School – Start as you mean to go on.
Unusually I turned up at Secondary School looking immaculate. My mum had decked me out with brand new uniform – blazer, cap, shirt, tie, long socks and shoes. It was topped off with a hair-cut. I was neat, clean, tidy and pressed. All my creases were the right kind of creases. It couldn’t last.
My form room was the Technical drawing room. This was set out to do technical drawing. People needed sharp pencils for technical drawing. Mr Cox, our kind form teacher, had thoughtfully put out pieces of wood with sandpaper glued on them. You could bring your pencil to a diamond sharp point on the sandpaper. These pieces of wood were hung from nails.
I squeezed round the back of some boys to take my place and caught my blazer on the nail. It ripped a triangle out of the shoulder that hung down in a flap. Even I had to admit that it wasn’t the most stylish of arrangements.
Later that morning I had art. I liked art. Unfortunately there were not enough rooms so we had to do our art up on the stage behind the curtains. It wasn’t ideal. We had to bring everything that was required across from the art-room.
I was chosen to be one of the people to carry the materials back.
A little group of us went over to collect the paper, paint and brushes. I received the task of carrying trays of paint. We were to use Tempera Powder Paint. The powder had been poured out into baking trays. They were the sort that you cooked Yorkshire puddings in. There were big indentations full of powder.
I carried ten of these trays, one on top of the other.
Our little retinue carried our materials out of the art-block and up the road to the hall. We went in through the side door. I was very careful to negotiate the perils of the swing door. I did not want to spill any powder. Unfortunately I was so fixated on the door that I did not take account of the doormat. Inside the door was a sunken well with a bristly mat in it. I was not used to sunken mat wells. I tripped over it.
The trays of paint went flying up in the air. Then they clattered down. The powder paint formed a personal dust cloud that completely encompassed me. Then it settled.
The great clattering noise brought the whole class out.
I stood up and was completely covered with dust from head to foot. I looked a bit like a ghost. Then I started to cry. As the tears ran down my cheeks they created rivulets of rainbows.
My first day at school was quite eventful.
I cannot remember what my mum’s face was like when she set eyes on me. I was no longer the smart young man she had sent off. I was now a dirty, crumpled wreck with torn clothes and grime.
But hey – always start as you mean to go on.
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