MY SECOND TEACHING APPOINTMENT, PART 4: TAKING THE KIDS OUT & ON HOLIDAY...

 Firs Junior School (1974-1981): 

Taking the kids away…

Strangely, despite the nearby venues of Blakesley Hall, Sarehole Mill, Aston Hall and of course the Museum & Art Gallery in the city centre, which were all open for school visits, the only places I  accompanied children to were Chapman’s Hill Farm, Hams Hall and the old Science Museum in Newhall St.

THE CITY OF BIRMINGHAM LOCO AT THE OLD SCIENCE MUSEUM...

Even more remarkable then that after leaving Blakesley Hall School, I worked in the Schools Liaison Department of the Museums & Art Gallery, even though I had never actually been inside the Museum, or Aston Hall (despite attending King Edward’s Aston School and watching football at Villa Park, both a stone’s throw from the Hall), nor Sarehole Mill, or even Blakesley Hall…  

THE KIDS FEEDING ANIMALS AT CHAPMAN'S HILL FARM...

The Chapman’s Hill Farm visit has already been mentioned but the only recollections I have of Hams Hall were watching blue tits on a feeder outside the classroom there and then walking a bunch of noisy kids to look out for birds from a hide. Obviously we saw nothing… 

MY CLASS & ME AT HAMS HALL...

We also visited Weston-Super-Mare, as mentioned previously, where we nearly saw the sea but discovered how tough it is to walk on a beach with mud almost up to one’s knees. Another Weston was visited too, Weston Park in Shropshire. 

WESTON PARK...

I recall that visit because of the adventure playground, the female teachers who accompanied the kids and what happened to one of the girls, Julie Sinnott who just happened to be my best crab football player at school and often appeared to be rather clumsy…

TAKING PART...

The children were simply let loose at Weston Park, whilst the other teachers spent much of their time drinking tea and coffee, strolling a bit and investigating the hall itself. However, someone had to make sure the kids were OK and that job fell upon me, so that I spent most of the day inside the adventure playground. It was good though, for some of the features were quite high from the ground and the children loved it all. 

MORE CLIMBING AT WESTON PARK...

KEEPING FIT AT WESTON PARK...

The girl mentioned above, whilst actually walking with another teacher, fell into a shallow pond and soaked her clothes. I can still see the remarkable moment on the journey back to school when a female member of staff hung Julie’s knickers out of the upper part of a coach window in an attempt to dry them… 

ROUNDING UP THE KIDS TO TRAVEL BACK TO SCHOOL...

The visit to the Science Museum was a total waste of time, for there was no organisation beforehand. The year-group was told that the visit had been booked for us and so we boarded a bus and went. No worksheets, no idea what to expect, no planning…

The kids simply pressed buttons…

Camping…

The first camp away was during my first year at Firs and all I recall is sharing a tent with the male teachers, including Max Fawcett. It was a proper camp run for schools by volunteers and there were other children there too but little has remained in my memory about it. There was supposed to be a disco each evening for the kids too but the only music the organisers played was a boring Harry Nilsson album…

THAT FIRST CAMP: MARY BAILEY, ME, PAT GREEN, MAX FAWCETT & A.N. OTHER...

During my later time at Firs, we travelled to two camps in fields, one in Sussex near where fellow teacher Martin Cross hailed from and one in Somerset, not far from Butlin’s Holiday Camp, Minehead. I recall Brian Penzer, the decent husband of the supercilious Judy, tending fires, also Martin organising matters with all the authority of a zealous scoutmaster, far more concerned with the tents, the campsite and the organisational aspects of each week, that he forgot there were children to be looked after and amused. 

MARTIN BET ME THAT I COULDN'T JUMP THE FENCE...

I usually ended up playing games with them. He insisted upon tent inspections every morning and points would be gained by the group with the neatest communal tent, meaning by the fourth day, the inspecting teachers had to scour the tents for any minute sweet wrapper, hidden sock, or even a creased sleeping bag. The kids had become cute. It was a pain in the arse for me to be honest. 

TENT INSPECTION...

I loved the late evenings in the main marquee tent though where the kids would enjoy music, some kind of hot drink and biscuits and then go to bed, almost like the von Trapp children retired to their rooms in The Sound of Music. Martin played guitar and would already have played some songs round the camp-fire but later he would start us singing a ‘Goodnight’ song, to the ‘Nice One Cyril’ tune. Each child’s name would be sung until there was no-one left in the tent and it worked a treat. “Good night, Amy, good-night, Amy, good night Amy, it’s time to go to bed…" The child would then wave and leave. Brilliant...

ARCHIE MADE SURE THAT OUR TENT WAS A DISASTER AREA...

The Rooker family was quite unusual at Firs, in that the dad was a tall, smart, upright chap, rather like a soldier in his gait but mum was small, chunky and a dinner lady at the local secondary school. The oldest of the four boys was smart, tall like his dad and became a policeman I believe but Mark, child number two was more like his mum. Andrew, who was in my class, was pleasant, tall and very bright, especially at maths but Trevor, number four looked like his mum and found learning difficult. It was weird the way that the family seemed equally divided into two contrasting factions... Mark was on one of the camps with us and I remember occasions when Martin attempted to get the kids to wash and also to sea-bathe but Mark wore several layers of clothes: jumper, shirt, a Birmingham City top, two t-shirts and a vest. We stood, incredulous, as the uncertain  child pulled off layer after layer. 

MARTIN & ME ON A VAN, AFTER COLLECTING WOOD...

We visited Brighton’s sea-front whilst in Sussex but the trip to Butlin’s from the other camp in Somerset was unforgettable. We arrived there one morning and there were many holiday-makers about, yet the kids were allowed to go off on their own or in groups, something that would be unheard of today. Nobody erred, nobody became lost or got into trouble but the cloudy morning led to the men on the staff nipping into a bar for a drink around midday and I was amazed... 

All of the bars were packed with drinking, smoking adults, many betting on filmed horse races and simply getting pissed. I wondered where their children were. And ours... We soon rounded up our group for a packed lunch on a grassy area near an indoor swimming pool, which had a transparent outer perimeter, so we could watch people swimming under water, etc. But the etc, became people dropping their trunks to reveal buttocks and appendages, also doing nasty things like peeing, etc, at which point we hurried the children away... Lovely. 

I took the kids down onto a sunnier afternoon beach, I recall and went into the sea with them. Nobody else from the staff did.

When fellow staff member Archie Ruddock camped with us in Sussex, I had to share a tent with him and we were given a grotty little canvas covering, somewhat smaller even than one of the toilet tents. It rained during the first night and we made our feelings known by moaning loudly, humorously, of course, mainly to keep the other members of staff awake. 

THE AWFUL TENT...

The children could never sleep on the first night away anyway, so we made sure that the other staff members didn’t either. We must have grabbed a few hours’ kip but the tent leaked later in the week, Martin was not happy but allowed us to doze in the main marquee on that one fateful night. We were then moved into a toilet tent, which was quite large in comparison. And dry. Archie, a pale-skinned chap, burnt the fronts of his legs on one of the beach days and suffered in agony. He had already bought a bottle of rum while we were out on the second day and reckoned we should use it to keep warm during the night. 

AN IMPROVEMENT: THE LOO TENT...

The first time we used it I had a couple of swigs too but he became rather drunk and we caused real mayhem, laughing and joking so noisily that Martin came to scold us. He was given an abusive mouthful and his marching orders, so he slunk away, embarrassed. Archie slept, I smiled. 

He needed that rum on the day he got burnt though, for he was unable to bend his knees in the low tent to get changed and then climb into his sleeping bag. He was groaning in agony, falling about at odd angles, yelling, yet having to keep his legs straight. I was being terribly helpful by crying with helpless laughter. It was hilarious, although the other members of staff were calling for us to shut up but we were so pissed off with our shit tent, that we paid no attention to them and eventually fell asleep. 

ARCHIE'S LEGS, SHERYL O'KILL & DARREN MASTERSON...

The camp’s water was cleverly stored in two metal milk churns and Archie and I were dispatched to a nearby farm to refill the containers on one occasion. We used Mary Bailey’s orange Mini Traveller with its two opening rear doors to drive off the site with the empty churns to replenish the water. The local farmer’s wife had agreed with Führer Martin that we could to fill up the churns from a hosepipe, which was connected to her farmhouse’s stone wall. 

We placed the churns behind the van, so we didn’t have to carry them full for more than a pace or two and I went to speak to the lady at the door and turn on the tap, with Archie holding the nozzle over the first open churn. The water was turned on then the woman looked as puzzled as I felt, for Archie was calling in dismay that there was nothing getting through the pipe. At this point I checked the tap but as I did so and with Archie looking inside his end of the pipe, the water suddenly gushed out mostly over him. 

It was completely slapstick stuff but in a real situation, incredibly funnier, so I turned the tap off as Archie poked the end of the hosepipe into the churn. He noticed that the water had died and lifted it out again to look inside again, just as I turned on the tap… He got soaked again and the farmer’s wife guffawed and roared with laughter. I repeated this a couple more times until finally, the penny dropped and Archie stood and scowled at us...

MUCH BETTER FOR ARCHIE & ME...

He made sure that I got wet too, so I bought him a pint of beer at a pub on the way back, for we had taken the opportunity to nip in for a break. Hilarious.  Kommandant Martin soon guessed that we had been to the hostelry because we had taken so long to return with the full churns but we ignored him anyway. Archie was in merry form and the moment passed. I got most of the kids playing football or something and Archie sat and dozed near the camp-fire…

THE ONLY IMAGE I HAVE OF ME MAKING A TOUGH SAVE & IT WAS AT A FIRS CAMP...

The Isle of Wight…

The first holiday on the Isle of Wight was remarkable. My nephew-in-law Paul came with us as a helper, as he had done when we had travelled to Weston for that day trip but Paul wasn’t to know that he would fall in love with a French teenager, who looked a little like the actress Brigitte Bardot. The French schoolgirls were staying at the hostel too, which boasted an open-air swimming pool on the front lawn, which then stretched away downwards towards a rocky, untidy, shingle beach. There was a wooded area too… 

THE HOSTEL...

However, Paul and I had to sleep in the same bedroom as headteacher Mr Trevor ‘Blakey’ Rees, who snored like a 750cc Kawasaki motor-cycle with an exhaust problem. He was too long for his bed though and his feet stuck out beyond the bedclothes, meaning we had to squeeze past the end of his bed AND his ugly feet just to reach our sleeping quarters. Using the sink at night was a problem too because it was situated at the foot of Rees’ bed. Members of staff said that they could hear him snoring from the other end of the corridor and had apparently knocked on the door several times, irritated, before Paul and I had retired to bed during a couple of evenings. No wonder Judy Caddick, his Deputy, didn’t fancy him much... 

After returning to the room one night, after Paul and I had consumed a couple of drinks each, we tried to be so quiet as we squeezed past his bed, which was reverberating to the beat of Rees’ snoring and, holding hands to mouths to keep the giggles in, we changed for bed in shaking silence. I wanted to clean my teeth however and despite Paul’s protestations that he wouldn’t cope with the situation if I did, I slipped quietly across to the sink and as the water ran from the cold tap, it splashed onto Rees’ exposed feet. He didn’t even stir. We continued laughing until sleep consumed us... 

Paul didn’t venture out with the group on the last day, instead using the time to get to know his new girlfriend... He got away with that... 

AWAITING THE FERRY WITH CLEVER TREVOR...

Paul had spotted the blonde French girl early on and would be seen chatting to her in the recreation room regularly but time was tough, for both parties had a schedule of days out to complete, such as Blackgang Chine, the beaches and Osborne House, where I particularly recall a porcelain model of the young Queen Victoria’s hand, which seemed odd and unnecessary to me at the time. The Firs kids showed a distinct lack of interest in any section of the house and became frustrated in the long queues, simply wanting to leave. 

Also on the holiday was a pleasant female teacher from Firs, Eileen Locker-Marsh, who brought along her handsome husband Harry as an extra male helper. He was a deputy headteacher at the time and finished up as headteacher at Prince Albert Primary School in Aston. He was a bit of a star with his dark eyes and dark fashionable moustache but he was also somewhat over eager to be one of the lads. Thus Paul and I reluctantly allowed him into our ruses. 

WITH MY NICKNAME BEING PIXIE (THE PIX), THIS SEEMED APT...

One night, after the bar had closed and the others had retired to bed, including his wife, he said we should drink more and reached a hand beneath the drawn-down bar’s cage and found that he was able to push the beer pump with outstretched fingers to pour more booze into a glass. Even Paul and I were incredulous... He was really excited, behaving like a kid in sweet shop and both Paul and I were embarrassed by him. Although his wife seemed distant from Harry, I had no idea at the time that their marriage was already in peril.

The staff had decided, on my suggestion, that we should all take a midnight swim on the crappy beach at the end of the final evening. Most agreed. But when it came to it they didn’t take part. It was a cold evening I guess but it produced the only piece of goodwill offered to me by Birmingham City fan Rees during my whole time at Firs. I went in the sea that night, swam for a few moments as planned and I can honestly admit that it WAS terribly cold in the water. One of the female teachers took a dip too, I think and we were applauded by the non-swimmers, also known as the bleating wimps but Rees bought us a brandy each from the bar… Remarkable.

A STOCK IMAGE...

The most amazing night, however, was maybe the previous one, when Paul had met his French girlfriend outside in the grounds for a romantic rendezvous. I knew that she had climbed out of her dormitory window to meet Paul but what we didn’t expect was to be confronted in the bar by an irate French mistress in charge, demanding that headteacher Rees find ‘his son’ Paul… She had assumed that Paul was Rees’ son which was totally hilarious but also mentally damaging information for Paul, who had method but was no Methodist… One of the girls was missing however and the search began. 

I slipped outside into the darkness and called Paul’s nickname, “Skinnyyyyyy...” After a few attempts, a reply was heard and I ran towards the source of the voice, even though I saw nothing. I told him that people were on the warpath and he needed to get the girl back to her room right away and get back to our bedroom himself. He agreed, of course. Presumably she slipped back into her room and into bed with no trouble, whilst Paul sneaked upstairs to our room and climbed silently under his covers too. I then made a fuss of saying that I couldn’t find Paul and I would check the bedroom, soon racing downstairs to announce that he was fast asleep in bed. Rees checked too, I believe. 

The confused French mistress was also surprised to find her missing girl in the dormitory asleep and Rees was left scratching his Blakey hairstyle, wondering what on earth had happened over the last half-hour and how he had been dragged into it, as well as being considered Paul’s father... I was biting my tongue and felt relieved but I was laughing deep down... I sat in the bar, ate some nuts and retired calmly to bed with Harry nagging at me to find out what the hell was going on. He said that he had been out looking for Paul too but somehow I wasn’t convinced…

Paul wrote to his French girl for a short while afterwards, I believe, but soon gave up on her, having moved on in his life...

THE MONKEY APED ME...

Dave Loxton’s beautiful beard accompanied us to the hostel with us the following year and he too let his hair down, even to the extent of pant-dipping in the swimming pool with me on the last evening. We had pulled back edges of the pool’s cover and had swum several widths in the warm water, before retiring to bed. He was decent that week but then fell back to his normal wetness at school, never again mentioning the fun we had shared on the Isle-of-Wight. Little else of note happened during my second visit to the hostel and Paul wasn’t with us anyway...

ME, LOXTON, CLEVER TREVOR (SMILING...), PENZER (SMILING?) AND EILEEN LOCKER-MARSH...

LOXTON IN CHARGE, WHILST MANDY EAMES & ME TAKE THE PISS...

As usual, I swam, played football and entertained the kids, whereas other members of staff mostly looked on. 

KIDNAPPING THE SHOTGUN RIDER...

Thanks for that... 

Discos...

Martin Cross and I provided money raising discos at Firs too, buying new records with some of the proceeds, to keep up with the charts.

ME ON MIKE, MARTIN CROSS MORE INTERESTED IN THE WIRING...

Martin was the technical brain, who had acquired the equipment and I was the voice on the microphone, getting the kids dancing and generally being the compère...

I then applied for a Scale 3 job at Blakesley Hall Primary School and my short stay there was rather surprising...

THE SECOND TEACHING APPOINTMENT: PART THREE...

 Firs Junior School (1974-81): 

The teaching, some memorable children and the theatrical productions...

There was no curriculum at Firs. As long as the children had some degree of understanding of reading and also writing English, plus a basic idea of how to cope with some arithmetic, then fine. The more artistic teachers were able to express their abilities by drawing outlines for their pupils to paint inside, thereby producing nice displays in their classrooms. I displayed stuff too but it paled in comparison to Pam Smith’s or even Judy Penzer’s artwork but I guess I could point to the fact that I ran most of the sports teams, using before school time for high jumpers and gymnasts, plus lunch-times now and again too. After school time was used for soccer and cricket practices, as well as matches and of course, Saturday mornings were often taken up with soccer games. 

PAM SMITH IS IN THE CENTRE ROW, 3RD FROM LEFT & JUDY PENZER IS 2ND FROM LEFT, SEATED...

Thus I think I gave enough of myself and my time. Penzer and some others sat in the staff-room much of the time. And talked about other people. I wrote the scripts for our productions and was involved in the putting on of the subsequent shows too, as well as running all of the discos to raise money for the school’s funds. I was an idiot… 

Technically I guess I was not a good teacher, lacking general knowledge, the intricacies of current educational thinking and of course, the jargon but at least my children laughed, learned and left my classes feeling like someone had cared about them. I loved doing spelling tests, as did the pupils because I spoke the spelling words into relevant sample sentences, such as: 

“Biscuit: Paul threw his Custard Cream biscuit into the caretaker’s hair. BISCUIT...” 

Mental arithmetic tests were similar too. 

“Gary was due to meet Rosina at New Street Station at 3.20pm but she was 55 minutes late, what time did she finally arrive, after washing her hair and making up her eyes?” 

The children who were mentioned loved it and the pupils would improve their thinking because we had a number of those tests, which of course to them, weren’t tests at all... I hope I was not wrong. The children learned about my childhood, my operations, injuries, my weekends and summer holidays. They knew which football matches I had seen, which films too, which records I had bought and which books I had been reading. It was me. They told their parents and they in turn, would talk to me about those things at parents’ evenings. I guess children really DO listen…

Crucially though, they talked to me too…

Desmond Balfour… 

This lad was trouble. He was difficult, he riled staff on the playground but we got on. Kind of. We had football in common, although he wasn’t particularly successful at the game. He lost his temper regularly but at least we bargained well and he knew that I cared about him and the others. I spent two years with Desy because nobody else would have him. He was sent to me once following a playground rumpus and, exasperated, I asked him why, just why he couldn’t keep out of trouble. His reply chilled me. He told me that no-one at the school could hurt him any more than his dad did regularly, using a leather trouser belt...

DESMOND BALFOUR IS FAR RIGHT, MIDDLE ROW & ROBERT DALLOW IS 2ND FROM LEFT, FRONT ROW...

Robert Dallow… 

This little boy, brown eyed and naughty, possessed a wonderful talent. He was in trouble most of the time but, once a year, he was an angel. He could sing. And his voice was pure and probably church choir standard at least and his party piece would be delivered at the school’s Nativity play, before many parents. ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ contained that verse about, “What can I give him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb; if I were a wise man, I would do my part but what I can I give him...” then Dallow would kill the parents with a pleading, sweet, melodic, heart-wrenching, “...gi-i-ive my heart...” And then he would be sent back to sit outside headteacher Rees’ room for kicking the shit out of someone at playtime. Never will I forget him…

The three brothers: Andrew, Paul and Dervis… 

They were Andrew Carter, Paul Sutherland and Dervis Spence. Brothers… But their mother gave them the surnames of their different fathers. She was big. Huge, in fact and originally from the West Indies. 

Andrew was enormous and we often used to give each other piggy-backs, whilst walking from Firs School up to Hodge Hill School’s swimming pool on Friday mornings. It was a long walk up Collingbourne Avenue, along Standlake Avenue, through the two Bromford Primary Schools and across the two secondary schools’ playing fields to the indoor pool. 

Hodge Hill Girls’ School was on the site also, a school much sought after by Asian parents from out of the catchment area, as was Shard End’s Longmeadow Girls’ School. The ‘comprehensive school’ next door thus began to admit their siblings, so that they could all use the same transport... Local Hodge Hill children would therefore often apply to a Solihull school, Park Hall, a few miles away but this was actually ludicrous, for Bromford’s children shared the campus with the two Hodge Hill secondary schools…

Longmeadow closed well before its time, possibly to save the council money spent on transporting girls from Saltley and Washwood Heath to Shard End…

PAUL SUTHERLAND IS BACK ROW FAR LEFT, INTERESTINGLY NEXT TO DES BALFOUR. PAUL COHEN IS 4TH FROM LEFT, BACK ROW.

Anyway, Andrew was eleven years old, going on nineteen physically but was gentle in nature. Younger brother Paul was also big, but nowhere near Andrew’s size. However, he was often a devious character and not very likeable at all. Dervis was unique. He was small and he wore spectacles which mesmerised with their rings, like ripples emanating from a stone being dropped into a pond. He lacked any character at all but he could run... Couldn’t see much, or understand a lot, but he was quick on his feet. I once asked the mother, who wished to be known as Mrs Sutherland, just how she coped when the lads misbehaved at home and in front of several mums and dads at one parents’ evening, she bellowed out: 

“Ah pissin’ sit on ‘em...” 

There you go then...

Dervis’ claim to fame came at the Bromford School’s Sports, held for a few local schools, including Firs. Now it has to be mentioned that Bromford was like Manchester United, whilst Firs were maybe the equivalent of Rochdale FC… Get the picture? 

DERVIS IS SEEN WEARING SPECS ON THE BACK ROW.
DESMOND IS THERE TOO, FRONT ROW, 2ND FROM RIGHT...

The sports were held on a Saturday morning in the summer term and Bromford’s grass track was shaped like a bird’s egg, basically narrowing at one end but being far less tight at the other. There were lanes painted to run in... At Firs, we had a small area of grass, which we didn’t use because Rees told us we couldn’t, plus a playground upon which we practised shuttle relays on the straight. Good preparation for an egg shaped track, then… 

Dervis’ poor vision and lack of awareness were such that he couldn’t possibly have run last for our Y3 quartet despite his speed because he would have struggled to set off running at the right time before taking the baton from runner three in all the chaos of such a small, egg-shaped track. So he was to start the team off. He was to run from the wider end of the approximately 200 metre track and pass the baton on to a team-mate at the opposite end. 

The race was started, the crowds cheered and Dervis took the lead, reached the far end of the track but with so many people in his line of vision, he failed to spot his team-mate. He hesitated, looked confounded, then embarrassed but carried on running. I was incredulous... He ran to the opposite end but the lad wearing a huge ‘F’ for Firs on his t-shirt there clearly wasn’t the boy he was expecting it to be, so he held onto the baton again and grimly carried on regardless until he reached the final changeover area. Once again the lad for whom he searched was not there and Dervis’ face was by this time displaying confusion and disorientation, with lines of frowns appearing as he failed to react to any words of encouragement or instruction. 

So it came to be that Dervis in effect won the race on his own... I was weeping uncontrollably with laughter by the end of the race. The crowd was shocked, confused and amused. Dervis had no idea at all what had just happened but I put my arm round him and told him that he had been a star and although we had been disqualified, it hadn’t been his fault. I could have wept for his confusion, however. 

Unforgettable...

In one class at Firs, I actually taught Paul Newman and Errol Flynn. Errol Flynn? Irish parents and an unfortunate choice of name, especially as the child bore no resemblance at all to the famous, swashbuckling actor. My pupil simply, er, stared… 

Big Paul Cohen, who was no fool but found himself in a tough class of boys, was a useful footballer but on a couple of occasions I had to wait outside his house on Saturday mornings with a car full of other players, while he got dressed. He would appear at his door in striped pyjamas, rub his eyes then reappear, after dressing in his soccer kit in a hurry. 

One infant boy sent over to Rees, however, gave me such a scare one day…

He had joined Firs Infant School some weeks previous to the unbearably boring morning when we took swimmers to Stechford Swimming Pool in order for pupils to qualify for a free entrance pass to the baths for the forthcoming year. A few infant swimmers would be recommended by the staff there and this lad was one of them. On this occasion, I started the children off one by one at the deep end, where they would jump or dive into the pool, tread water then swim the 25 metre length. 

This particular child jumped in. And disappeared. I looked down, he wasn’t thrashing about at all but I hooked him out anyway and he said he wanted to try again. He waited his turn, jumped in again and, er, disappeared again. I looked down again, saw him deep and helpless, again not thrashing about, so I hooked him out again. I then asked him exactly how far he could swim. He replied: 

“I can’t. I’ve never been to the baths before...” 

Badly done, Key Stage 1 staff… The child nearly lost his life. I sent him to the shallow end to experience life above water, rather than being submerged beneath it but I never found out whether Rees was brave enough to admonish the Infant School’s headteacher for sending the kid along. I doubt it…

And there was David Bonehill, his sister Sandra and their mother...

The mother looked about seventy years old, yet she could only have been thirty or so. There was no Mr Bonehill. Sandra was Y4 and looked just like her mom: slightly heavily built, cheap spectacles, wearing dull, ill-fitting, unfashionable clothing, head sprouting untidy hair. But the parent wore slippers when she was out, whilst Sandra wore shoes. The females could have been sisters. I saw Sandra some years later but it might as easily have been her mother. She was just bigger than she had been at primary school. Neither female would, or could converse. And nobody would country-dance with Sandra, forcing me to pair her off with someone like Trevor Rooker, who was often as isolated as she was.

But David... Gods...

He was a little, thin creature with a rather effeminate demeanour, which was the exception rather than the rule on the Firs Estate... He was generally ignored by the lads and was rarely teased, which was quite surprising but pleasing in those days. 

I recall a school trip to Weston-Super-Mare one summer and we were to travel by train. I told him that I would sit with him on the journey, the excitement about which he flapped his arms at. And giggled. The children had taken packed lunches with them and when I saw David’s larder in a bag, I was taken aback... He had sandwiches but also a whole cake and a bowl with a complete trifle wobbling beneath a stretched piece of cling-film. I can see him now, digging his spoon into the mixture and gobbling like he had never eaten before. The scenario was typical of what was probably rather a dysfunctional family but I didn’t accept a spoonful of David’s sugar…

Oddly, as the years went on, I spotted David a few times along the Heath Way, which runs from Hodge Hill towards Shard End and he had grown fairly tall but he was still slim. However, he appeared to have a real problem with his sight, wearing dark glasses and carrying a stick. He looked rather odd too. He moved in rather a strange manner and I wondered what kind of misfortunes had plagued David since leaving primary school. He next appeared on a local TV news station and in a newspaper too, following harassment by youths who had bullied David and I believe, distressed him both inside his home and also as he toddled along the local streets. 

I often wonder what became of him... 

There were three girls too, Sharon, Sarah, whose single mothers were close friends and Gail, who often caused mayhem in class by causing a fall-out between the other two, underlining the comment: ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd...’ Sharon and Sarah were quite bright, but I felt so sorry for Sharon because although always well dressed, she was so shy. I met Sarah some years later, working on a checkout at either B&Q or Homebase but Gail moved house to Cole Hall Lane then married to live near Lea Hall Station and I saw her a few times, whilst driving in that area. She had a slightly moody look about her in class, which often made life tough whilst teaching her. 

John Morrissey, who lived opposite the Comet Inn, on Collingbourne Avenue and was a good footballer at junior school level, died in a car smash near the time he was hoping to join the army. His mum was obviously shattered and more so, as he had lingered an amount of time before his death. 

JOHN MORRISSEY IS 2ND FROM LEFT, FRONT ROW.
JASON LABAND (MENTIONED BELOW) IS 2ND FROM LEFT IN THE BACK ROW...

Lee Walsh died from leukaemia in his teens too and he was a lovely lad, a Wolves fanatic and one of my best footballers, as well as being a bright boy from a decent home. He was in remission, then fell sick and passed away. I was really saddened but was invited to his funeral, which my father attended with me and his parents seemed pleased that I had turned up. They gave birth to another son soon afterwards...

LEE WALSH, WEARING BLUE AT THE BACK...

One class I taught was quite a challenge. They were Y6 but somehow, the poorly behaved boys had almost been corralled together in the group and only a handful of girls completed the imbalance. Dawn Griffiths and Michelle Plumpton were so out of place, it was ridiculous and they didn’t enjoy their year, I know. Nor did I… 

Yet when we visited Chapman’s Hill Farm, the class excelled themselves. The art work they produced amazed me, filling out our section of the end of school year display of work in the main hall with surprising effect, for a visiting school inspector praised the children’s work, totally annoying and frustrating headteacher Rees. During the farm visit, we exited a milking shed, only to see a cow being artificially inseminated, a vet’s arm deep inside the creature’s arse. I’m pretty sure it was either Martin ‘Evil’ Duddy or Paul Cohen who bellowed at me: 

“Why’s that bloke got his arm up that cow’s arse, Mr Ray?” 

I explained it with no holds barred. The kids went very quiet… 

THE ACTUAL INCIDENT...

Several of those unpleasant lads were reported to have caused Michelle Plumpton some distress on the playground one day and I told the boys concerned to stay behind after school. There was actually work on the classroom walls and windows leading into the corridor, thus nobody could see into my room, so I decided upon an unusual course of action. I decided to leave three of the four lads outside the room in the corridor, bellowed out the first boy at my desk, who was the least blameworthy, until he was in tears and I whacked my own thigh and slapped my own hands really hard. I told the weeping lad that if he didn’t leave my room rubbing his backside and feigning agony then I would really whack him the following morning. He was sworn to secrecy and I watched him go, crying…

The next boy of course feared the worst and was crying before I even spoke to him... I yelled, slapped my hands and thigh again and released him from my room in the same manner. All I did was shout, but the fear worked… 

There was no trouble from any of them again. Odd, that... 

Amanda Laband, Heath Laband & Jason Laband…

Amanda, the oldest was in my class and was bright, although it was an effort for her to complete work. I recall her staring eyes… Heath was sandy haired, whilst his two siblings were very dark and I didn’t really know him but Jason, the youngest, although being no skilled footballer was invaluable in my team.

AMANDA LABAND IS 3RD FROM LEFT, 2ND ROW FROM THE FRONT.
ON HER RIGHT IS GARY WARNER'S FRIEND, ROSINA MADDEN (BOTH MENTIONED ABOVE...)

I recall taking the lads in my year-group for a walk down to Bromford Bridge, where there was an area of grass we used a few times for games sessions. Jason was small with a long fringe and his foraging for the football was quite insatiable. If I was playing, likely as a defender, after splitting the group into a couple of teams, Jason’s focus was on the ball perhaps but it was on my shins for certain. 

He simply ran at me and kicked my legs. OK, I reckon he didn’t like me much but I never said one thing to him about it. However, I subsequently became rather adept at skipping over his eager toe-caps. In the school team, Jason simply hunted down the ball, despite rarely doing anything with it but other colleagues would take on that mantle for him…

The Firs shows…

When it was decided to put on the first show for parents, we were told that a stage had once been erected in the dining-area section of the main school hall. An ingenious method was employed, using some of the stackable dining tables which when placed in a large rectangle, had gaps between them, due to two of the legs being manufactured to jut out at one end.

Some clever folks had then been able to make wooden sections to cover the arranged dining tables, with blocks screwed beneath the ends of each piece which slotted into the gaps between the tables below. This produced a wooden, very stable stage…

When we had cleaned the wooden sections, they slotted in perfectly and of course the curtains which were already separating the dining-area from the hall would be perfect for stage curtains.

It was brilliant, it was exciting and the Firs kids excelled themselves in their performances.

The first show, 'Dick Whittington (and his cat)’ brought the house down quite by accident. I had scripted the affair and had tried to add some daft bits rather like Christmas pantomimes do at theatres around the country today.

At that time, during Morecambe and Wise sketches on TV, I think I recall someone being dressed as Oliver Hardy walking across the back of the stage, hesitate, then carry on. The two comedians would look back with puzzled expressions and continue regardless. We did that… Lee Evans and Mark Traynor played the parts of Laurel and Hardy and simply walked across the stage. The other actors would stop, stare at them with puzzled faces and carry on with the panto. And it worked…

Kids dressed as the Bay City Rollers and their fans, Aston Villa fans, Birmingham City fans and other odd characters were involved in the panto’ too. One Roller fan was Julie Foster, who later went out with my sister-in-law’s son Barry for a while, so it was odd to meet her again in such different circumstances. 

THAT FIRST CAST...

When I worked at Birmingham Museum I saw her again a few times walking in the city centre then she worked there, although by then she was married to a lad who had been in my class when I taught at Audley, Carl Barnfield… Small world…  

But the group which became legendary were the Firs washerwomen…

GARY WARNER STANDS ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE STAGE & I'M STANDING FAR LEFT, DRESSED AS FRANK SPENCER...

Kim Hewitt, Pat Woolridge, Sally King, Dave Bessant and Danny Hale did a kind of dance on stage dressed in aprons, wore turbans and carried brooms. However, when we performed our dress rehearsal in front of the invited infants from across the site, Kim and another washerwoman were absent, so Martin Cross and I filled in…

We donned aprons, shoved plastic footballs up our jumpers and performed. It was chaotic but when one of my balls dropped down to belly level, leaving me with a vertical cleavage, the hall erupted into hilarity. It was so effective, albeit totally accidental that we were encouraged to stay in the sketch for the main performances and of course with an audience from the Firs Estate, it was all gobbled up with glee…

Darren Bligh was Simple Simon, Glenn Evans played Larry Grayson, Paula Sheldon was Alvin Stardust, Sheryl O’Kill performed as Cinderella and I was Frank Spencer to Michelle Plumpton’s Betty… 

Gary Warner had been Dick, whilst Linda Owen had been Jack (with beanstalk…)

We knew that we could perform more stuff on this stage despite the disruption to the dinner staff and so it continued…

Joseph, with Derek Bradshaw in the lead role (Dervis Spence was an Ishmaelite…) and Lesley Warner as Potiphar’s wife was excellent… Even the Smurfs took part in that, plus Brandon O’Kill as Frank Spencer, Robert Brady as Tommy Cooper, Jeanette Aston as Larry Grayson and Belinda Ray as, er, Magnus Pike…

Oliver though was simply incredible…  

Lisa Philpotts, who is now Lisa Franks and still communicates with me (although she is a Spurs fan…) was Oliver and Glenn Mansell was a fine Fagin, Dean White, one of my footballer was Bill Sykes but Mandy Heard was a fantastic Nancy.

MANDY HEARD IS FAR RIGHT, FRONT ROW...

Mandy’s mum hadn’t allowed her to take part in any out of school activities until she entered Year 6 and she was some athlete… However, she excelled as Nancy, singing solo with a live band, made up of the Reverend March and few other local musicians. It was stunning… 

I loved the atmosphere of those evenings at Firs and they will remain with me always…

SHARON ALEXANDER (MENTIONED ABOVE) IS 2ND FROM LEFT, BACK ROW & MARTIN BUTLER, ONE OF MY FOOTBALLERS IS FAR RIGHT, BACK ROW...

THE SHOW I WASN'T INVOLVED IN FROM THE START BUT WAS THEN BEGRUDGINGLY ASKED TO HELP GET GOING ON STAGE BECAUSE THE KIDS HADN'T RESPONDED WELL TO THE DESIGNATED DIRECTOR'S IDEAS...  

Next: those school outings & holidays…