My life . . . Already?
My RSS Feeds
Doodlebugs and nosegays (1)
posted Sunday, 26 December 2004
The journeys begin
“Let’s see. I think it was nine. Barking, Romford, Collier Row, two in Cranbrook, three in East Ham, two in Manchester and one in Crewe. No, that makes eleven ...”
Someone recently asked how many schools I had attended and this set me thinking. It actually averaged out at one for every year of my school life.
I started school aged four in 1937 at Westbury Infants in Barking, Essex. Memories are still fresh. Attempting a sobbing dash for home at playtime, desperate to collect my forgotten sandwiches. Then being locked into a playground toilet cubicle by some bigger boys who had convinced me that it was full of toys. The gap under the door was my escape route, although squeezing out brought my face level with the wet floor and stinking yellow of the urinal trough.
During World War II, between 1939 and 1945 I was shunted around the country, staying with aunties and uncles in so-called safer locations than my Blitz-threatened London home. This was in Arragon Road, East Ham. A terraced house a few streets away from West Ham United football ground’s east stand - the ‘Chicken Run’.
This landmark backed on to Priory Road, where we kids gathered to jump on the double-decker
buses as they queued to slowly enter the London Transport garage at the end of the road. A quick dash up and down the stairs to check under the seats for dropped coins and then a heart-stopping leap from the moving bus to avoid getting trapped in the depot.
With so many moves, chronological memory is fuzzy. I attended three schools in East Ham. Little Arragon Road infants - which followed close on the heels of my first school after Mum and Dad moved from Barking with me, aged five, and baby brother Roy - Hartley Avenue juniors and Central Park Secondary Modern.
The junior school was memorable for that September day when I was lying
on my back in the playground, trying to staunch a nosebleed with a teacher’s handkerchief and watching the silent contrail patterns of Battle of Britain dogfights weaving high above me in the cloudless blue sky. Also - the outside lavatories again - highest up (and hopefully over) the wall peeing contests. Some challenge for us eight and nine year-olds as we held our water until the last possible moment to generate maximum elevation.
©2004 Al Smith
“Let’s see. I think it was nine. Barking, Romford, Collier Row, two in Cranbrook, three in East Ham, two in Manchester and one in Crewe. No, that makes eleven ...”
Someone recently asked how many schools I had attended and this set me thinking. It actually averaged out at one for every year of my school life.
I started school aged four in 1937 at Westbury Infants in Barking, Essex. Memories are still fresh. Attempting a sobbing dash for home at playtime, desperate to collect my forgotten sandwiches. Then being locked into a playground toilet cubicle by some bigger boys who had convinced me that it was full of toys. The gap under the door was my escape route, although squeezing out brought my face level with the wet floor and stinking yellow of the urinal trough.
During World War II, between 1939 and 1945 I was shunted around the country, staying with aunties and uncles in so-called safer locations than my Blitz-threatened London home. This was in Arragon Road, East Ham. A terraced house a few streets away from West Ham United football ground’s east stand - the ‘Chicken Run’.This landmark backed on to Priory Road, where we kids gathered to jump on the double-decker
buses as they queued to slowly enter the London Transport garage at the end of the road. A quick dash up and down the stairs to check under the seats for dropped coins and then a heart-stopping leap from the moving bus to avoid getting trapped in the depot.With so many moves, chronological memory is fuzzy. I attended three schools in East Ham. Little Arragon Road infants - which followed close on the heels of my first school after Mum and Dad moved from Barking with me, aged five, and baby brother Roy - Hartley Avenue juniors and Central Park Secondary Modern.
The junior school was memorable for that September day when I was lying
on my back in the playground, trying to staunch a nosebleed with a teacher’s handkerchief and watching the silent contrail patterns of Battle of Britain dogfights weaving high above me in the cloudless blue sky. Also - the outside lavatories again - highest up (and hopefully over) the wall peeing contests. Some challenge for us eight and nine year-olds as we held our water until the last possible moment to generate maximum elevation.©2004 Al Smith
To be continued . . .
Don't be shy. Tell me what you think!