1960s School 3

September 1962. A steaming hot day in the Music Room of the Grammar School. Seven pupils, three boys and four girls sat waiting almost patiently for their teacher Miss Thompson, to arrive in the class. Alan looked out of the large picture window to the right side of the room. The Beech and Sycamore trees he could see at the edge of the wood were still in full bloom, as Autumn was late starting this year, so the trees were as full of leaves as they had been all summer. So green and full that they blocked out the strong sun, but not from the Music Room windows. The room was hotter than ever it would be in winter when the heating blasted from the wall radiators.

Alan was seated furthest away from the windows and closest to the side wall of the room which formed a moveable barrier to the school hall where each morning the whole school assembled to say prayers and sing a hymn, where the headmaster or his deputy would read out the notices to the school, who fidgeted in boredom each morning before being dismissed to their classrooms. Next to him was Browney and then Rogers, the other two boys in the class. Behind them sat the four girls. Carole with the plunging neckline caused by the nicely developing breasts, then Alice the stick insect. Next to her was Brenda the lump, and finally Susan, who every few weeks Alan fell madly in love with. Shoulder length brown hair tied back in a pony tail, slim, and a beautiful oval face with the bluest eyes Alan had ever seen. But she was untouchable, from a very wealthy family and lived in a large detached house on the outskirts of town. She was brought to school by a chauffeur driven car each morning and taken home again each afternoon. She often told the driver to stop some way from the school entrance. She could not alter her parents wealth but always felt embarrassed by the wealth compared to that of her schoolmates. But nobody else was bothered about her fathers wealth and treated her just like the other pupils. Neither better nor worse.

Alan turned to the window to his right as a group of boys started to walk along the path which ran around the outside of the Music Room. Two of them stopped and raised a two fingered salute to the pupils inside, gesticulating rapidly with an up and down motion. Alan, Rogers and Browney turned in their seats to repay the comment, raising their right hands with the V sign made. Just as they did so Alan heard the door at the back of the classroom open, it’s familiar creak giving warning of an impending visitor. The three boys rapidly lowered their hands and turned back to face the front of the classroom. The two boys outside could not see very much of the inside of the room due to the sunlight and were caught in the act by Anne Thompson, the music teacher, as she walked down the length of the room to her position at the front of the class. The moment they realised they had been spotted the two boys quickly bent down below the level of the window and tried to creep away without being seen. The other pupils walking along the path pointedly walked around them, looking down at the two crouching figures and pointed them out to the teacher. Alan and the others in the class grinned and chuckled out loud.

“That’s enough now, settle down” said Miss Thompson, and as one they quietened down and sat facing her at the front of the room. “Alright,” she began. “The Messiah” she announced. “Open your score where we left off.” The seven pupils groaned inwardly and dutifully opened the large manuscript folios on their desks.

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The first time Alan had met Miss Thompson had been the first music lesson of the three year course which had started the previous year. Seven rather timid fourteen year old pupils sat in two rows at the front of the class, facing the teachers desk, and an upright piano which stood in the right hand corner; a singularly bad place to position the instrument in view of the fact that when she was seated to play some music to demonstrate what they were studying, her back was always turned to the pupils. However, it took only one or two attempts at chattering or misbehaviour to realise that Miss Thompson was the very proud possessor of a pair of eyes in the back of her head. A sharp word was enough to bring them to order.

She had started that first lesson by introducing herself. “I am Miss Thompson and I will be taking you for O Level Music for the next three years,” she had said. Her eyes ran over the two rows of pupils. She was a slim woman in her late thirties and not unpleasant to be sat in front of for the twice weekly forty minute lesson. Her voice was kind and could be soft spoken or loud, depending on the subject she was addressing. After the first lesson she never had to admonish any of her students. She broached no nonsense, and made that point quiet clear. The lessons were busy and often lively, which made attendance pleasurable.

“So,” she began. “Let’s find out a bit about you shall we?” She pointed to Browney sat in the middle of the three boys in the front row. “What instrument do you play?” David Brownlow grinned at her and replied, “Violin Miss.” She turned to Danny Rogers and nodded. “Piano Miss,” he said. Turning to Alan she nodded her head at him. “I don’t play an instrument Miss.” he said. She was quiet for a second or two. “Alright, we’ll come back to you later.” Going through the girls and interrogating them she discovered that they played a piano, a violin, a viola and another violin. Her gaze dropped to the student register which lay on her desk in front of her. “Right Robinson,” she began. “You don’t play an instrument?”

“That’s right miss.” Alan replied quietly.

“So what are you doing in my class then?”

“It was either music or woodwork Miss. My dad’s a joiner and I hate woodwork. The headmaster wouldn’t let me do art, even though I’ve been top of the class for the past two years. He said my options were to be either woodwork or music. And I hate woodwork.” Miss Thompson leaned back away from her table and rested her back against the upright chair set in the centre of the desk. For a few seconds she regarded Alan, not with an anger or dismay, just resignation at the rotten trick the headmaster had played on her and the pupil. Why force a pupil to choose between two subjects he did not like? What was wrong with giving the pupil some leeway from the rules he had made up. The headmaster was disliked by many of the teachers as well as most of the pupils. No, correction, all of the pupils. Universally hated by all. What a thing to have inscribed on your headstone at the end of life.

“OK.” she said quietly. “You have to play an instrument if you are doing O level music. What instrument do you want to play?” she asked. Alan thought for a few seconds and then replied, “Saxophone Miss.” he said. A look of exasperation crossed her face for a second then vanished. “It has to be an orchestral instrument Robinson,” she said. Alan thought for a second or two. “I don’t know Miss. The only instrument we have at home is a gramophone player.” A snigger ran around the room. Miss Thompson glanced around the other six pupils. “Quiet,” she said. The room fell silent. She looked down at Alan and smiled gently. “So what sort of music do you play on your gramophone then?” she asked. “Well, my dad likes brass bands and he’s got a bit of military music and some musical shows, like Carousel and The Student Prince. So if we don’t have the radio on it’s sometimes his music, though he’s not all that keen on music.” Miss Thompson nodded her head and asked, “And what sort of music do you like?” He glanced out of the window then turned back to her and said, “I like jazz Miss, and Glen Miller, but mainly modern and trad jazz Miss. I listen to Humphrey Littleton’s jazz club on Wednesday on the Home Service. He plays all sorts of jazz there. Mainly modern but his own sort as well.”

Miss Thompson’s face lit up. “Good. So you don’t dislike music altogether then? How about learning to play the clarinet, it’s got the same fingering as most saxophones and you can play jazz on it as well as classical music.” Alan smiled at her. “Thanks miss, but I haven’t got one.” “Don’t worry. You can borrow one of the schools and I will fix you up with a tutor who will come to the school once a week. He already comes on Wednesday afternoons after school for another pupil, so you can start with him next week.”

And that was how Alan became a keen jazz aficionado, as well as gaining a love of classic music.

1960s School Part 2

In Alan’s opinion, for what it was worth, the grammar school he attended could not have been situated in a more idyllic location. The walk to school each morning took him first through the main road of council estate built next to the one where he lived. The new houses still had fresh paint and newly laid out and well maintained gardens. The occupants happy to have been given the option of living there, as just beyond the estate was farm land and woods. A wonderful location in which to raise children, something which seemed to be the main preoccupation of the majority of the tenants of the homes.

Each morning Alan would walk quickly through the estate, a strip of ten minutes or so, then through a wooden five barred gate into the first of the fields belonging to Jim Breakspear and his wife, Marge. They kept a small herd of milking cows a few pigs in a sty by the path leading through the farm, and several chickens for eggs. Summer and winter alike Marge would twice a day bring in the cows from the fields to milk them. Some of the milk she kept for their own use and to make a little butter, but most of it was sold to a newly created government body, The Milk Marketing Board. During the worst part of winter the cows were brought into the farm from the fields for the last time and kept in the cow shed. Their lowing could be heard as Alan walked along the cobbled path through the farm. He was always a bit wary of these cows. Once during a winters afternoon on his way home from school the cows were being herded in from the fields for their afternoon milking. The stout figure of Marge bring them along close to the head of the small herd. Dressed in her normal floral dress and clutching a short leather coat to her body she clucked and chivvied the beasts along the path towards the farm buildings when one of them suddenly lunged forward and made a beeline for Alan. Swinging his school bag over his shoulder he made a dash to a side path leading from the main path through the farm closely followed by the cow and Marge shouting at the top of her voice. “Get out of her way, she’s a bugger this one”. Alan was already yards ahead of her instructions and safely made it into one of the open doorways of the farm house. The cow kept on running, being chased by the heavy weight behind her wielding a long stick to encourage the beast.

Normally though there was little excitement on his walk through the farm. As he made his way gingerly through the sea of mud which in winter was what the path became, he stood on small islands of dry mud to move to his right to take a look at the pigs. Reaching out from the final hillock of dry mud he reached out to rest his hand on the top of the stone wall of the pig sty. The stone was a sheet six feeet square and was attached to its neighbour by a metal tie. He leaned against the wall and looked over into the floor of the sty. Four pigs, one enormous like a grounded barrage balloon, and three slightly smaller ones, were snuffling noisily in the mud for the kitchen scraps Marge fed them on. The biggest pig, a sow, stopped and raised her head for a moment to look quizzically at Alan. With a bored grunt she stuck her snout back into the food, determined to get what she could before the others took it.

Next along the path was the cow shippon where the cows spent their nights in winter. Then a large rough local stone built barn with a small round window set almost in the eaves of the roof. Jim kept his store of winter hay there, and all the local kids would take it in turns to jump from the top of the pile of bales to the lower one, once his harvesting had been done for the summer. Jim was a cleaver man and knew that he could never be around all the day to shoo off the kids, so he tolerated them. The kids, for their part, played only as long as their energy lasted, which was never very long as the barn was always the last calling point on their afternoon adventure in the fields and woods. After the barn it was tea time.

Leaving the farm along the cobbled roadway the route to the school took Alan through a woodland area planted perhaps a couple of hundred years ago. Deciduous trees clung to the sides of a steep sided stream which started life on the moorlands above the town and wound it’s way down through the hills until it hit the woods. In the middle of the woods was a Mediaeval Hall and chapel set right in the middle of farmland and bordered by the woods. Part of the complex of buildings was an almost derelict stable block with a double door wide enough for carriage and horses and inside was stabling for several horses. It’s black and white timbers were almost hidden during the summer months by the overhanging branches of Oak and Beech trees, whilst in the gardens by the side were Rhododendrons which displayed countless multi coloured blossoms for many months of the year.

Alan strode on through the stables and out again into the last of Jim’s farmland, and finally onto the road which lead to the school. Twice a day he made this trip. Twice a day in summer and autumn he sweated, and in winter twice a day he moved just fast enough so that he could keep warm. To the north side of the school were the edges of the woods. To the east lay the woods as well, through which football team in winter and cricket teams in summer had to walk to play their games on the playing fields which lay to the southern edge of Jim’s farm and to the east of the estate where Alan lived.