Bulmershe College 1970-71, with hitch-hiking, baby-sitting, my digs and the first two teaching-practices…
I used to walk to Bracknell’s railway station each morning through a neighbouring estate called Wildridings, then catch a local train to college and try to get into the lifestyle of the place, although I actually felt like a complete outsider. The station at Bracknell was a typical old village relic at that time, yet when I returned in the 1980s, I couldn’t even find it… In its place was a modern, high-rise station and I simply couldn’t locate the final quarter-mile of my original walk. This confused and saddened me…
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| WILDRIDINGS ESTATE, BRACKNELL... |
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| BRACKNELL STATION IN THE 1960s... |
I spent a lot of time alone in Bracknell but also strolled several times across a local farmer’s fields for a kickabout in Easthampstead Park’s gym with Charlie. This was mostly in the early days but we were always welcomed by the students there with offers of coffee, biscuits and cakes.
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| AERIAL VIEW OF EASTHAMPSTEAD PARK COLLEGE... |
Another student called Howard Maxted, who was from Essex, who was like Charlie studying French, lived in digs on the Great Hollands estate too and he used to baby-sit for a neighbour, a nurse who worked night shifts. Remarkably, he slept at the woman’s house and by the time he awoke in the morning, the nurse had returned and was asleep in her bed…
A boy and girl were looked after by Howard and I would eventually stay two or three times to relieve him. How trusting people were in those days and how sad that that could never happen today. Howard rode a moped, so sometimes I was offered a lift with him to the college campus.
He supported Northampton Town, though being from Essex, I was never sure why. He decided one time that we should travel to see his team play at Aldershot and he rode us there, although he had a bad day, as the Cobblers were hammered 5-2 by the Shots…
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| MY SECOND VISIT TO THE RECREATION GROUND BUT THIS TIME WITH HOWARD... |
One frosty morning, I was on the back of his moped as we passed through Wokingham en route to Bulmershe when a large truck travelling in the other direction suddenly jackknifed its trailer onto our side of the road… Scary though it was, we were well back and fortunately there was no danger at all for us.
On another occasion, Howard said he would take me down to the post-office in Woodley but I was minus a helmet when a bloody police car spotted me and we were fined for our trouble…
I still managed to attend many of Villa’s games though and thus much of my life was spent travelling, meaning that I recall little of college life during the second year. I stayed on in digs with Maria and Pete during the 1970-71 college year, for it was compulsory to be out of residence for four terms.
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| MARIA, LIZ WITH MY DAD, ME, PETER & DAN... |
Peter was a Cockney and Maria was unintelligible for that first term. I used to look at Pete’s face for a signal of what answer to give, reminding me of my mother’s fear on holiday in Bill Reveley’s house in Plymouth years before, when she had no idea what the dock worker was saying to her at all.
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| PETER & ME WITH DAN & LIZ... |
This problem improved as I got to know Maria, for she spoke less when money-making began to take over her life and she took to sewing up clothes at home. From the odd evening of work, the hours grew to every night, each afternoon and sometimes every morning too. The more she sewed, the more she was paid. I’ve rarely seen such dedication, or such desperation to earn. I would often look after their kids Elizabeth and Dan for her if Pete was to be late home.
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| DAN & ME... |
Dan was a real Buster and Liz was bright but both were pleasant and the three of us got on well. Eventually I lived as a family member and came and went much as I liked. And Maria’s food… Wow, it was so good… Large trays of it were prepared, huge amounts of chicken pie and different curries were made, presented and demolished by us all every day. She often made a steak and kidney tray, one corner of which was prepared with no kidney just for me… Fantastic meals, friendly company and smashing kids. Maria even took in a fifteen year old French student one Easter for the sake of more income. I failed to communicate more than two or three words to him in ‘O’ level French. I gave up and realised how useless my secondary school’s concentration on French grammar had been, to the neglect of conversation…
Really, my landlady’s sheer need to sew at virtually every spare moment she could squeeze from her day, meant that my leaving was painless. I hardly saw her near the end and I suppose I was glad to move into residence for my third year.
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| THE KIDS... I WONDER WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM??? |
Television’s ‘Crossroads’ had begun in the south of England around a year after it had begun on ITV in the Midlands and my mother was heavily into Meg Richardson, her ‘son’ Sandy, Brummie character Benny and the awful Amy Turtle but Maria would ask me to find out what was going to happen in the weak plots she was watching at the time, whenever I went home to Birmingham. My mum had seen the episodes months before and so I would pass on the information to Maria and she would in turn impress her friends with her heavily accented knowledge of Birmingham’s awful fictional motel…
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| SANDY IN THE CHAIR, BENNY ON THE RIGHT... |
I hated the programme. And I hated Meg and Sandy. And Benny and Amy Turtle… Mum had no clue what Maria said to her when I was finally collected from Bracknell and then moved out, ready for my final year in college.
My mind had been made up by then, that although I was studying PE, normally a secondary-age domain, I wanted to teach primary-aged children. All of the students had been booked into a primary school teaching practice in the final term of the freshman year. I was one of fourteen, yes FOURTEEN students in Harman’s Water Junior School, two to a class. Mine was a Y3 class run by a fussy middle-aged woman. Her daughter was in the class too, which surprised me at the time. The teacher would ask general knowledge quiz questions during the final five minutes of each afternoon, so guess who won the most sweets?
I remember that the sum total of my teaching was working with groups. Really, the month was of no use to me at all, except to confirm an ability to communicate with primary-aged children and seemingly enthuse them. My first experience in schools though, had been an observation week at Cippenham County J.I. School in Slough, close to the Mars Bar factory.
I felt I communicated well with the children there too, although I was disturbed by the fear instilled into the infants prior to a visit by a priest after assembly one day. Questions like, “What have you done wrong this week?” were demanded of very young children, along each line in assembly. I recall stalking out in quiet disgust. The male class teacher I observed surprisingly allowed Year 4 girls to sit on his lap whilst they were reading to him.
However, my first teaching practice at Harman’s Water ended with a Saturday summer fete. I had volunteered to do ‘Beat the Goalie’ all of that afternoon but it was a hot sunny July day and I was worked very hard. I leapt about to save as many penalties as I could and some of the kids were convinced I was Reading’s goalkeeper. A lot of money was made because barely one or two customers scored all three penalties in the 5-a-side type goal-frame.
Reading FC’s two goalies at the time were called Death and Pratt, so I was quick to refute the rumour that I was one of them… The school was blessed with its own superb swimming pool, kindly donated by a famous personality, Sir William Butlin, of the holiday camp family. Apparently, a child member of the family had attended the school but that was some leaving present to give…
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| STEVE DEATH. THE OTHER GOALIE, JOHN PRATT HAILED FROM ATHERSTONE IN THE MIDLANDS & I BELIEVE WAS A PE TEACHER... |
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| I RECALL THAT THIS WAS WHERE THE TEACHERS HAD A FRIDAY LUNCHTIME DRINK. KIDS RETURNING FROM LUNCH AT HOME WOULD WAVE AT US THROUGH THE WINDOWS... |
After my stint in goals raising money, I sat back on the grass, trainers ruined, hips, knees and elbows sore and my body sweating profusely. The headteacher suggested that I should take a dip in the pool, which was empty and I had never been so exhilarated in my life, as the cool water soothed raw skin and refreshed my hot, perspiring body.
The exhilaration from that pool water was to be run close in my third year by an aerodrome, which had been turned into a sports hall in Portsmouth on the Solent, where I was given a chance to cycle around the velodrome’s walls. It was an icy winter’s day and there was no heat inside the hall, causing an exciting blast of freezing wind on my face as I collected one of the fastest lap times.
I don’t know how I was judged as a potential teacher after the practice at Harman’s Water back in year two though because I did not once actually teach a whole class there and in truth, just about anyone could have called a register…
My sophomore practice was in old Bracknell’s Bullbrook County Primary School. This was nearly an open-plan school, nearly a team-teaching school but at last I taught in a class situation. The children were superb individuals and I became very involved in their development whilst there. Games lessons for them were traditionally ‘British Bulldog’ sessions, a catalogue of flying limbs, blood, bruises and a steady stream of children heading for first-aid in the secretary’s office. Seriously…
The buildings were old, in direct contrast with Harman’s Water just a short distance away and ‘British Bulldog’ took place on the playground. It seems quite unbelievable today but the children seemed to love the game and so did I at the time, yet what a situation that was for a prospective PE teacher to work in…
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| DAMAGED IMAGE OF THE FOUR OF US AT BULBROOK. MY ARM IS ROUND FELLOW FOOTBALLER JOHN HOPKINS... |
I cobbled together a soccer team at Bullbrook, which the school didn't have already and I worked with them on the playground and managed to fix a game against another Bracknell school team from the local league. My lads played very well, scored a great goal but inevitably they lost. Pride was written on the lads’ faces though as they trooped off the pitch, defeated. If I had been able to, I would have stayed at that school for my teaching career…
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| THE SCHOOL NEEDED RESTORATION WORK & FEATURED IN THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER AT THE TIME... |
Three other students practised in the same school and I recall the very dark mornings, due to the government’s rare experiment, which at that time involved no changing of the clocks by one hour. The three of us would huddle around a gas-fire in a cold staff-room in the spring term, then a knock would be heard at the door and a smiling girl would appear in the doorway, ready to collect the temperature of the room, her early morning job as Weather Monitor. It was a strange teaching set up too, with two groups being taught in the same room, divided only by partitions. All the groups were colour coded, with no class names…
College Year Two (1969 and 1970): the loneliness in Bracknell resulting in hitch-hiking ventures and how football helped me to fill my spare time…
Aston Villa’s final home game during my second year at Bulmershe in May 1971 was actually a critical one against Reading of all teams, in Division 3. Villa had been relegated from Division 2 at the end of my first year and were then languishing in Division 3 along with Reading. A draw in that match at Villa Park would have meant that Reading stayed in the 3rd Division but defeat would mean relegation to the 4th tier for the Biscuitmen (as the Royals used to be nicknamed) thus saving Villa’s near-neighbours Walsall from disaster.
Reading played really well on that night but close to the end, poor Terry Bell headed an own-goal to send Reading down. That 2-1 defeat really upset me, partly because the Royals had been near the bottom of the league table when I arrived for my first year in college but they suddenly improved and only a last minute goal by Luton Town’s Malcolm Macdonald (later a Newcastle United legend…) had prevented them from replacing Villa in Division 2…
However, Villa finished 4th in the third tier that season, having beaten Manchester United in the League Cup Semi-Final over two legs. They were unfortunate to lose 2-0 to 1st Division Spurs in the Final at Wembley…
Typically, the reverse fixture on 31st October 1970 at Elm Park in Reading was played at the end of my half-term week... So, I reckoned it would be cheaper to travel on an Aston Villa Travellers' Club coach one way than catch a train back to Reading, which I did. Villa were good that day and beat the Royals 3-5...
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| VILLA'S CHICO HAMILTON... |
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| MY COLLEGE NICKNAME WOULD BECOME 'CHICO', AFTER VILLA'S FORWARD IAN 'CHICO' HAMILTON... |
Villa and hitch-hiking had actually brought a tough end to my first year, 1969-70 at college because I had thumbed into the East End of London twice in three days from my digs in Bracknell to see Villa’s demise from Division 2 realised. I had already seen Villa lose 4-2 at QPR on one outing in February 1970 but on Saturday March 14th I somehow managed to hitch-hike on the disjointed South Circular Road to get to Charlton Athletic’s ground, which was no mean feat. Villa were duly beaten 2-0 and then I hitch-hiked back to Bracknell again…
On the Monday, 16th March I attempted to repeat the trick, for Villa were playing Millwall at their Den ground. I set out in the early afternoon but I managed to hitch-hike to within a few miles of the ground, although I have no idea how and I walked the remaining distance. I was standing on the terracing before the match when some bloke, a docker probably, turned round to me and demanded to know, “Who the fuckin’ ‘ell are they playing today then?” Shocked, concerned and swallowing, I succeeded in replying, “Er, Aston Villa…” He retorted, taking swigs of beer: “Didn’t know they were in fuckin’ Division 2…” Villa lost 1-0 though…
I couldn’t catch a lift from anywhere near the ground after the game, then made my way into central London, ending up outside Harrods thumbing for a lift at around 11pm. One of the PE girls called Gail had once mentioned that she had been stranded in London one time and she had walked into a police station to ask for help. She was actually driven back to Reading…
So, I sought out the nearest police station to Harrods, which was Kensington and told the duty cop of my plight but instead of offering me any kind of assistance to return to Bracknell, he said that I cold kip down in an interview room. This I did, sitting on one available wooden chair and turning another to face me for resting my legs and feet upon. All was fine until at some unearthly hour, the door flew open and two cops dragged in an arrested bloke and I could see from the corridor light outside that the policemen were, er, laying into the prisoner. Then they must have realised I was in there and a hasty retreat was made…
I left Kensington very early in the morning and caught a train back to Reading, turning up at my scheduled lectures on the Tuesday as usual…
In midweek, I went to Brentford home games, some Tuesdays I ventured to watch Aldershot and on several Wednesday nights I saw Reading play. The football games didn’t happen every week though.
My first Saturday game at Aldershot FC, following a slow bus-ride meant lunch in the army town. As I walked towards the ground, I passed a Chinese restaurant in an old building, which had opened at midday. I went in, never having eaten that kind of food at all but the waiters were attentive and I ordered a simple chicken curry… It was superb.
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| THE CURRY WAS GOOD, THE GAME NOT SO. A 1-1 DRAW... |
I suppose I saw less and less of Charlie Watts (not actually the Rolling Stones’ drummer, of course…) because the schedule of his lectures was totally different to mine. We did hitch-hike to Swindon for an evening match on 3rd March 1970 and saw his favourite team win a good game v Portsmouth by 3-1 but the journey there was hairy. We were picked up by a truck driver who was totally manic as we sat next to him in a high cab, hitting 60 and 70mph all the way to Swindon but on country lanes, NOT on the main A4.
It was hardly a pleasant ride but at least we had managed to get a lift, for after the game we just couldn’t connect with a ride back to Bracknell at all. Charlie then decided that we should catch a bus from near Swindon’s County Ground down to his home town of Marlborough and try hitching again along the A4, where he felt we might pick up a lift more easily.
The bus route passed through an army camp however and whenever the automatic door opened, all of the passengers’ eyes began smarting and became rather sore, so that tears began to fall. It was awful and all of us felt like we had been attacked by some kind of nerve agent, courtesy of the British Army and thus Charlie and I were relieved when we eventually exited the bus and stood on the A4 with thumbs erect.
We hitched a lift amazingly quickly in Marlborough at around 10.40pm but it happened to be in a travelling salesman’s estate car. The driver accelerated his vehicle faster than I had ever travelled before. He kept up an average speed of about 110mph for most of the journey, for my eyes were constantly on his dashboard as we flew along the dark, fairly empty ‘A’ road and the guy even dropped us off close to our destination. We were lucky to get that lift though, even if we were fortunate still to be alive at the end of it…
I ventured into London to watch an FA Cup replay with some of the lads in a car too, Spurs losing 1-0 at Crystal Palace and I can recall having a beer somewhere beforehand then walking through dismal streets eating chips in drizzly rain…
I also travelled into London on 17th March 1970 with Chelsea fan Ritchie Mitchell to watch his team beat Stoke 1-0 in a night game, where both of us were standing at the famous Shed End. Ritchie had been skipper of his school football team and apparently one of his team-mates had been the famous Spurs player Steve Perryman… More about Ritchie in future articles…
One of the chaps at college, John Malkin was a Brighton fan though and we travelled there together by train to see the Seagulls draw 1-1 against Walsall on 6th December 1969 at their old Goldstone ground. I had never been to Brighton before but I was given lunch at his mum’s house before the match, although I don’t actually recall his name…
One evening, returning late from a soccer match, possibly with Ritchie Mitchell after the visit to Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge, we walked along Wokingham’s deserted main street where an evening newspaper could be purchased from an open a display box on the pavement. It was so late and we didn’t have the correct cash, so simply picked one up to read the following day. Naturally a hidden police car suddenly appeared and we were admonished, being told to return the newspaper to the stand… Petty? Oh, yes. Our faults? Oh, yes…
So, finally, my second year at Bulmershe would end with the dreaded canoeing trip along the River Wye from Glasbury to Tintern Abbey…
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