(1950 -1962)
Ethelbert Road Infants School, Faversham
In 1950 we moved from the country cottage in Sussex to Faversham, Kent, as Dad had joined the police force. Everything changed for me, at four and half years old I was sent to Ethelbert Road Infants School, Faversham. We had a school uniform of sorts, I don’t think it was compulsory, a grey brimmed Hat, blue cardigan, grey pleated cross-over pinafore skirt, white shirt. We had a blue gingham dress in the summer and I seem to remember a blazer. It was a new school in every way not only were the buildings new they hadn’t finished the toilet block outside for some time boys and girls were sharing one.
Modern teaching methods were also introduced. Play was the order of the day, with sand, toys, blocks, music and movement. I do remember counting to ten, dancing to the Radio and having school milk in the mornings. I don’t remember much about the school dinners, just that the gravy was foul.
In the three years I was there I learnt very little and could barely read or add up. The teachers were nice, but I don’t remember any names. I remember Mum walking me to school with my brother in the pushchair. Occasionally I was allowed to take my scooter to school. I must have gone to school alone at some stage as I remember being ambushed by three boys, pushed against a fence and them telling me they wouldn’t let me go, unless I said a rude word out loud. I told my parents about this after a few weeks.
Later I was allowed to walk home on my own, which I enjoyed as I could play around with Sandra, Gillian or Lauren who walked in the same direction. Gillian Bryant’s Father was a policeman; they were a Glaswegian family who lived nearby. We must have socialised with them, as I remember that they ate pretty strange food (Finny Haddock) and that their strong accent difficult to understand.
In some ways it was a very gentle introduction to school life. Then, when I was eight we moved to the quaint little village of West Malling, also in Kent.
West Malling St Marys Church Infants School
West Malling St Marys Church Infants School was a big shock to the system as it was everything my old School was not. It had very Strict rules. Boys and girls were separated in the playground, but were together for lessons. The boys and girls had gangs in the playground. We played ‘What’s the Time Mr Wolf?’ hopscotch, two-ball, did handstands, skipping games and stood on our heads. The boys played leap frog, war games, cowboys and Indians and played football. Mixing with the girls, catapults and climbing walls were not allowed.
There was no uniform this time, but our hands and nails were inspected every morning as ‘cleanliness was next to Godliness’; many times pupils were sent to wash their hands knees or faces in freezing cold water in the cloakroom. Corporal punishment was threatened and used. A large slipper was on the wall and a baton from the music lessons used as a cane.
Miss Curzon was our head mistress, we only saw her at morning assembly and dinner times. A small-framed sharp-eyed woman, she was kind, which I didn’t know at the time. As a teenager I often used to talk to her, after she had retired. She had a very large house in the high street and on a summer afternoon, she would sit reading at the open window. She probably remembered every one of her pupils and she had taught the parents of some.
Mrs Hughes took us for music and ruled with a rod of iron. Dressed in black with shinny patent leather shoes (straight out of a Harry Potter Movie) she was scary. I was given a recorder and told to play. If anyone was out of tune she would walk around behind you and tap her foot on the wood floor and make us all play it again. As I was a completely non-musical and only ever played the triangle, it was usually me she stood behind. My saviour was that I could sing, so I was in the choir, only ever Hymns were sung of course, and the odd folk song such as ‘Away with the Raggle Taggle Gypsies O’.
Our school day always started with assembly. Prayers and Psalms were expected to be learnt by heart and to this day I can recite them. Religious instruction was a lesson and we learnt the Catechism in readiness for our confirmation, which I somehow managed to avoid. We read the bible, old and new testaments, which came in very handy in later years when Jehovah witnesses come to the door. By the time I was nine, I was convinced I was on my way to Hell and damnation. We celebrated Lent, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Easter Advent, harvest festival and Christmas.
At Christmas we sang Carols in the Church and put on the nativity play which was a tradition at West Malling Church long after I had grown up. The odd thing as I look back, was May Day and dancing around the Maypole, which we all loved and were so pagan, but it was also a school celebration.
St Mary’s Church, West Malling
Miss Guinn was my teacher and I was scared of her too, but she taught me to read, bless her. I barely knew the alphabet. At first it was ‘Janet and John’ books. We had to read out loud, individually, while in a group of four. Then, for the last ten minutes of the lesson, she read us a chapter of ‘Peter Pan’, ‘Toad of Toad Hall’ and ‘Alice in Wonderland’, wonderful books that encouraged us all to read for ourselves.
Hand writing, we still had chalk boards at that time, then it was on to pencil and paper. Maths was reciting the ‘times tables’ rote fashion, basic adding, subtracting, multiplication and division.
Dinner times were a nightmare, we lined up and took our dinner back to our desk, and we had to eat everything whether we liked it or not. I did not like Celery, Butter Beans, turnip, Water cress, cabbage or parsnip. Jelly was also revolting for me, as I had been fed that every day after having my tonsils out at around 5yrs old. After we had finished everything on our plate we had to stand in line in front of the teachers holding our knives forks and plates vertically! If any of us left anything we would get the slipper. I do remember that where my desk was there was a hole in the floorboards. I dropped my most hated things on the floor and pushed them through with my foot. Thinking about it now, I was probably feeding a rat as this ploy was never discovered. We were hungry, but not that hungry, as I remember some getting the slipper. My brother started school there, but I don’t remember ever mixing with him there, we did walk home together and played in the churchyard, among the gravestones. I can remember Mum meeting us a few times, once when it had been snowing hard.
Norman Road Primary School
When I went to the new built primary school I must have been ten. Miss Gunn moved with us and I was in her class for a short while. I remember a new bright classroom with shinny floors and a stack of books, a classroom library. Greek Mythology for the young reader – I remember being fascinated by these stories and Aesop’s fables. We girls were now taught how to knit a 12-inch dishcloth, first learning how to wind a perfect ball of wool from a skein. Two girl’s, one winding and the other with her arms wide apart wool resting on her thumbs, what a tiring exercise. Presenting a perfect Knitted specimen must have taken months as I knew more about unpicking as the weeks went by. Learning to smock was also a must. The idea was to use Gingham material which we would eventually make into an apron. I’m not sure if any of us achieved that.
We learnt ‘Marion Richards Writing Style’ and graduated from pencil perfect to ink, which is a very messy business for a 10 yr. old. The ink was a powder mixed with water and your ink well was filled every day. Pens were wooden with a sharp metal nib attached to them and you dipped it in the inkwell and then wrote. An 18th century quill was a small step away. No rubbing out, getting Ink on your fingers and your clothing was very easily done.
We still had assembly and prayers but classical music would be playing as we filed into the Hall; “The Hebridean Overture” “Fingles Cave” by Mendelssohn, Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons”, Gustave Holst’s “The Planets”. It was the Headmaste, Mr Rodgers idea to give us a bit of class and I thank him for that.
We were the first intake for that new school, which was next to the cricket Field, and between the gas works and the oast houses. In the summer the place would stink as the drying of the hops began and the white oast house tops would turn around with the wind direction. In the winter, the Gasometers went up and down and the gas smell wafted across to us. The granddad of a friend of mine, Sharon Norcross, worked for the Gas Company and lived in a cottage next to the gas works. Often, we used to enjoy playing on these when they were down, I laugh when I think of it, can you imagine the dangers two 10yr olds playing anywhere near the gasometers, let alone playing on them.
For the first time we had P.E. (Physical Education) and by a complete fluke I got into the Rounder’s team, not only did I hit the ball, but I made an excellent catch too. I was more interested in a game called “Stool Ball” a kind of air cricket. For some reason, there was not, and never has been, a competitive bone in my body. I can make personal goals and enjoy achieving them, but I have never been a team player. Playtime was fun, leap frog, Hopscotch, skipping and ball games.
We were not unfit as children as we walked miles, climbed fences, walls & trees and jumping streams. We rode our bikes for miles up the North Downs to the pilgrim’s way, which was about five miles away from home. In fact, we spent a lot of time outside, Mum used to tell us to ‘go and play’ and to ‘be back in time for tea’. Weekends we made Jam sandwiches for our lunch and took them with us. In the autumn, we went “Scrumping” Apples, pears, plums and chrries from the orchards around us, we lived in the ‘Garden of England’.
My last year at the school was probably the best because I was put in the top class. The Headmaster, Mr Rogers taught that class and I think there were twelve of us. The rest of the 11-year olds (at least 30 of them) were in Mr Johnston’s class. Mr Johnston, the Deputy Head, was from Newcastle and came from the hardened North; he would throw chalk or a board rubber at you if you were talking or inattentive. Ex-Military, he believed in corporal punishment. Some of the boys and girls were rowdy and came from tough backgrounds their families had moved to Kent from London as it was still full of bomb sites and homeless people. Some were in a temporary Hostel (King Hill) awaiting council houses. The Gypsies had also found permanent homes in Kent after being pushed from county to county so it wasn’t surprising they found school difficult. While I was terrified of Mr Johnston, I now realise what a hard job he would have had teaching, so needed the strong-arm tactics.
King Hill Hostel – (The hostel was demolished and a posh estate replaced it and is now one of the richest post codes in England – re-named Kings Hill)
It was the year leading up to the 11-plus, the exam of the day. On the first parents evening, my parents were told by Mr Rogers that “Jean’s a lovely girl, an example to the class, we love having her, but she won’t pass the 11-plus. We thought she would be crushed if she went into Mr Johnston’s class. She has a good vocabulary and a reader, but her maths lets her down“.
During this second year my brother came to the school and had an accident involving worn out roller-skates, which is another story he will no doubt write about.
I loved being in that class, reading, history, art, craft and English was all I cared about and, as predicted, I failed the eleven plus. I wasn’t the only one in the class that failed, there were four others, all boys. This changed all our worlds as friends were parted and went to different schools – the children that passed went to the Grammar schools. Those on the borderline went to Technical school after being interviewed. These Schools were in Maidstone, a town about nine miles away. The rest of us plebs went to Elementary School, now grandly re-named as ‘Secondary Modern Schools’.
Clare Park Secondary Modern School, East Malling
My Secondary Modern School ”Clare Park” was in East Malling, a village a few miles away. To get there I travelled by bus, I think the cost was nine pence each way. Being a brand new school we were the first intake. The Park it was built on originally belonged to Clare House which was still there and lived in. Stone Walls surrounded it and the old oak and beech trees were on our playing fields.
Again we were the first intake, in a brand new School; there was a small class a year ahead of us. Many of the students came from the surrounding villages, the classes a year ahead of us had gone to Holmesdale Elementary School in Snodland although they were from the same local areas, they were tough and older. It was like a melting pot, many were Londoners who had been resettled. I remember Polish refugees, Americans from the Air base at West Malling, Irish, Welsh, and Dutch. There was an Agricultural Research Station in East Malling and overseas families often stayed for a few months, or a year, when working there. French and Italian children would join us and be of interest, until the novelty wore off. Being very shy I found the first years very hard.
We had a uniform, but as long as we wore the school colours of Blue, yellow and grey it was OK. Our gym kit was navy-blue Knickers, white blouse and black plimsolls. We played Netball, Hockey and Tennis. Netball and Hockey were bearable, but Tennis never appealed to me. We made our own pleated netball skirts in Needlework class. We did long jump, high Jump and running, had the dreaded annual sports days and the most dreaded of all – cross country runs. Cross country was five miles across the park, scrambling up and over ragstone walls around the village and back through the Clare Estate. I hated it; fortunately a few children hated it with me and took it in turns to be the last group back through the School gates. At first, they had a few teachers on duty points at the start and finish, but later more were roped in, as some of us had been cheating and hid out on route, walked, took a short cut and joined in at the finish. I tried being off sick a few times, but Mum would be onto it.
In the winter we had Gym, climbing ropes, which hung off the ceiling, no rubber safety mats if you fell. I still remember the awful rope burn I got from sliding down too quickly. The vaulting horse was made with a suede leather covering, which if you didn’t clear it properly also gave you a burn rash. The bar was all right as I had good balance and hand-over-hand was easy. Now I think about it, there was none of the safety equipment used today, but we all survived.
Showers after Gym were appalling, cold, concrete and communal, you ran from one end to the other. The only exception was if you were menstruating, then you could have a separate one with a shower curtain. We all undressed and dressed in the same area though, so there wasn’t much point in the concession. I soon learnt that if you had a verruca you could not have a shower. I did genuinely have one on my big toe, but was still bunking off showers long after it had gone.
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