School days

My older sister was my childhood mentor.  Three years my elder it was she who "held my hand" on my very first day at primary school.  Many years later I asked what happened in secondary school and she told me about "boring" subjects like physics - when I asked her was physics was she told me it was about heat and light and electricity, which to me sounded most interesting!

My first school was Alresford Preparatory School run by a "the thin Miss Curtis" aided by her sister (who was not, I think, trained as a teacher) "the fat Miss Curtis".  This was a dame school with all 30 or so students studying in a single room.  The school was closed down by modern idealists not long after I graduated.  I regret that I cannot find any old photographs, so the best I can do is this one I took recently - apologies to whoever lives here now.  The location is a yard opening off West Street.

The school room was upstairs.  Access was via the door you see - it has not changed.  Under the staircase was the "closet" (toilet).  Students were discouraged from using this facility, I suppose for fear that it would detract from their studies.  I remember several occasions of younger inmates asking to "go" and it being denied.  The inevitable result was also not greeted with enthusiasm.  As the years went by you progressed from the west (entrance) end to the east end of the room, and from the "fat" Miss Curtis to the "thin" Miss Curtis.  No-one liked the "fat" one.  The "thin" one was strict but at least rational.  The "fat" one was highly unpredictable.  One one occasion she arrived at school with her hair dyed bright orange, and we are talking about middle-aged sisters here.

'A' for Apple, 'B' for Bucket, 'C' for Cat, 'D' for Domino, 'E' for Engine, 'F' for Feather, 'G' for Gate, 'H' for Hat, 'I' for Ink, 'J' for Jug, 'K' for Kite, 'L' for... and here my memory fails me.  Possibly 'Lamb'.  I can still visualise some of the pictures on the cards.

As expected I got my 11 plus but only after the second attempt.  I had the chance to take it twice because of birthday, I did not and still do not understand the details.  After failing my father told me I needed to work harder, a concept that had not occurred to me before this point.  I suppose I duly obeyed and passed, and thus an entrance was gained to me to Peter Symonds grammar school, Winchester, and later to Oriel College, Oxford.

The preparatory school was highly predictable.  Every year me made chinese lanterns and crocus cards to exactly the same design.  For what seems always we wove raffia to make what turned out to be (to my great surprise) a place mat.  And we wound wool around an annular card former.  Eventually this became fat enough and it was whisked away and re-appeared the next day, wonder of wonders, and a fuzzy bobble.

There was a stuffed fox in a glass show-case on a shelf at the east end of the room.  Under this shelf was a piano and a Miss Cob (Cobweb to us) gave us music lessons once a week.  We would sing such English delights as "Early one morning" and "and the green grass grew around, around, around" (of which I have since learnt the somewhat different Irish version).  I remember the time when I "noticed" that the piano playing involved an accompaniment as well as a melody - and remember acknowledging how good it sounded and how amazing something so good should emanate from the cobweb.

There were wonderful, coloured maps on the walls - one had the Caspian Sea marked on it, which name enchanted me.  My eyes explored every line on these maps.  Maps still hold a place dear to my heart.  And there was time to dwell thus: for example at a certain and totally predictable time of the week we would do "paper work" (origami to you).  An instruction might be to fold the paper along a diagonal.  This I accomplished in a few seconds then looked around to see where my peers were at.  The considerable amount of time and teacher intervention that some of these required to achieve a result of poorer quality still amazes me, but gave me plenty of time for contemplation.

At the west (entrance) end was a pot-bellied stove, the only source of heat.  I cannot remember anyone getting burnt - children, on the whole, have enough sense - all this modern nonsense of putting guards up everywhere to make things "safe" is hugely overdone.  I was regulation in those days for all school children to each be provided with a 1/3 pint of milk in a returnable glass bottle.  These were delivered in a crate and on cold, winter's mornings the milk would arrive frozen solid.  The crate would be placed beside the stove and the contents were consumed, I suppose, at break time half-way through the morning.  Often the milk was still half frozen by that time and, when mention was made of this, I remember the fat Miss Curtis declaring that it was "just like ice cream".  My confidence in grown ups was totally devastated by this blatant and manipulative falsehood and has never really recovered since.