We had been desperately looking forward to moving into Class 2, as the teacher was David Dendle, famous for being kind and fun, and it was a huge relief after Class 1. But in the Easter break he left to become headmaster of his own primary school (Weare Giffard?), and we got ‘Ossie’ Browning, the Headmaster. He seemed a very old man to us, although he was born in 1909 and so only 52 when he taught us in 1961. We were very respectful of him, but did not fear him as we did Miss Parish.
Classes 2 and 3 were essentially one room with a wooden screen down the middle, which was folded back for assembly and lunch-break. So all 150+ boys crammed into this rather small space to hear prayers and sing classic hymns – I still love to sing He Who Would Valiant Be, Onward Christian Soldiers and so on. And then at lunchtime the dinner ladies brought in trayfuls of awful English food – rather slimy roast potatoes, slices of meat in some watery mess, and of course boiled greens, followed by huge vats of lumpy custard. There were two sittings for lunch so that everyone had a desk to eat at, and the ladies were led by the redoubtable Mrs Maynard – a school institution, ruddy of face and as wide as she was high, who lugged in the trays and vats and then bellowed in a North Devon accent you could cut with a knife – CLAAASS FOR-R! We were always nice to the dinner ladies in the hope of getting good helpings of the occasional decent offerings. And they were kind to us.
Playtime
There was one playground shared by Classes 1 and 2, while Classes 3 and 4 each had their own. We weren’t allowed balls, but there were many simultaneous games going on. There was the old game in which the person who was ‘it’ chased and touched another boy, who then became ‘it’. Then another one, more complex with two teams, in which those who had been touched lined up against a wall, and could be freed by one on their side touching them. Then battle games based on WW2; boys used to put their arms around each others’ shoulders to make a line, and then move round the playground chanting ‘Who’ll have a game of Japs and Commandos’ or similar, and when enough had joined in, the teams would split and pretend to shoot each other. Then there were quieter games of marbles around the drains, and even talking to each other and telling ‘rude’ jokes. I can’t remember any bullying, although it must have happened.
Getting to school
I started off getting a lift to school in the van with Dad, which was fun as he took a few friends and we all piled out the back at the school gates. Then later I started getting the bus home. This meant walking to the bus station, down Tuly Street and the Dornat’s Lemonade works with an untouched Victorian office, complete with clerks sitting at high stools filling ledgers. Then past the slaughter house – I remember the channel down the road running with blood. Then past the cattle market and down to the Strand. The bus fare was 1d, and there was the daily dilemma of whether to get the bus, or spend the penny on sweets and walk home – there was a sweet shop right by where the buses stopped, and 1d would buy a reasonable gob-full.
Barnstaple Bus Station in the 1950s – we got the bus that was going to Bishop’s Tawton. We always rode on the upper deck, even though it stank of cigarette smoke. But this stink was an unquestioned accompaniment of all adult environments. Ossie Browning reeked of pipe smoke.
Later on I cycled to school, and so getting home took even longer, as we used to roam around town on our bikes, down every alley, past the town railway station, down to the quay where they unloaded the sand-barges, and so on.
Work
Our position in the classroom depended strictly on our exam order in Class 1. So I was at the back on the right, and the boy at the front on the left had to live with his status for the whole year. There was the usual plodding through pages of exercises – I just have the answers now and have to guess the questions.
The star-stamps of different colours were accumulated up – I think eventually we got to a gold star, but can’t remember what this signified. I enjoyed notching up the stars, but didn’t feel I was better than some other boys in the class – there was a huge range.
We must have had some science education, since I apparently learned that ‘Air is something’, which I think is rather a good thing to learn.
Class 3. Ossie Browning
We got Ossie Browning again in Class 3, which was OK.
Punishments
All the teachers had their own ‘smacker’, and could at any time get a boy to bend over and be smacked, although it was used fairly sparingly, and was essentially a performance – the piece of wood made a satisfying whack on a small boy’s trousered bottom, but didn’t actually hurt much. There were also Prefects (of the grand age of 10), some of whom would be on duty at playtime, and could under provocation give a younger boy what I think was known as a ‘ten to two’, which meant lining up to see the headmaster before school resumed after lunch. They would form a queue, and would get an extremely peremptory hearing from Ossie, and then a quick smack. I got a few of these, but it did not carry any stigma, and was not recorded anywhere. Really serious offences were punished by a cane on the hand in Ossie’s study in private, and this was very rarely used.
There were four teams; Normans (green), Danes (blue?), Romans (red?) and Vikings (yellow). I was a Norman, although it was not taken as seriously as Houses in Hogwarts, I think we knew who was in each team.
PE and games
For PT (physical training, as it was generally known) we had to walk in a crocodile through town to a church hall in Boutport Street – 40 unruly boys with just one teacher leading us, wandering along busy pavements, which is rather unthinkable today. I enjoyed PT, as although I had little coordination, I did have some brute strength – characteristics that have stayed with me until now.
Games meant football in winter and athletics in summer (and maybe cricket in summer, but I can’t remember that). We changed at school, and then walked in our kit and boots across Rolle Bridge, along the quayside, then through the streets to the town football ground, which we were presumably allowed to use during the week. This was a fun walk, and generally the best part of the afternoon, as I was not good at football. I usually played full-back, which meant I didn’t have to do anything except stand there and try and get in the way when the other side got near. I never developed any ball-skills, which I suppose was a shame, but I have had little cause to regret it.
In the 3rd form games, I did make it into the Potato race, representing Normans, which involved picking up potatoes and running with them in a bucket.
The photo makes it look as if I am leading, but I doubt that I was.
Work
The Christian education continued, sometimes illustrated with my awful drawings.
We were still doing Tables – every Monday morning each team stood in a row in front of the class and was timed chanting their way through the tables up to 12 x 12. This developed its own rhythm, and I still find it natural to ‘sing’ my tables.
Once a week we had a page of ‘problems’, I think they were on Fridays. Unlike the usual rows of similar calculations, all out of context, these were mathematical exercises put into a story. We all dreaded these, as they actually made us think instead of doing everything by rote. So I suppose they were a good thing.
I was fascinated by the tables and units featured on the back of the exercise books. Did you know 4 noggins makes one pint? Or there were 3 scruples in a dram? All this ancient nonsense made it so easy to set ‘maths’ questions when we were young, but it did mean we could count on a variety of bases, for example 10, 12 (pennies in a shilling), 16 (ounces in a pound), 20 (shillings in a pound) and so on.
Learning history
I enjoyed history, which was taught from the classic ‘People of History‘ book, where ‘people’ mainly comprised British men who built the empire, although Bonnie Prince Charlie found his way in there, presumably because he was romantic.
Even now, I remember reading about Robert Clive fighting to control swathes of India for the East India Company, the Black Hole of Calcutta and so on. The book told us that “Later he was a splendid Governor of Bengal, but he made many enemies through his firm rule, and they tried to disgrace him by accusing him of making a fortune dishonestly. Years of hard work and fighting in a hot climate ruined his health, and he died unhappily.” More accurately, he grew immensely rich, oversaw a system that impoverished the Indians, suffered from depression and opium addiction, and cut his own throat. Which, sadly, we weren’t told.
There are some wonderful euphemisms in the book. When covering Captain Cook, we read of his crew ‘enjoying the company of the friendly natives‘ of Tahiti. I’m sure they did.
I clearly remember reading this description of David Livingstone as a child, and wondering if (a) I would offer my first wages to my mother, and (b) whether I would buy a Latin grammar-book. I concluded I would prefer a Corgi toy car. The story continues, of course, with tales of challenging exploration, loyal natives and so on.