They say with age comes experience but that isn’t always the case. No, I take that back, it does give you experience, it is whether you decide to learn from that experience or not. I would like to say I have learnt from experience but there are times I know that I haven’t.
I write short stories that tend to be based on something that has happened in my life, and this isn’t that much different. So without further ado, I bring you……………..
Life and what they don’t tell you at school
The first thing I wish they told me at school was that these were going to be the best days of your life, that everything that came after would be harder and that as soon as you walked out of the gates for the last time, a lot would be expected of you. That life is tough and those three – five years you were going to need to settle down and concentrate. Because this time period more or less sets you up for the rest of your life. When I grew up, it was the 80’s and to be for life to this point had been carefree. The only issue I had ever had was being accused of not submitting my own work, in middle school. My Mother had to go in and talk to my English teacher, it was one of the only times I had seen her really lose her temper. That and when my friend swore walking home from school and she thought it was me and I got the beating of a lifetime. My teacher was taken aback by the way my Mother had a go at her, her face was red and I swear I could see steam coming from her ears. How dare the teacher accuse her darling son of not submitting his own work and therefore cheating. After all I had come third regionally for a letter writing competition for the post office. Why would I need to cheat I had a talent, besides being amazingly lazy I could write a good story, beginning middle and end. So besides that life was good.
I was born and still am an only child, if my Mother could of got away with saying I was the product of an immaculate conception she would of done so. My Father had come home one day and said that my Mother was not bringing me up right and walked out, never to be seen or heard of again. I later found out that this was a trademark move by him. But more of him later. I was born in the town of Oxford, in a flat in the area of Cowley. My only real memories of that place were stubbing my toe on a wooden chair and crying, only to be told I deserved that, I think I was three. And watching one day while my Mother lost her rag and threw my toys out of the third floor window, the sight of Teddy and my magnetized letters lying on the pavement outside will live with me forever, I was inconsolable. Seeking comfort in my security blanket, something that never left my side until I was 21 (I tell a lie it was later but it’s embarrassing).
From there we moved to a three bedroom house, I say three it was two large rooms and box room that just about fitted and bed. My room was large, built into the wall was cupboard, big enough for me at the age of 6 to stretch right out in and often sleep. I spent my days making zip wires made of rope from my bedroom window to the garden fence for my Action Men, with the (as the Americans say “Kung Fu Grip”) and moveable eyes. And the odd parachute made of a pillow case when I couldn’t be bothered to run up and down the stairs with the zipwire game. Action Man just laid on the ground for 24 hours collecting dirt and moisture. School was good, highlight of most days was playing with Star Wars figures and watching Lorraine eat crayons for a dare. If I only knew then, what I know now about Star Wars, i would be better off. Those action figures cost a lot of money these days, the original ones. Especially Han Solo and the Millenium Falcon. School was built next to a large field of corn and a playing field that the local football team would use. We used to pretend that the woods at the top of the corn field contained monsters in the shadows, and that anyone that went alone would not be returning. Being the only child that wasn’t white at the school had it’s advantages, although they tried not to make it show I knew they treated me differently. I was always picked for school trips, and even got to join the first computer club, although back then a computer was a ZX Spectrum, and there wasn’t a lot you could do on it, but it was different from donkey kong on a handheld bought in duty free. At this point life was good, weekends would be spent playing football or soccer as one friends Father used to call it. Or when it was seasonal cricket with a tennis ball because a cricket ball was scary. We occasionally got on the bikes to see if we could ride up a massive (to us) hill and come down via the bumps on the grass trying to get some air. That went on until moved to middle school.
Bayswater Middle School was at the top of a hill, but was 5 minutes from my house. The big gates felt imposing, the glass doors that only the kids on their last year could use gave a sense of importance. The uniform was a red jumper and black or grey trousers. For the first year everything was good, I learnt a lot about myself that I still carry on today. I enjoyed the subjects like woodwork and home economics, a fancy word for cooking. I made some amazing biscuits one day, then got mobbed at the school gates for them. And cheese and potato pie, mash potato with a sprinkling of cheese. We had music lessons, it was there I realized I couldn’t sing or play any instrument that required me to blow into, but I could play the xylophone. And I also did the odd school play, one was a rip off of the pied piper of Hamlyn.
During my second year a new girl started, now most people change the names to protect the innocent, well this bitch wasn’t innocent so won’t protect her. Her name was Debbie and back then we didn’t have a name for them but we now call them Chavs. She started during my second year and she was put in my class, she was a right cow. Prior to this the only time I had encountered racial name calling was watching the 9 o’clock news. It was the time of appartheid in South Africa and the news regularly showed black people being beaten and shouted at, or the extreme that I saw was a guy with burning tyres around his neck. So the word Nigger and/or Paki were foregein to me. But this girl said it on a regular basis when I said something that she didn’t agree with. We fought, a lot, the worst it ever got was when she called me a nigger and while I didn’t know what it meant I knew it was meant derogatory and said to get a reaction, well my reaction was to grab her by the hair and drag her out of the classroom and into the hall where I proceeded to spit on her until pulled away by the teacher. I was sent to the headmasters office and put on report for a school record 23rd time in a year, which basically meant I was on report for a year, a whole school year. My Mother was phoned and short conversation ensued. The headmaster looking at me the whole time nodding and explain what had happened. After the phone call I was given 5 hits of the slipper, shit that hurt. When I went home nothing was said other than that you have had your punishment and we can now move on. But hitting girls was not what a gentlemen did. I remember thinking what was a gentlemen, had I ever met one?? Who was the gentle man?? Surely not the orange faced old man that we used to egg on the way to school, (for the record I deeply regret my actions towards the Orange man, mine and my friends actions could not of made his life easy, for which I apologise).
School was pretty easy, one of my classmates Simon was disabled and used an Apple 1 to communicate with the help of a lady that was always with him, he was a funny guy, and I would defend him to anyone that tried to talk trash about him. With school plays and xylophone recitals, the time went quick.
I would finish school and return home, Mum would be at work and I would attack the snacks and fall asleep, that was the beginning of the fat stage that has been with me forever, bar a two year period. I would munch snacks fall asleep and wake up to the smell of dinner cooking and as not to offend her I would eat all my dinner. It couldn’t of been easy for Mum leaving her little baby to sit at home by himself while she was at work. Mum worked her ass off as a medical secretary and to make ends meet she would from time to time take exchange students in for extra money. I didn’t mind them to be honest, I mean after all they were out all day, and they would normally stock up on maltesers and fizzy pop and go out, so I would go into their room and grab the odd packet. But just before my 11th birthday Mum took on the first foster child. Her name was Jane, she was older then me by about 6 years, she was cool, we didn’t have anything in common, but she was cool. She was with us for a year until she was legally old enough to go about her business as an adult and have control of her own life. It wasn’t until later that I realized how hard it must have been for her to live away from her family and with strangers.
The only real memory I have of her is one day smelling burning, and running upstairs to realize that her electric blanket had caught fire and was smoking the hell out of the boxroom. I turned the electric off and threw water on the fire problem solved.
Houses in the 80’s came with boilers, wood or coal fire boilers that heated the while house, it was certainly cheaper then gas. The coal was stored in a bunker which was about chest height to me and 4 ft wide. One day Mum had decided that she needed to move the bunker because she wanted to change the garden around. So the bunker was deconstructed and put to one side. Now me being a curious child decided to play with this bunker. After about half an hour I found myself pinned against the wall behind the four main panels, I was there for about 10 minutes before I realized it was cutting off my breathing, Mum ran over and pulled each panel away one by one. I could breathe again, but the embarrassment lasted ages. To make it up to me Mum had a bonfire that evening to clear the rubbish away and made baked potatoes in the embers. I used to love that, baked potato made in the garden bonfire was always a treat.
Two weeks after that, I woke up to find that we had been burgled. Now even at 11-12 I knew that we didn’t live in the best area, but I was too young to really realize what that meant. I woke up to find police taking fingerprints and checking the window that they came in through. Black powder on the window sills, and a footprint on the carpet that was too big to of been mine or my Mothers. The policeman asked me if I had heard anything to which I replied I hadn’t because at that age I slept like a baby still. But they showed a real interest in the crime and I remember within a few weeks they had called to ask how things were. Now you look at the police now and all they do is give you a crime number for the insurance company, back then it was real community policing. I assume shortly after Mum went to the council and asked for a move, because for a while afterwards she was in shock and not quite the same.
When I was 12 Welsh cousin Philip came to stay with us, he wasn’t getting along with his Mother my Aunty Norma. He was always a livewire when I had gone to Newport to visit the family, but he was always cool with me, so for me it was a good thing he came to stay. I used to go to the park on a regular basis with my childhood friend Steve and when we weren’t playing football we were walking the length of the stream about half a mile that was neck deep in some places but always fun. One day I Mum to make me feel better. But my cousin Philip was home and he ran out of the house and down to the park, where the bully was still laughing it up, five minutes later he was lying on his back with a black eye and an angry Welshman stood over him, berating him and warning him in no uncertain terms that his cousin was under protection, I felt like a king that day. Three weeks later we moved to Risinghurst, I remember clearly because on moving day I should have been at school and as the moving van drove up the hill and past school I could see everyone out for lunchbreak and I was thinking, they are suffering and I am having a day off.
The house in Risinghurst was the wrong way round. The living room was upstairs and a bedroom downstairs next to the kitchen, but we had a garage so that was a bonus, somewhere for the mini to go. It was situated in a close with a neighbor either side and three houses opposite, next door were the Coxes, Delia, Brian and son Dean. She was a battleaxe, he was henpecked and Dean was alright when he wanted to be. Opposite were the stapletons, Chris and Vicky were the kids, I knew Chris from summer playscheme as a kid and we got on alright, I liked him. Behind were the Smiths, Julie and Paul, they were cool too, they had moved from the same area we had just earlier. We lived at the entrance to the close in the close itself, were other families that over the years I had got to know, The Hutchinsons, Carol with her kids Carlton and Carmen. The Alexis’s Benny, Maggie and kids Daniel and Michael. And another family I knew the Mcsporrans and their kids Jermaine and Hayley. There were five closes in the estate all with youngish families that had moved from other areas of Oxford. The estate backed onto a place of natural beauty known as Shotover National park, which was a woodland with a sandpit as I remember it. Two roads down there was a nature reserve which was owned by the estate of C.S. Lewis the author of Alice in wonderland. It was a large pond that I used to like sitting around and pondering, throwing stones into the pond at any bubble that appeared. We had been there a few time with school on trips but living next to it was a bonus. Baker close was lovely there are times when I wish all the people that lived there could go back and live there at the age they are now because they were all wonderful people. But I digress I will come back to the wonders of Baker Close.
In my final year at Bayswater Middle School we went on two week long trips, one was to Wales, to a place called Glasbury, which was an adventure week, canoeing, abseiling, rock climbing etc. and the other was to a place in France which was a quite a big complex with chalets, guys on one side girls on the other. In the middle was a large area for sports, tennis, football and basketball. During the day we would go out into the local area and visit various places which was all very boring, although the Cognac vineyard was lovely, we were allowed a finger dip of it to taste. I say we, the children but I do remember Mr Powys the woodwork and cricket teacher, a very aggressive Yorkshireman buying a few bottles for himself. Anyway the highlight of the trip wasn’t a daytrip or a sporting thing, or anything you would expect it to be. The overpowering memory was, that I Lee T, Paul Inns and Sam Hogg and a few others bought the same hats in different colours, like fisherman hats but it was fun. But the highlight was a young girl in our group had her first period during the trip, she made such a big deal about it that everyone knew. The following morning while at breakfast, Paul Inns put jam on a napkin and ran around the breakfast room shouting, I got a period and I remember laughing my ass off for the next two days over that. I’ll get back to Glasbury later.
One thing that really upset me during my final year at middle school, was that we were always told that in our final year we could use the main doors at the front of the school because it was seen as a privilege, yet in our final year they let everyone use the doors. So another life lesson was Teachers lie.
During the summer before moving up to big school, I spent most of my time spent between different friends. Lee T, who had lived in Risinghurst all his life. And my childhood friend Steve B who had recently moved to Risinghurst, but the older area of the village. With Lee it was ice skating and bikes and with Steve it was computers and a game by the name of Kick Off 2 on Amiga 500. Always there was another friend by the name of Joe, he was from an irish family, a large irish family, I had been to primary and middle school with. He was good with bikes and whenever I had an issue he would come and help, he was a great guy with no enemies liked by all. So my summer was spent having fun, the rave culture was about to begin, and myself and lee started listening to a new band from Manchester called the Happy Mondays, horrible fashion faux pas would ensue. With Steve we would have all nighters playing the football game, from afternoon to afternoon. Occasionally stopping for food and sleep. Summers back then seemed to last longer, and this summer felt like it went on forever but it was fun and I was also bonding with the people in Baker Close. Life was great.
Summer came and went and upper school was about to start. Mum had bought me a new mountain bike and my uniform was fresh and ready to go. I met Lee on the route to school, and we rode for a few minutes and picked up Sam Hogg and Peter then rode to school, we never raced just always took time and tried to outdo each other with tricks or taking a harder line. We always ended up going through the golf course as well, little did I know that one day I would be living right next to the golf course in later years.
Oxford Boys school was an imposing looking old building in the middle of an ethnic minority area. It looked old, with a big front building with big wooden doors and 3 annexed buildings, one was a canteen and assembly hall, which lead to other classrooms, a science and economics block and a gymnasium. There were three playing fields, one for cricket and the other two for football, cricket and running. There was a wild overgrown area at the back end of the field that was used during cross country. On the first day we were all lead into an assembly hall where we were spoken to and told we were going take tests to see our knowledge and learning level. The tests were straight forward and I was confident about them, but then they gave us a test that was laid out in Finnish or Icelandic. Now I knew why the test was given to us but sheesh it was hard and I messed up, to this day I know what I did wrong but hey. I wasn’t a total retard but I wasn’t in the top percentage. My options for subjects were basic as everyone else’s but the opportunites to do interesting subjects weren’t offered, I would of love to do economics but in my category I had Craft design and technology. My home group were all jokers we were known as Arnold and had to wear burgundy tops for all sporting events even P.E., I had Jason Jones and Paul Cox both good at football and most definitely Alpha males, and a few others, our teacher Mr Millington made the soles of his own shoes from old car tyres. He was a knowledgeable man I didn’t give the credit I should of back then. Anyway during my first year at Oxford boys I had an accident, and by accident I mean I really should of paid attention to what I was doing. I was talking to Jason Jones and someone else in the science block and I had my hand up against the frame of the door. Now while we were busy gossiping I didn’t realize that my finger had slipped into the area around the hinge of the door, the door had been slowly closing and my finger had become trapped but the first I knew of it was when I felt pressure and warm fluid running down my finger. I looked at my finger, and looked at my fingers who could see the colour had run from my face. I pulled my finger out and looked in disbelief as my fingertip was dangling. My first thought was to scream, my second was to run to the nurse, I ran screaming through the school crying with my finger in the air dripping blood everywhere. The nurse saw it and immediately called the hospital and my Mother. A teacher drove me to the hospital where my Mum was waiting, a had a stitch, yes one stitch and spent the rest of the day sat in the virology lab where my Mum worked getting lollies and awws from the women there.
Six months later I experienced true loss. My friend Joe the irish guy had gone to a different school, we still saw each other most weeks, laughed and chilled and talked about bikes, of which I was on my third (thieving bastards). The story goes that Joe went home for lunch one day with a friend Andrew. Andrew says that when they were returning to school it was wet and while riding Joe went to go up the kerb, but he slipped and fell onto the road, unfortunately before he had a chance to get up a lorry was slowly moving through traffic, I drove over Joe. Two nurses who were on the scene tried to revive him but were unable to. Word spread through our school pretty quickly, once I heard the news I was inconsolable and was like a zombie for the rest of the day. I remember crying on the way home with the guys, I couldn’t believe it, I was devastated, just thinking about it now I have a lump in my throat. The funeral was a week later, on one side was Joes family, and behind them were the people from my school that knew him all in uniform. On the other were his friends from his school all in uniform. As we sat there waiting for the funeral to start I thought I could handle it. But as the funeral march music started and his brothers carried the coffin in I knew it was gonna be hard, I held it until the burial. There were only a few of us there, the family and the guys from middle school, and Dean Cox my next door neighbor. As the coffin was laid into the ground, the tears started, and they didn’t stop for a few hours. Dean put his arm around me and comforted me and took me home. I vowed on that day that I would always remember him, and I have and so for the past 23 years I have supported Arsenal Football Club the club he supported while alive. Long live Joe forever in my memory.
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So Joe is now dead and life goes on. School was the same, good times and boring times (sleeping in Religious Education). The only thing that made bearable was table tennis at lunchtime and our music teacher. I can’t remember her name now but she must of freshly qualified, because she was mid 20’s and stunning. About 5’3”, curly blonde hair, a lovely cleavage and a smile that just did something to a 13 year old school boy. I wasn’t musically talented, I can make a noise with instruments, but nothing you can call a tune. Whenever it was lesson end I would always help put the things away partly because I was looking at her ass and partly because I hated the next lesson, I mean who the hell needs to learn French??. And the times which were a few I was on report for behavior she always gave me an A+. For about 6 months she was a major point of interest. We broke up for Easter, and she never returned, there was a rumour she had been heard/seen sexing the history teacher, if it was true don’t blame him. But the new music teacher was about 50, and grumpy, music was never the same again.
From what I remember there were a few highlights with school that have stayed in the mind. Firstly, one October there were the traditional rain storms which normally didn’t really affect us, but this October there was a lot of rain, the road outside the school was on a hill and you could see a stream running down the street, pooling at the bottom making massive puddles that is you were walking along the pavement you were going to get wet by passing traffic. Me and the lads used to ride along a path next to the school which in turn was next to a stream and the path was flooded, knee deep in water, yet to us it was a bit of fun we rode through it. Halfway along the path ran into a couple of asian guys that earlier in the day were giving it the banter but when we gave it back they took offence, no racist comments were said but they took offence. They stopped us and for about 10 minutes it was handbags then bam, got smashed in the nose, it bled, and that was the first of about three times that my nose has bled. Last I heard he was on remand for child trafficking and child rape. So I got away lucky.
Skiing. I went three times with the school, each time it was me and the same guys, 1 week in Austria, after 24 hours in a coach. The journey there was always fun, because of said trips I now know the whole song to You’ve lost the loving feeling from the film Top Gun. I blame Damian Scraggs and Samuel Hogg for that, God they loved the film. I don’t think we ever slept on the journey there if we did it was in some uncomfortable position on the floor in front of the seats. A few things happened during the skiing trips. First time we ever went I managed to unclip a ski while on the ski lift, the instructor had to go down the mountain, find it and bring it back up. Was funny at the time but trying to get off a ski lift with one ski was very comical. Also we used to be able to smoke and drink on these holidays because we had got permission slips. I didn’t smoke then but I did occasionally try the various different schnapps that were available, bloody lovely stuff, shame it considered a girls drink now.
The third and last year we went a couple of things happened. As 6th formers we were put in charge of the other kids. It was our responsibility to wake them up in the morning and make sure they were ready to go in the mornings and make sure they behaved when we returned in the evening. During one evening me and some others had sneaked off to get some alcohol and have a fag. When we came back we found hardcore german porn in the toilets, after a quick look through and plenty of giggling we decided to leave it there for someone else, funny thing was it stayed there till the end of the week, and considering at some point the male teacher had to have seen it and left it there made it funnier. But that night I was tired, I mean shattered so as soon as I got into my room I went to sleep. I woke up after about three hours to find my roommate was awake and just looking at me like I had done something wrong, I went back to sleep. I woke up in the morning threw water on my face and woke up the younger guys, at which point they pointed out that I had managed to lose an eyebrow during the night. A quick investigation lead to the culprit, Ben Wyles, very middle class with a father who wrote for the daily mail. I went to my room and pulled out an scalpel blade and went to bens room the guys were all awake and walked over to his bed, put the tip of the blade into my arm and dragged the blade upwards, not enough to cause major damage but enough to draw blood, the sight of blood make him gag and eventually puke my job was done. Later that day I was on the slope and my skis crossed just as I was lining up next to the guys, we kinda had free reign during the day our only requirement was we had to be at a certain place at a certain time for lunch. Anyway, as I was lining up with the guys the skis crossed and I fell, sliding into to Sam Hogg who feel into Damian who feel into Ben who fell into Lee. The ski pole that was attached to my wrist flicked back and caught me on the top lip, my lip grew to the size of a Pete Burns lips. And to the fact I had to wear a bandana over my missing eyebrow I looked kinda stupid. But will forever have good memories about that trip. Or I should say trips..
Shortly after I re-sat the relevant GCSE’s CDT (had discovered cannabis the year before and smoked the night before exam, suffice to say I didn’t get out of bed for exam) and History, the native Indians of amrica was a boring subject, or maybe it the teacher. Three days after that exam I was free, my government sponsored obligation to education was finished. It felt good, I mean really good. Had the summer to chill out and relax. But it’s like I said school can teach you everything about every subject, it doesn’t teach you about life itself. And while it is fresh in my memory, to any school that gives kids that stupid fucking test that says you can be this, that and the other when you leave school, as part of careers, your killing kids hopes and dreams, because if they don’t get the answer they want they are gonna be demoralized for a long time to come.
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