My Story. Part 3. Normanton Grammar School. I fall in love and dream of a wife.
Normanton Grammar School. Brick built, slate roof, Dutch gables, stone mullions plus a grand entrance with bell tower. Architectural folly funded by ‘where there’s muck, there’s brass’. Teachers in gowns, Hamilton, the headmaster often appeared on stage with red bits of loo paper stuck to his chin. He hated the PE department, even though they brought his school nationwide fame. High ceilings, parquet wood flooring, austere and scary. Yet, every wannabee anything needed to be there. If you missed Part 2 click here.
I was there, one year, one term late. This brought new challenges after three day’s notice late December. No school uniform for a start. Instead of the two-minute walk to Gordon Street, my dad banged on my door at 0715, cornflakes, sugar, tea, half mile walk to Station Lane and the 0755 bus to Normanton. I was kept down a year so although a 2nd year, I started in the 1st, I missed out on the friendship groups formed during ‘freshers’ term, stood out like a sore thumb on the sports field and then had to play in the school team with the year above. Yikes, just writing this takes me back to how lonely and like a fish out of water I felt. I made one friend, John Dyson, he also started late but the local secondary in his case. He was tall, athletic with flowing blond hair. I would captain and he would be the star player, ‘Dyson the fleet-footed brave’ [Daily Telegraph], when we won the National school rugby 7’s, beating Millfield in the final. But that’s all for later.
Amo, amas, amat is as far as I progressed with Latin. Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir , once left my lips in a Paris lift, but sept pourcent in my first year exam meant the end of languages (give or take une beer in many) for me. Spanish one day?
My first term a steep learning curve in many ways, why folk came into morning assembly at the end puzzled me, that Jewish was a religion and not someone stingy with money, another. I also fell head over heels in love.
Elisabeth was regal, red hair in a bun, bright, cow-like eyes that sparkled. Catching a glimpse of stocking and suspender under her knee length skirt sent me into the heavens. Only problem was, Lizzie, as she was known, was way out of my league; came top in the Latin, French and English exams and stood no nonsense from anyone. Lived in a big posh house on the edge of town. Nevertheless, my belly felt like jelly every time I saw her. Can feel it now.
July 1965, school trip to ….
‘Blue John Cavern [Derbyshire] is steeped in history and old mining equipment is on view inside the cavern. Guided tours are conducted throughout the cave system at short, regular intervals. Each tour lasts approximately 45 minutes to 1 hour during which time a series of magnificent natural water-worn caverns are seen. [bluejohn-cavern website]
One hour of heaven for me. I’m sat on a long, yet narrow, boat, in a long, also narrow, tunnel, total darkness but next to Lizzie. High on her perfume, Este Laude, I turned my head towards her, she turned toward me, we were kissing, proper snogging stuff and it seemed to last for ever. I was head over heels in love with Lizzie forever. I remember John, the fleet-footed brave, running down a hill, then sliding, face first, into the gravel bank. I think that increased his appeal as he was snogging, in the back of the coach, all the way home with loads of girls. I only had eyes for one, Lizzie.
We chatted in the breaks sometimes, but her interest had waned. Then, just before Xmas, she was hit by a car, crossing the road, on route to school and had spent the next six weeks in hospital. I was mortified. Who could I tell and whose shoulder to cry on? I had no idea how to send her a card or how to go and see her. I eventually plucked up the courage to ask my dad if he would take me. By the time he agreed she was home and back at school.
It took four long years before kissing her again, but that’s also for later.
Om
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