games means track events: sprints, the half-mile, hurdles. Not very athletic at your last school, you discover that if all else fails you can run.
Also, you take to the work. After a week struggling with base eight in mathematics and the lowest slopes of Latin and French, pennies drop. You find that schoolwork, like running, is something you can do, a resource. At the end of the first term, your year takes achievement tests in all subjects; you score in the top five in everything but religious instruction and music. You usually do your homework in under an hour and are in front of the television for
Top of the Pops
or
Softly, Softly: Task Force
. Your parents are delighted by your end-of-term report.
You wonder if you were held back in primary school. Maybe having girls in the class hampered you. You don’t see any of the girls from Ash Grove, or any of your friends who failed the Eleven Plus and went to Hemphill. You have a new life.
Suddenly, you are a leader. In the second term, Mr Waller, your form master, makes you form captain. Shane Bush, struggling to keep up in most subjects, is a hanger-on. You are wary of Michael Dixon and his friends, as clever as you but unpredictable, but become closer to Stephen Adlard, whom you barely knew at Ash Grove. Stephen is the neatest boy in the form, tie immaculately tied, homework meticulous. Without a ruler or compass, Stephen can draw perfect straight edges and geometric figures.
In the first year, from 1971 to 1972, cliques and factions coalesce. Kids you knew at Ash Grove you think of by their first names; kids who came from other schools are known to you, as to the masters at Marling’s, by their surnames. You, Stephen and Roger Cunningham are the Brainboxes, with Shane as your attendant thicko. Michael Dixon, Amphlett, Martin, Skelly and Yeo are the Forum, clever but useless at games. Trickett, Holmes and Ferguson are the Rugby Hulks. Beale, Pritchard (Vanda’s twin brother) and Fewsham are the Trouble-Causers.
In the second year, from 1972 to 1973, you are in a form with Stephen, Cunningham and Michael – you all continue Latin, which two-thirds of your year drop – but Shane is relegated to a thicko stream. You still hang around together at break. Shane brings along Gully Eastment, a new friend from his form. Eastment isn’t really a thicko, but mad moments hold him back: if dared, he’ll try anything from climbing the outside of the school to setting light to all the magnesium in the chemistry lab. He’s the only boy you know well who has been caned, bum striped scarlet by the head, ‘Chimp’ Quinlan.
You feel yourself draw ahead of the pack, as you usually do towards the end of the half-mile, getting a third wind, finding new strength, new speed. Wally Berry, the games master, calls you ‘Streak’ and cautions you about pacing yourself. As you run, you always sense others at your heels, gaining fast. Even when you’ve sprinted well ahead of your closest rival, you sense the shadows of pursuers flickering at your heels.
You run fast because you think you are being chased. You don’t like to think about who or what might be chasing you. You just know they are there, relentlessly pounding the gravel, matching your strides.
At the beginning of the third year, in 1973, which you hear will be the last year Marling’s exists as a separate school, you draw up a life schedule, carefully writing it out on a sheet of exercise paper. In your future, you’ll have two years at Ash Grove Comprehensive, where you will take O Level courses, then two years at Sedgwater College, where you will take A Levels. Then you will read modern languages at Oxford or Cambridge, graduating with a First in 1981. After education, you will get a professional job. Something with a starting salary higher than that your father earns after twenty years with the bank. By 1987, when you are twenty-five, you will be ready to get married, buy a house, and father two children, a boy and a
Also, you take to the work. After a week struggling with base eight in mathematics and the lowest slopes of Latin and French, pennies drop. You find that schoolwork, like running, is something you can do, a resource. At the end of the first term, your year takes achievement tests in all subjects; you score in the top five in everything but religious instruction and music. You usually do your homework in under an hour and are in front of the television for
Top of the Pops
or
Softly, Softly: Task Force
. Your parents are delighted by your end-of-term report.
You wonder if you were held back in primary school. Maybe having girls in the class hampered you. You don’t see any of the girls from Ash Grove, or any of your friends who failed the Eleven Plus and went to Hemphill. You have a new life.
Suddenly, you are a leader. In the second term, Mr Waller, your form master, makes you form captain. Shane Bush, struggling to keep up in most subjects, is a hanger-on. You are wary of Michael Dixon and his friends, as clever as you but unpredictable, but become closer to Stephen Adlard, whom you barely knew at Ash Grove. Stephen is the neatest boy in the form, tie immaculately tied, homework meticulous. Without a ruler or compass, Stephen can draw perfect straight edges and geometric figures.
In the first year, from 1971 to 1972, cliques and factions coalesce. Kids you knew at Ash Grove you think of by their first names; kids who came from other schools are known to you, as to the masters at Marling’s, by their surnames. You, Stephen and Roger Cunningham are the Brainboxes, with Shane as your attendant thicko. Michael Dixon, Amphlett, Martin, Skelly and Yeo are the Forum, clever but useless at games. Trickett, Holmes and Ferguson are the Rugby Hulks. Beale, Pritchard (Vanda’s twin brother) and Fewsham are the Trouble-Causers.
In the second year, from 1972 to 1973, you are in a form with Stephen, Cunningham and Michael – you all continue Latin, which two-thirds of your year drop – but Shane is relegated to a thicko stream. You still hang around together at break. Shane brings along Gully Eastment, a new friend from his form. Eastment isn’t really a thicko, but mad moments hold him back: if dared, he’ll try anything from climbing the outside of the school to setting light to all the magnesium in the chemistry lab. He’s the only boy you know well who has been caned, bum striped scarlet by the head, ‘Chimp’ Quinlan.
You feel yourself draw ahead of the pack, as you usually do towards the end of the half-mile, getting a third wind, finding new strength, new speed. Wally Berry, the games master, calls you ‘Streak’ and cautions you about pacing yourself. As you run, you always sense others at your heels, gaining fast. Even when you’ve sprinted well ahead of your closest rival, you sense the shadows of pursuers flickering at your heels.
You run fast because you think you are being chased. You don’t like to think about who or what might be chasing you. You just know they are there, relentlessly pounding the gravel, matching your strides.
At the beginning of the third year, in 1973, which you hear will be the last year Marling’s exists as a separate school, you draw up a life schedule, carefully writing it out on a sheet of exercise paper. In your future, you’ll have two years at Ash Grove Comprehensive, where you will take O Level courses, then two years at Sedgwater College, where you will take A Levels. Then you will read modern languages at Oxford or Cambridge, graduating with a First in 1981. After education, you will get a professional job. Something with a starting salary higher than that your father earns after twenty years with the bank. By 1987, when you are twenty-five, you will be ready to get married, buy a house, and father two children, a boy and a
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