Geoff Stead, of Kendal, recalls school days in the 1950s
I suppose, like many five year olds, my first experience of school was quite frightening, and I remember being left at the doorway with the inscription ‘INFANTS – BOYS’ carved in stone, Mam walking away, apparently insensitive to my tears.
However, all was well and I gradually came to rather enjoy school.
In 1956, at the age of 11, I transferred to a local ‘Secondary Modern’, where one wore a school uniform and long trousers.
I felt quite grown up, although still very shy, blushing if a teacher spoke to me and answering in a tremulous voice.
The day began with assembly in the hall. Headmaster Percy gave a short, uplifting talk, a rousing hymn followed, - ‘I vow to thee, my country’ was a favourite – a prayer was read, usually the shortest in the book, by an unwilling pupil and then everyone dispersed to the lively strains of a Sousa march.
Although as a left-hander, I struggled somewhat with pen and ink, smudging most of what I had written, I was always near the top of the ‘A’ form and taking my school report home for the all-important parental signature held no terrors for me.
One activity at which I was no good at all was sport, always ‘out’ first ball at cricket, and a liability in any football team, spending the entire match trotting aimlessly round the perimeter of the pitch hoping fervently that the ball wouldn’t come my way.
On one occasion it did and, confused by the conflicting shouts of “Here, Stead”, I passed it to a member of the opposing team.
Happily, I wasn’t the only player with absolutely no aptitude for the beautiful game.
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