Gunpowder, band-wagon and lot: Part 2

There was once a boy, born not long after the war when food was still in short supply and when you ate everything served on your plate and Sunday School sandwiches were graced with no more than a feint smear of butter and fish paste or Marmite. He was an unusual boy, not talkative, hating organised sport, preferring his own company, searching the library next door for books about electricity when others took fiction, running when most folk would walk.

Broad Haven, Wales

This boy was enchanted by the wonder he discovered in music, flowers, colours, sunsets, building imaginary water-works in sand, messing with bulbs and batteries, getting his father's model trains to act as if they had inertia. And, just occasionally, by literature in passages like:

I stood on the shore of a wintry sea, with a wintry sun just a few feet above its horizon-edge. It was bare, and waste, and gray. Hundreds of hopeless waves rushed constantly shore-wards, falling exhausted upon a beach of great loose stones, that seemed to stretch miles and miles in both directions. There was nothing for the eye but mingling shades of gray; nothing for the ear but the rush of the coming, the roar of the breaking, and the moan of the retreating wave... A cold, death-like wind swept across the shore, seeming to issue from a pale mouth of cloud upon the horizon. Sign of life was nowhere visible. I wandered over the stones, up and down the beach, a human embodiment of the nature around me. The wind increased; its keen waves flowed through my soul; the foam rushed higher up the stones; a few dead stars began to gleam in the east; the sound of the waves grew louder and yet more despairing. A dark curtain of cloud was lifted up, and a pale blue rent shone between its foot and the edge of the sea, out from which rushed an icy storm of frozen wind, that tore the waters into spray as it passed, and flung the billows in raving heaps upon the desolate shore. I could bear it no longer... Phantastes, George Macdonald.

or, recalling his own childhood experiences of fever, his head feeling as if it were detached, swollen into an infinitely hard, throbbing globe, too heavy to be raised from the pillow but about to shatter into a thousand pieces if it had, like: "Then the bed no longer had limits to it and became a desert of hot wet sand. I began to talk to a second head laid upon the pillow, my own head once removed..." Or, coming out of the fever, when "I surfaced at last from its endless delirium the real world seemed suddenly dear... I heard its faintest sounds; streams running, trees stirring, birds folding their wings, a hill-sheep's cough, a far gate swinging, the breath of a horse in a field. Below me the kitchen made cosy murmurs, footsteps went up the road, a voice said Good-night, a door creaked and closed - or a boy suddenly hollered, animal-clear in the dark, and was answered far off by another. I lay moved to stupidity by these precious sounds as though I'd just got back from the dead. Then the fever returned as it always did..." Cider with Rosie Laurie Lee.

This boy had had a sheltered conservative Christian upbringing and "gave his heart to the Lord" when ten. Attending a small dame school he at first failed the 11+ not realising that one went to school to learn but, having opportunity to resit and heading his father's injunction to try harder, passed, went on to grammar school and finally university where he attained a 1st class Honours degree. Encouraged by other believers there he left university with a heightened desire to "serve God". 

Years passed. He trained as an electronics research engineer, served actively in church, prayed for the baptism of the Holy Spirit and assumed it "by faith", met and married what would become his best friend, together doing what normal people did in buying a house on a mortgage and starting a family, until...

His parents were aghast on hearing his decision to give up a well-paid and secure job and the qualifications that went with it, and to sell the house he was renovating with their help, all evidence of their love and care for him, and to join a religious community to stake out a life apart from the world system as far as was feasible, along with others who, destitute, afflicted, mistreated, wandering about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth and, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised.

No regrets: he knew better. This movement he had stumbled into was radical, cutting-edge. He would become part of the first-fruits, destined to rule and reign, to live forever, being no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose. 

And yet he found that, whereas others testified to dramatic feelings when baptised in the Holy Spirit and a renewed desire to read the Bible, and appeared to get ecstatic during praise sessions, he was left largely unmoved. When, after church, others said how much the praise and the "word" (preaching) had uplifted them, he obligingly smiled, but to him church meetings were something Christians were expected to endure in order to be, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some. It wasn't that he was incapable of being moved: he could not deny feeling strong emotions of wonder when, for example, reaching a mountain peak or enjoying a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, even though this composer had no profession of faith in God. For years he had starved himself of such "worldly" music for the sake of the gospel, supposing that it might be demon inspired. Similarly, after giving in his notice, he had kept away from anything electronic for many years during which, unknown to him at the time, the IBM Personal Computer had made its debut. Such was the zeal he imagined he had: ten out of ten for effort but disappointing results.

But worse was to come...

(continued in Part 3)    (go back to Part 1)

Fair waved the golden corn

Fair waved the golden corn

in Canaan's pleasant land,

when, full of joy, some shining morn,

went forth the reaper-band.

Every week-day morning at Alresford Preparatory School we sang a hymn probably followed Miss Curtis reciting a prayer. That was our morning "assembly". The hymn was chosen from a fixed and short list, round robin style. And one of the hymns, and the one that for some reason I hated, was "Fair waved the golden corn". Possibly because of the very dull melody, possibly because of the lyrics the point of which is nigh incomprehensible to me even now.

The other hymns in the list? Sorry, but I cannot remember. Strange that I should only remember the one I disliked.

Doctors and Dentists

As a child there are other children and there are adults. Excepting parents and very close relatives, for children most adults are off the radar. But there are exceptions.

In Alresford when I grew up there were two doctors. My parents generally frequented Dr. Leishman, the older and more serious of the two. Leishman is an apt name for a doctor - it is "the Scottish form of the name "Leachman" or "Leechman", from the Old English "laece", leech, and "mann", servant of the physician, hence, someone who used leeches in helping a physician, to cure somebody." Doubtless he must have been involved in the matter of my tonsils removal but what I remember is having jabs and an embarrassing appointment after I had, in great fear of loosing my manhood, reported to my father a swelling on my penis. By the time the doctor inspected me all was well and I remember he then took my father aside out of my earshot. What passed between them I shall never know but for ever after I have honoured them because nothing more was ever said on the subject. It taught me a lesson which I have often sought to apply that discretion is the better part of valour. Of the other doctor, Riley by name, I only remember as being a younger man.

There was a master at school, a good teacher who I respected and who knew how to keep order. But then in those days there was such a thing as the cosh. He once gave me a taste of it, I think he was making an example of me and he didn't hit too hard, more as a warning maybe. Maybe not. He taught maths and games. After games we all had to strip and use the communal shower - when younger this involved running through it as fast as possible so as to avoid getting too wet. Only in later years did it occur to me that a shower could be pleasurable. The fact that we were all in various stages of undress didn't particularly bother anyone - it was just the way it was. On one occasion the said master came through the boys' changing room just as I had returned, still wet, from the shower. He picked me up by the shoulders and shook me vigorously up and down. Apart from a slight annoyance at being picked on I thought no more about it until more recently when I have wondered if there was anything sexual in it. Even if there had been I would not have, either then or now, wanted to accuse him and I do not believe it did me any harm. But I guess it might be the closest I have ever got to being molested.

In case you wonder at my accolade "good teacher" - there were plenty of bad ones! I do not mean morally bad (how should I know their morals?), but bad at teaching. And so it came as a pleasant surprise to be taught by someone who could both keep order and instill interest.

We had numerous RE teachers of various abilities but one stands out. I cannot remember his name but he was a sincere youngish man and I respected him. I remember him reading so very passionately David's lamentation over Saul and Jonathan "The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the mighty fallen!" and explaining to us pagans how much David must really have loved these his enemies. On another occasion the subject of sex came up and I remember him informing the whole class how the act of sex was the most beautiful and pleasurable expression between man and woman and that we should be careful to cherish it as so.  Such remarks do not go unnoticed.

Mr Hutchins was our family's dentist. His surgery was in Jewry Street, Winchester and he was stout. Very. As a child I remember wondering how he could possibly get close enough to my mouth without his stomach getting in the way. Or, however did he tie his shoe laces up? I used to suck my thumb (my parents did not approve of pacifiers). They had tried all sorts to stop this habit including that bitter stuff that gets painted on, whose taste I rather liked. And then on one visit Mr Hutchins told me I had to stop sucking my thumb otherwise my teeth would be crooked and, just like that, I stopped and never did it again. If only the same resolve could touch my other bad habits! On another occasion I had four extractions to make room for other teeth (so they said) and this involved gas as a general anaesthetic. I suppose I was "out" for only a few minutes. I remember the rubber smell of the face mask and the fast, furious and intense dream which followed, featuring a sort of octagonal gallery or tower in which I think I was being chased around and around..

Mr Gregory was our family's solicitor and another notary in my life. He was, I suppose, the author of the present-day Dutton Gregory Solicitors and, to me, he was the epitome of the ideal professional citizen. Back then I remember his habitual performance of O Holy Night at the Alresford Christmas-around-the-tree celebration, to the accompaniment of my father on the piano. Later it would be he who drew up wills for both my mother and father.

Barbara was a friend of the family, I suppose in her twenties when I was very young. Oft times I was sent to the kitchen in disgrace, because I hadn't eaten everything on my plate. Strange that few parents require this of their children now-a-days. She would come and rescue me, help me to finish what had by then become cold and glutenous, perhaps she even ate some herself. Clearly an angel. When asked (at that tender age) whom I might marry I vehemently decried the idea but conceded that if I were forced it would be Barbara.

Mr DCF was the chief elder at the church I grew up attending. To me he was the ultimate, all-knowing, could-do-no-wrong, Godly man. I have since learned, after bitter experience, how dangerous it is to set anyone on a pedestal like that.

Miss Wellman was one of my Sunday school teachers. She was aged, a dear, had white hair and I remember her for her gentleness towards us children. I suppose I ought to be able to recall some of her lessons but I regret I cannot. I only have a vague recollection of being herded from the church sanctuary to a nearby office where the lesson was conducted.

Joe Bush was the local itinerant youth evangelist. He was an older man with white hair and gentle yet severe in principles, and loved by all. He held tent crusades throughout Hampshire and sometimes preached at NFC. I remember one occasion when he came up to talk to my mother after the meeting and turned to me and earnestly encouraged me to respect her. I hadn't been aware that I didn't but I took that instruction to heart for I deeply respected this man.

I have spoken of EW aka the whirlpool elsewhere. I could mention my best friend's parents, his father never resting but always out gardening, his mother's most excellent chipped potatoes and fried fish, his grandmother's licking her knife then dunking it in the tomato ketchup bottle. Or my other friend's parents, father who I reckoned could make anything mechanical, his mother's spaghetti dish that I liked so much - in which the tomato sauce was reduced to solid bits which stuck to the strands of pasta. And the fat and thin Miss Curtis's. And here my roll-call is degenerating a bit like Hebrews 11: And what shall I more say? for the time would fail me to tell of...

Bare your soul

Here is the text of my daughter-in-law's paper for her course at the University of Alaksa, Fairbanks, for which she chose my running for her subject.

Bare Your Sole (An Oral History Report) 

I only know one person in real life who runs barefoot and that is my father-in-law, Michael Bailey. Although he has been running barefoot for more than four years now, he doesn’t personally know anyone else who does this either! Considering what a popular sport running has become, that is fairly remarkable. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that approximately 10% of Americans habitually jog or run several kilometres a day (the percentage is higher if one includes treadmill exercise and related sports), making running one of the most popular sports worldwide. Running USA reported a 300% growth in running event finishers from 1990 to 2013 - and that is just recorded event finishers of tracked races in the U.S.A. One study claimed 50 million American participants in the sport of running. (Hryvniaka, Dicharryb, Wildera 2014, 130). Almost everyone has either taken up running for exercise or pleasure at one time or knows someone who has.

I chose to do my oral report on my father-in-law because I think this particular hobby shows a glimpse into his person as well as illustrating a cultural issue with wider implications. To begin to understand this, you might have to see him run and witness the sheer enjoyment he gets from running. But to really understand, you also have to know a bit more about the uniquely beautiful person he is. Because Michael lives in Ireland and I live in Alaska, my interviews with him were conducted by Skype, recorded, and then transcribed.

Michael is an Englishman, born and bred to honor and respect tradition and propriety and yet he emerged from his culture as someone ultimately valuing individuality and authenticity much more. He was born in Winchester County Hospital in 1962, the same year Elizabeth II was proclaimed Queen, and the first jetliner made a return trip across the Atlantic Ocean in one day. He attended Alresford Preparatory School a "dame school" - the earliest predecessor to a private school with 30 pupils of mixed ages in one room and one proper teacher, plus her sister to help her. His grades there earned him a place at Peter Symonds College and later the University of Oxford.

Two of Michael’s great loves, running and trains converged in his version of running as he mapped out his routes “en voyage.” “Until I became too embarrassed to do so,” he recalls, “in the lunch break at senior school, I would often run around the games fields pretending I was a railway locomotive and, in open country on grass or lake shore, I find myself still doing the same in my runs today, choosing my way so that it is carefully graded as a railway would need to be.” Michael learned to trust his intuition and instinct over the social “herd mentality” long before he took off his socks and shoes. He remembers loving Bruckner’s music as a teen and realizing that most people either had never heard of the man or his music, or had heard and loathed it: “Well that cemented my adulation. My very own composer!” Then there was the time that my conflict avoiding, peace loving father-in-law spoke out in the church government meeting of his Open Brethren childhood church. There were “gospel meetings” every Sunday evening. Naturally he supposed that folk who need the gospel are unbelievers, so when it was proposed that a "special" Sunday evening meeting be held to which everyone should invite their unbelieving neighbors, he pointed out the oddity. Indeed wasn't this what every Sunday evening was for? So in what way could it be "special"? There was a bit of a silence before the meeting settled down to conveniently ignore this comment.

In fact, Michael’s love of running may be one of the few ways that he is part of a typical majority; “I did not fit in with the cool crowd at school. Of course, there is a very well defined caste system in a boys school. I was neither at the bottom and definitely not near the top, but probably closer to the bottom - after all, I have never liked competitive sport especially anything involving a ball, and you cannot excel unless you are a sportsman, never mind what grades you get academically. Which kind of counts out rather a lot.”

About four years ago, when my mother-in-law read an article advocating running barefoot and jokingly passed it to Michael saying, “You really ought to try this”. The eccentricity of it wasn’t off-putting for even a moment. The lake shore and mountain runs that my father-in-law enjoys so much were rapidly deteriorating his shoes and he needed to replace them quite often. He complained, “I don’t like spending money on running! Running barefoot has been quite a savings. I regretfully do not enter races because to pay to run, well it just really adds up for me.” Interestingly, one man who met Michael on a run stopped him to chat and was interested in running without shoes because he could remember a time when he went to school without shoes because he couldn’t afford them! As for “barefoot shoes”, well, that line of questioning drew even more contempt from Michael: “I would never use Vibram barefoot shoes out of principle and cost! I find it strange that Ireland is so well suited with running conditions and climate year ‘round to run barefoot but if you go to the Irish website www.barefoot.ie, it is all about these Vibram five-fingers. It is really just an advertising site!”

As he ran without them, Michael became more and more convinced that running shoes are not all they are purported to be. “Running shoes are designed to make you dependent on running shoes,” he advised me. “People believe that the more cushioning in a shoe, the better. The reverse is true but you will never convince them of this because of advertising. The primary reason is that the ankle joint and length of foot provides a suspension system - a natural springiness and cushioning. I’m not a doctor, but running barefoot encourages you to land on the balls of your feet rather than on your heels. I have to consciously raise my ankles when running on difficult surfaces to exacerbate this effect. If you land on the heel, there is very little cushioning and this shocks the muscles of the leg. Running shoes provide what is lacking and encourage landing on the heel and create a vicious circle to the financial gain of the manufacturers and believe me this deception is big business.”

Indeed recent research has confirmed that footwear does influence function. Specifically, the increased sole thickness, which is marketed in athletic shoes as cushioning against harmful impacts, could be interfering with the functional ability of the human foot. (Franklin, Grey, Heneghan, Bowen, Li 2015, 232). In fact the actual shoe construction can change impact and gait in a manner that increases injury risk. Knee injuries in particular are reported to improve with proper transitioning to barefoot running. (Hryvniaka, Dicharryb, Wildera: 2014, 133). At comparable speeds, the impact for a forefoot landing runner is approximately three times less than that of a heel landing runner. In addition, during a forefoot landing part of the impact energy is translated into rotational energy - which increases forward motion; as opposed to a heel landing in which most of the energy is lost in the impact. (Lieberman, Venkadesan, Werbel, Daoud, D’Andrea, Davis, Ojiambo, Pitsiladis, 2010, 532-533).

And indeed my father-in-law is not the only one who has noted the expense of running shoes and therefore the potential for a bit of a racket in their purchase price and lifespan. The National Sporting Goods Association says that 44.6 million pairs of running shoes were sold in the United States in 2012, and the sales of running shoes in the United States totaled $3.04 billion! Other current research has pointed out the huge market that has been created for running gear and the fact that running shoes have become increasingly more expensive with more technology and research behind their design. However, running injuries have not decreased commensurately with the investment in research and design. (Hryvniaka, Dicharryb, Wildera: 2014, 132). So, these are not just the claims of one man who enjoys being a bit different.

Many of the rewards Michael most enjoys though are the intangibles. The convenience of being able to plunge into the lake at the end of a run for a quick swim without needing to take shoes off nor return to a certain spot to pick them up is one of them. The simple enjoyment and sheer pleasure of feeling the run is another. “It is very cool to feel the earth under your feet. I drive barefoot as well. Would you go around wearing gloves all the time? No, you wouldn’t because you wouldn’t feel things if you did!!”

Even this profusion of feeling contributes to the safety of barefoot running according to my father-in-law. “The foot has an abundance of nerve endings”, he exclaims. “Look at the suspension system in this picture. It spreads the impact over a fraction of a second of time, long enough to react to pain and adjust one's landing and thus avoid injury. At the same time the eyes are picking the best route through a difficult terrain, Mowgli-style which the shod human is largely unaware of.”

No one is totally immune to the challenges of barefoot running, enthusiasts included. My father-in-law reports that the common problems he faces are difficult running surfaces like loose chippings on roads, getting a thorn or splinter in his foot, and cracks that occur from dried out skin. These in particular are painful and require vigilant care. The cracked skin can be treated and covered with Elastoplast (or “Band-Aids” as most Americans call them) or even super-glued back together. It brought to mind the childhood stories from the Little House on the Prairie when Laura and Mary would have to suffer through the first weeks of the shoeless summer waiting for their feet to “harden.” Since no one could afford shoes that weren’t strictly needed, they only owned shoes for the winter months and for school. Michael has noticed that if he goes even a few weeks without running barefoot, his feet soften noticeably and make running out of doors more uncomfortable again. Barefoot running, it appears, is a lifestyle choice and not an occasional sport.

Even these difficulties are ones that Michael seems to embrace. “There is a challenge in going a long distance. There is always the small concern in the back of my mind, what if a crack in my foot opened up and gives me real agony when I’m far from home and far from help? One of the best experiences I have had is going over a mountain called Church Mountain. There are the ruins on the top of an ancient church, just a pile of stones. It was the furthest I had ever been and also fairly remote. I did meet one or two other hikers on the way but in the main I was running away from people.”

When I questioned him on how barefoot running has most changed his life, he reports, “I have found more liberty in challenging myself since taking up barefoot running. I haven’t found any converts though. So far they all laugh at me, which I find strange.” In his closest group of friends and family, Michael notes that while none of them have tried out any barefoot runs, they have all become more comfortable going barefoot indoors. It is just this social bias that he loves to challenge.

“It just isn’t done! I was in a shop and I happened to have been driving without shoes so I went in with my wife and the manager stopped me and asked me to leave. For hygiene reasons! I didn’t argue the point there and then, but I sent them an email and asked them to explain the hygiene point and they refused to answer. I can’t see how or why it could be more or less hygienic whether you have shoes on or not. So really it isn’t socially acceptable to go without shoes. People will look strangely at you in the same way they used to if you didn’t have a hat!” He related another story in which the local police were called and asked to come out and see why there was a man running in the rain with no shoes.

As a modern society, how many of the things we wrap ourselves with in response to advertising, fashion and mainstream culture actually turn out to be encumbrances which weigh us down, perhaps even hurt us? The advance of civilization is not always true progress. I think that if a boy from Winchester in the fifties, educated at Oxford, steeped in tradition can grow into a man who loves to challenge the idea of social norms and status quo, it may well be that many more will follow his barefoot steps. Eventually shoes could become an optional accessory, the way hats and gloves have become today. Meanwhile Michael enjoys the interesting people he meets, the great outdoors he discovers, and the good health he enjoys because of his hobby. When you consider the boy who chose Bruckner simply because he loved the music, and in part because no one else did, the young man who asked why the neighbors should be more in need of the gospel than the church members, if you are fortunate enough to see this man moving joyfully and effortlessly the way our ancestors may have done, you too will glimpse a bare and unencumbered soul.

Interestingly, in one of the studies done on barefoot running (Hryvniaka, Dicharryb, Wildera: 2014, 131) 52% of 509 barefoot runners said they had started running this way in part due to “media hype” - books, news, blogs etc. Perhaps the herd mentality that made running shoes the essential equipment they are today can inspire a movement back out of this cul-de-sac into freedom where such pioneers are seen as exceptional, rather than as the exception. Never one to relish that side of the camera lens, my father in law grins as we conclude our interview. “Just to finish this off, guess what I’m going to do now? Go for a run”!

References Cited 

Franklin, Simon, Grey, Michael J, Heneghan, Nicola, Bowen, Laura, Li, François-Xavier 2015, “Barefoot vs common footwear: A systematic review of the kinematic, kinetic and muscle activity differences during walking” Gait & Posture 3: 230–239 

Hryvniaka, David, Dicharryb, Jay, Wildera, Robert 2014 “Barefoot running survey: Evidence from the field” Journal of Sport and Health Science 2: 131–136 

Lieberman, Daniel E., Venkadesan, Madhusudhan, Werbel, William A., Daoud, Adam I. , D’Andrea, Susan, Davis, Irene S., Ojiambo, Robert, Pitsiladis, Mang’Eni & Yannis: 2010, “Foot strike patterns and collision forces in habitually barefoot versus shod runners” Nature 463: 531- 534 

National Center for Chronic Disease Prevention and Health Promotion. Participation in Physical Activities: Adults Aged 18 and Over (National Health Information Survey, 1998, now age adjusted to 2000 population); Available from http://www.cdc.gov/nccdphp/dnpa/physical/stats/pasports.html. (Accessed July 2000) 

Fig. 1 Liszewski, Erica: 2011, Basic Animal Anatomy Available from http://emgzine.com/item.php?id=729. (Accessed July 14, 2016)

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.