct version and I was really quite shocked,

Now Teacher- pay attention! Regarding Phillip, I did spell his name with two Ls and you corrected it with your red ink– but Philip can be spelled Phillip as indeed Phillip did– please try harder next time.

It was a happy school and none of it did me any harm. I was doing OK I moved on to secondary school, puberty came and the “facts of life” became a reality and the world got very strange.