Chapter Four – School Days

Most of the time we avoided climbing chests of drawers and took a less risky approach to play. Board games such as ‘Coppit’ (which we only ever played at Aunty Enid’s flat on Green Hill before enjoying sleepover suppers of scrambled eggs and cheese on toast) and ‘Monopoly’ had occasional appeal, whilst Enid Blyton’s books could always draw me into the adventurous worlds of the Secret Seven or Famous Five. Mandy rarely picked up a book, but we both happily played for hours with baby dolls, dressing and undressing them, pushing them around the estate in their prams and acting like mini mums – these were pre-feminist days when my ‘daughter’ Sharon grew up with me, only being cast aside when my birthdays reached double figures and I accidentally poked her eye in.

Mandy, plus the view from number 24.

Most little girls in the Sixties (and beyond) collected the fashionable Sindy, but Mandy and I loved our Tressy dolls (‘her hair grows’ warbled the TV ad). Ever curious, I investigated how this worked by removing the head of my Tressy, this deed bringing a lifetime of regret – the winding device refused to work when I tried to screw her head back on and a wooden stick was stuffed up her neck as a repair job. There was absolutely no chance of a replacement doll, given that it was my all my own fault! Mum would knit little cardigans for our dolls and make them cotton dresses to match our own; I even remember mini quilted jackets that were a craft masterpiece. Yet what I really, really, wanted was the expensive pre-packaged outfits of psychedelic mini-skirts and tiny plastic high heeled shoes.

What I really wanted …

I started school in that freezing January, walking down Cedar Avenue and uphill all the way to Holmer Green Infant School (a good 45 minute walk), which was relatively newly opened. I have a very clear memory of my first day: looking out of a window above a low wash basin, I watched as mum turned the pushchair round, bowed her head against the wind, didn’t look back and trudged off through the snow, Mandy well wrapped up in a smart red snow suit, knitted bonnet and mitts plus a heap of blankets. How I cried! Very quickly I was distracted by the excitement of toilet cubicles built for small children and discovering that all the time spent with grandad learning to read had paid dividends – I was the only child in the class to start on Janet and John Book 4, versus Books 1 or 2 that everyone else was given. Thinking about it now, I was an easily pleased, rather smug small child! Whilst I don’t remember the names of any children in my class, I do recall playing ‘Jacks’ on the playground, all squatting on haunches trying to pick up as many metal jacks as possible during the bounce of the small ball – which you had to also catch to secure the score. Hopscotch was also popular; a skill that I went on to explain to many children in later life when I took up a career as a primary school teacher.

Some other memories stick with me from Holmer Green – a lifelong hatred of beetroot conceived over many a school dinner, when it was chopped into tiny cubes as part of a salad that had to be eaten right down to a clean plate. Dinner Ladies would make you sit until you finished, even if that meant missing afternoon lessons – this happened to me many times. I remember pond dipping, using nets to collect mini boatmen and other creatures placed carefully into jam jars, and singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ at the top of our voices – those long drawn out ‘cruuu-el’ and ‘fuuu-el’ being the best part. There was also the day I was given the Supreme Honour of going to the headteacher’s office to collect the tray of coins from the safe for that day’s lesson about money. How heavy it was! How neatly the coins were stacked! How carefully each coin was counted back in!

Whilst I was busy enjoying my infant days, a brand-new primary school was being built on our Park Estate – Park County Primary School – just in time for when Mandy was due to start. I changed schools to be with her. Three years is a large age gap when one of you is in Reception and the other has just become a ‘junior’, so I have few memories of our time together under the leadership of Mr Cox, the headteacher who settled for many years. My final year, in particular, is quite well documented within a ‘daily magazine’ used for free writing – still in existence.

Apart from the annual Halloween party where we dressed as witches and wizards before dancing in an increasingly crazy whirl to ‘Hall of the Mountain King’, and the pocket Bible handed to us at our respective leaving ceremonies, one event stood out in our respective school days. Crowning the Queen of May. I proudly announced my status after the Year 6 class vote,

“I’m one of the Queen’s assistants. Louise Marshall got 13 votes; Francis and I got four each so we are joint assistants.”

Three years later Mandy had the last word.

“I’m the May Queen this year!”

Always popular, Mandy had secured far and away the highest number of votes; I imagine if she were here today, her precise score would come instantly to mind.

Big events when you are ten years old stay with you for the rest of your life.