SCHOOL

December 1962, it was cold, very cold. The coldest part of the year was not the best time for our move. Eventually after a final bus ride, we arrived at the small seaside town where we were going to live. Not knowing the area it took some time before we found our new home. A power failure with the local street lighting did not help matters.

My mother had taken a job as a housekeeper-matron and to help with anything else that needed doing at a small private school. This was attended by children aged between four and eight years, mostly in preparation for them to join private preparatory schools later in life. Part of my mother’s wages would include my place at this school rather than to a local council school in the locality. The building was a large semi-detached house with an additional bungalow at the rear. Originally the school had taken in several boarders, but it was now almost entirely restricted to day pupils. I was not going to be on my own; there was one boarder, slightly younger than I was.

We arrived during the holidays. Christmas that year was a little unusual: I had been used to having the rest of the family around; now it was a rather strict lady, my mother and a boy plus a Siamese cat and a Dachshund – both animals disliking the company of children. The weather was the worst for many years. It snowed and snowed, fun at first for children, but when you return indoors to a cold, sparsely heated building, it is not that nice.

Before we set out on our journey, my mother had received a very nice little booklet on the school and the facilities it offered. In reality everything was economised to the bare minimum. Food was very basic and meagre in portions, every possible expense to keep the building running was spared. A small bungalow in the grounds was even let out to lodgers to bring in some extra income. During the very cold winter, the bungalow became flooded after a pipe burst. As the lodgers were away over the holidays, the heating had been turned off with disastrous results. Christmas had my mother dragging a soaked carpet out of the bungalow, and trying to get the building dry. I tried to help, but an indoor paddling pool to a small boy is only fun.

Actual school terms contained the least number of possible school days; ideal for children, but at this point having just reached six I was eager to start school. The school had a uniform that was required to be worn by all. To save some money, most of my uniform comprised of clothing left by former pupils or items that had not been claimed from the lost property box. With my ability to grow quite fast the saving was welcome.

I now needed to mix with other children. Until this point I had made no contact with children of my own age. At past Christmas times I had met my cousins, but given the limited space in the flat, no real play had ever been achieved. Very occasionally in the park, my grandmother might have allowed me to play a catching game with a ball if a child were on their own with a parent, but no real group play had ever been achieved.

The other major difference was that I had to share the attention of an adult. Until this moment providing an adult was not actually busy, any question or problem I wanted to ask about normally received immediate attention. Having to share with a group of other children was new for me. Before starting school I had read all the small books on going to school. Life now slightly resembled the books, but the nice activities that were shown in the books did not seem to happen. If I had started school a year earlier, I might have been more settled, everyone around me had over a year of school behind them: for me everything was so new.

Unless we were alone, I was not to address my mother as Mummy, Mum or Mother. I had to address her by our surname, as I would address any other adult. This was to make me equal to every other child in the school who might need to address my mother.

My mother had some help with her work. When we first arrived, the cook was from Spain. Straight away we made friends, as both of us were dark haired and had slightly tanned skin. Many at first thought that I was her child. Later on, she left and a lady from Holland took her place. The headmistress liked to take on workers from other countries; as they were partly here to study, they were more willing to work longer hours for minimal pay. I soon settled in quite happily with this new lady whilst my mother was busy and learned a few words of Dutch. Apparently I picked these up quite easily; my many hours as a young child spent on my own listening to Dutch radio broadcasts seemed to have ingrained a few words into my vocabulary already.

  My mother’s job was originally to be housekeeper and to lend a hand in the school if necessary. When the headmistress learnt that my mother had looked after children as part of her work previously, a little more involvement in the school was organised.

After school, I had my tea with the other boy in the sitting room with the headmistress. We each had a small chair and a table to put our tea on.  Tea took place during the early evening news; it was thought that we both might learn a little about what was happening in the world that day. If we had been good, we were allowed to stay for the following programme. If either of us had been in trouble, both of us would be going to bed early. I always thought this unfair; had we both been naughty then I could quite understand the punishment. I had been quite used to a telling-off and occasional physical punishment from my mother or the adults in our flat. On arrival here, the headmistress explained to my mother that she was against a child ever being hit for any reason. The odd light slap from my mother ended. However, the punishments that I now had to endure were far worse.

A telling-off seemed to go on for so long. Once it was over there was often further punishment of not being allowed to go outside or taken down to the beach. When it came to tea, if either of us had not been good, then cake would not be given to us, but would be left on the main table during tea.

The worst punishment I ever experienced at the school was when the parents of the boy who was boarding came to take him out for a day out. They had previously arranged that I’d go with them. Everything that morning seemed to have been fine. But at some point I must have done some minor thing wrong in front of the headmistress. We were both ready to go out and in our best clothes. Suddenly I was told to go to my room. It was at that point his parents arrived to take us both out. The headmistress informed them that I had been naughty and did not deserve such a treat. With my mother expecting me to be out all day, she had already left the house so did not know I had been sent to my room. I spent the entire day in my best clothes stuck in my room.

At night once we had gone to bed, we were both expected to stay in our rooms until morning. I was quite used to getting up in the night or early morning and visiting the lavatory if needed. Now I was told that I had to go back to using a pot under the bed. Before we went to bed, each of us was made to go and sit on the lavatory, to make sure that if there was a need to go during the night we would only use the pot to pee in. He knew that if he ever had an accident in the night, he was not to cause a fuss. If he was uncomfortable, he was to take off his soaked pyjama trousers and put a second dry pair on. He was then allowed to get into the spare bed that was always made up ready. My arrival had changed these rules; I now occupied the spare bed.

Any night problem and he was upset. Making any noise during the night inevitably led to trouble. Our room was next to that of the headmistress; crying out in the night or making a noise, even if we were only talking, soon brought her in. A quick telling-off at that point was a minor event; the punishment for the following day was always something we had time to think over.

It was suggested by the headmistress that if either of us had an accident during the night, it was fine once a dry pair of pyjamas had been put on to share the other bed. Our beds were quite big enough for two of us to share without any discomfort. In a way, both of us were quite happy with this rule; if we were sharing a bed, we could talk as much as we liked without being caught by her.

The event of getting out of bed and trying to take aim at the pot was something we both hated. It was always dark; we were not allowed to switch on the light. The following morning there was a telling-off if our aim had not been perfect. A cold night and every reason could be thought of over not having to leave one’s bed. In the morning, there was never any telling-off or a punishment if there had been a wet bed. As long as he had not made a fuss in the middle of the night everything was fine.

My first report after four months did give some hope.

Spring Term Report of 1963.

Division – Transition.

Age 6 years 4 months.

Scripture, History & Geography: Philip takes an interest in these stories and answers well.

Arithmetic & English: Philip tries hard with his written work, but should learn to concentrate on his tables; he does not listen.

Reading: Has made a good start and is progressing slowly but steadily.

Drawing: Fair.

Percussion Band: Will do better when attentive.

Singing: Fair.

Elocution: Many sounds need much care, but he tries hard.

Conduct: Fairly good.

General Remarks: Philip is gradually learning to be a co-operative member of the group; he tries hard with his work but is considerably behind others of his age.

I made slow if erratic progress, but in time, it was hoped I would settle in with the others. With no actual cash coming from my mother, a few economies were made on my education. I was a fidget and tall for my age; this became apparent when my school desk fell apart. Their construction was never intended for everlasting use and constantly having to stand on a supporting wooden beam on the desk to get up, caused the desk to fall apart. For any other child a replacement desk would have been found; I was treated now to two apple crates turned on their sides. If I were special in some way, it was now down to having the only desk with a coloured picture of fruit on the top.

There were other areas where I did not really fit in. My diction was not that clear. I might have been early at just before the age of six for losing all my front teeth, and this had the result that almost everything I now uttered was with rather a splutter. I also had an accent which did not help matters; it was not a true Cockney accent, but compared with the local dialect it was different.

Another difference for me was in my looks; in my mind I had never experienced any problems over my slightly tanned skin and red cheeks. The summer dark tan from my holiday had vanished; I was my normal light tanned complexion. My mother was slightly upset when one of the girls at going home time asked my mother if her older sister from another school could come and see ‘the brown boy’; apparently I was a new attraction. Within two terms, it was decided that an alternative school might be of more use to me. My mother made enquires at the local infants’ school in town to see if there was a vacancy for me.

The move to my second infant school was quite a happy one. A benefit to my mother was that her wages were increased by a very small amount, simply because a token amount of her wages was no longer taken to pay the term fees of the private school. The new school was in the town. Like any ordinary child I now had to become used to walking to school and waiting at the end of the day to be collected. In an effort to help me, I was by put back by a year; this would allow me to make up the missing year

The morning outing to school was enjoyable; if the tide was out it was a quick walk along the beach, if it was in and our way impassable it was a slightly longer uninteresting walk to school using the local roads. In the afternoon if our beach route was manageable, I was allowed to use up any excess energy; a little sand getting on my clothes could be dealt with quite easily once we arrived back.

Please click on link

http://www.philipastrangechild.com/page_1170414282187.html