1960s School 3

The school assembly hall was about fifty feet long and about thirty five feet wide. It’s floor was multi-coloured parquet and noisy as hell when three or four hundred pupils were forced in there, as happened every schoolday morning. Now it was silent, and empty, apart from Alan. He stood leaning against one of the three large radiators against the blank left hand wall. They were pumping out hot air, very hot air, into the large void. His shoulders leaned against the top ridge of the radiator and burned through his school jacket. He moved to ease the heat. Opposite him at the far end of the hall was a stage under a proscenium and at the back of the stage stood the foldable dividing sections which formed the blank wall of the music room beyond. Alan glanced at the clock on the wall over the proscenium. Still twenty five minutes before classes started again after the lunch break.

Outside the February wind and rain beat against the floor to ceiling windows of the outer wall, blowing first one way and then the other according to the whim of the wind. It was cold, wet and miserable. In three months or so he would be starting his final examinations of his five years at the school, the General Certificate of Education ‘O’ levels. Along with the other one hundred and eighty pupils of his year he would sit in this hall and struggle to remember the facts and figures teachers had attempted to cram into his brain over the previous five years. How many passes would he gain from the seven subjects to be taken? English Language, Maths, History, Geography, Biology, Physics with Chemistry and Music. Would it be a forlorn battle or would he gain sufficient passes to get a decent job? Staying on to the Sixth Form to study some subjects at Advanced Level was out of the question. He and his father had already had this conversation. “I can’t afford to let you stay on at school son,” he had said quietly without any sense of remorse when the question had been asked. “You’re going to have to get a job.” And that had been the end of that discussion. Later today his father had promised to come to the school to attend with him the meeting with the Youth Employment Advisor. It would be the first visit to the school he would make, and the only one. Five years his son had attended the school every day, and not once had he been interested enough in his education to attend the various invitations to open days, sports days, parent teacher evenings. Not once. Alan was not anticipating anything constructive to come from the meeting this afternoon.

As he stood watching the trees sway in the wind he was aware of the sound of the doors to the hall opening, a sudden increase in the noise level from the classrooms and corridors of the school beyond the hall. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching, but never reacted, pretending that he had heard nothing. The footsteps descending the wooden steps into the floor of the hall were familiar, but still he ignored them. Today was not a good day. He hadn’t spoken to anyone all day, not in the classrooms nor the hall at assembly this morning. He just didn’t feel like talking to anyone today, nor the past four days. During the past three or four years the silences had grown more frequent and longer. No idea why. He just felt unhappy. Never felt the need to talk with anyone, and so he didn’t. In the classes he could get away with silence, nobody ever spoke to him, and teachers would only pester him if they pointedly wanted him to answer a question. The footsteps stopped behind him and after a seconds pause a body appeared in front of him standing two feet away at the end of the radiator.

“You alright Alan?” she asked. It was Christine, a girl one year older and therefore in the year ahead of him. He nodded his head and glanced at her, then back to the window. She was as tall as him and had curly blonde hair, and together they had started to talk and walk around the school at break times and lunchtimes. Sometimes she waited for him on Wednesday whilst he had a Clarinet lesson and then walked partway up the main road from the school afterwards before she peeled off to walk to her home. Today he wanted to say nothing to her and silently wished she would go away. They stayed together for the remainder of the lunch break and then when the school bell rung parted and went to their respective classes.

At 2.30 pm he made his way to the front door of the school to meet his father, who had parked his Triumph motorcycle and sidecar in the staff car park and was walking towards the double doors of the school. Together with minimal speech he led him through the school to the empty classroom designated for the Employment Services interviews. Alan knocked on the door and a man’s voice called out “Enter”. They went in. The owner of the voice was seated at the teachers table at the front of the room with two chairs on the other side of the table. Aged about forty he wore a check sports coat with leather patches on the elbows, giving away immediately his status as a former teacher. He wore a white shirt, probably from a day before and a tightly knotted stripped tie. He stood up and extended his hand. “Mr Robinson?” he said, “Please take a seat. So far he had not made eye contact with Alan. Now he turned his head slightly and looked at Alan. “So, what do you think your chances are with the O Levels?” he asked. Alan had been expecting the question. “I think I might get five” he said. The man looked down at a sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. He paused. “Mmm. Any idea what they will be?” he finally asked. “English, Biology, Geography, History and possibly Maths” Alan said. “Mmm.” The man replied and turned to Alan’s father. “What do you do for a living Mr Robinson?” he inquired. Alan’s father cleared his throat and replied, “I’m a Cabinet Maker.” The man glanced up sharply then down at the desk. “Mmm. A joiner then.” he said. Alan felt his father bristle and sat up a little straighter. Before he could reply the man turned back to Alan. “So, what ideas have you had for a job then?” Alan paused and said, “I don’t know. I was hoping you could suggest something. That’s why we came her.” The man shot him an angry look and he harrumphed. He shuffled the sheet of paper together with others on the table. “Well, have you considered the construction trades. Like being a bricklayer or a joiner like your dad?” Alan sat silent for a second. “No. Not really.” He stood up and glanced down at his father. I think we should be going dad” he said. His father shot an angry look at the man and rose from the chair. “Yes. Let’s be off then.” Without a further word the two of them left the room and walked off through the school. At the door to the outside Alan said, “See you later dad.” He father turned to him. “That was a waste of time wasn’t it? Useless man.” He turned and walked back to his motorcycle parked between the staff cars on the car park. Alan turned back and made his way through the silent corridors to his form room.

Mr Banks, his form teacher and French teacher, glanced his way as Alan entered the classroom. “Alright Robinson?” he queried. “Waste of time sir.” he replied, and squeezed his way through the desks and chairs to take his seat at the desk by the window. The rain continued to fall, bouncing off the part opened window by his desk. He leaned over to close it with more of a bang than was really necessary. Mr Banks stopped what he was saying and looked over to Alan. “That useless eh Robinson?” he asked quietly. “Complete waste of my time and my fathers.” he said and settled back in his chair.