Back then, if I wrote “Herbie” I meant this anthropomorphic vehicle…
I ran out of steam for diary entry writing towards the end of April 1974. Well, I had been doing it for nearly four months by then. I suppose I had earned a sabbatical, or perhaps I was afflicted with juvenilia-writer’s-block.
When I returned to diary-writing at the end of November 1974, I think my efforts were pretty much continuous for a further 15 years. I regret the absence of entries between May and November 1974, but there’s not much I can do about that now.
Ian Sandbrook (who was my 1S form master and is now my e-mail-pen-pal) suggests that I could ask a chat-bot to make up some entries. But that strikes me as a rather low grade task for such a pinnacle of technology. If vast amounts of processing power is going to produce confabulatory text, it should do so on matters of greater import than my 11/12 year old’s diary entries.
I might try trawling my memory and the memories of other Alleyn’s alums for tales of derring-do in the summer term of 1973/74 and the autumn term of 1974/75. I certainly have a few summer holidays memories to share from that year.
Anyway, let’s make the most of what we have left, a few rather sketchy days bringing up the end of the Easter break and the start of the summer term:
Sunday, 21 April 1974 – Classes morn. Afternoon G[randma] Anne.
Monday, 22 April 1974 – Russell [Holland] – Herbie and Run Cougar Run. A good day.
Tuesday 23 April 1974 – New [term] at school, G Jenny afternoon, Classes.
Wednesday, 24 April 1974 – Sports – fives and tennis – uneventful – all ok.
Thursday, 25 April 1974 – Latin ok.
Russell Holland was a friend from my primary school, Rosemead.
There’s Russell at our Rosemead passing out parade, left of picture. Alan Cooke (both Rosemead and Alleyn’s) is the other boy in this picture
It’s quite a childish idea, an anthropomorphic car with a mind of its own, but then the Herbie movies were Disney films. My anthropomorphic car, Dumbo, writes sensibly about all manner of things when the fancy takes him, sometimes on my blog and sometimes on King Cricket, such as the following piece about his run in with the police…
It seems I played a bit of tennis as well as cricket that summer term at Alleyn’s and it seems we started learning Latin, I think with Doggie Johnson, the junior school head.
Perhaps I am confusing my Hebrew classes with my Latin classes, but I think the lessons might have gone a bit like this:
OK, in truth my memory fades, but I still find that Life of Brian sketch one of Python’s very best. If other alums from my year wish to chime in with memories from that third term at Alleyn’s, real, false or just funny, now would be a good time.
If you need a musical memory jogger, the following was Number One and a sound you just couldn’t avoid at that time:
Escaping from the Colditz prisoner of war camp…but only for fun
Tennis continued to loom large in my Easter holidays story, although it is clear from my diary entries that others were losing interest, making the visits to the tennis club rarer:
OK, OK, I’ll translate it. Just hold on a tick.
Sunday, 7 April 1974 – Yomtov [Pesach, aka Passover], so no [Hebrew] classes. Not a good day.
Monday, 8 April 1974 – Bought paints. Painted soldiers. Another bad day!!!!
Tuesday, 9 April 1974 – The Black Arrow [1973] cartoon in morn. Afternoon tennis coaching. No classes, so later tennis.
Wednesday, 10 April 1974 – A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court cartoon. Tennis very good Gary and Mark were there only -people are losing interest.
Thursday, 11 April 1974 – very uneventful.
Friday, 12 April 1974 – Good Friday – Dad home. Good fun. Dad had fun too! Shopped for suits.
Saturday, 13 April 1974 – took a rest. Uneventful day.
I managed to find the Connecticut Yankee film on YouTube, but not The Black Arrow one from the 1970s:
I’m trying to work out who Gary and Mark (the last lads standing with me playing tennis) might have been. I’ll guess that Gary was Gary Sugarman who lived in our road. Gary did have a brother whose name escapes me – possibly Mark. I don’t remember a Mark in our street or entourage from thereabouts.
A message from Alan Cooke which I think unequivocally solves the “source of Escape From Colditz” query:
The Cooke household certainly owned ‘Escape from Colditz’. It was an unusual board game as it required one player to be the German Security Officer who essentially had to thwart all the others.
The rules were a bit vague in some areas allowing vibrant ‘discussion’ in family play
I remembered that Andy and Fiona Levinson were involved and several other kids of our age from the street and local area. The following week’s diary is revealing in several additional ways.
I’ll transcribe the diary entries in full at the end of this article, because I want to focus on a couple of key facts that leap out of the page at me.
The first obvious point is that tennis gets a mention in every entry, except the Sunday one which was dominated by (Hebrew) classes and family s*it.
But the item that screamed off this page at me, inducing mixed emotions of joy and embarrassment, is the entry for 3 April:
Wednesday 3 April 1974. Morn uneventful. Afternoon tennis: Gary [Sugarman] Stewart [sic – actually Stuart Harris] and John [almost certainly Davies], M singles & doubles tournament – SH & I won!
The reason for my embarrassment is that I maintained, for best part of half a century, that I had never won anything at hand/racket sports.
…when I again asserted, it seems wrongly, that I had never previously achieved tournament success.
Yet, it seems that my very first tournament, at Woodfield Grove Tennis Club, was, in fact, a winning one.
Just imagine the scale of that tournament and what it must have meant to all concerned. At least four participants (four are named in my diary piece). Further, the tournament was won by a couple of genuinely local boys.
Stuart Harris, my partner in crime for that tournament victory, is not a relative of mine. Our street, Woodfield Avenue, was blessed with a Harris family at each end.
Ours, the smaller Harris family, just me and my parents, at the north end of Woodfield Avenue. Stuart’s family, with multiple children, at the south end of the same road. Stuart’s dad was named Nathan, known as Naff. Stuart’s family were referred to as “The Naff Harrises” to distinguish them from our family, which might thus have been described as “The Tasteful Harrises”, but were probably known as “The Peter Harrises”…or possibly an adjective I would prefer not to learn about after all this time.
Parenthetically [did you see what I did there], calling my family “The Peter Harrises” would subsequently do no good at all, when another unrelated Peter Harris moved in next door to my parents’ house. A nightmare for the postal and delivery services ensued.
The headline photo shows me and Stuart larking around in The Tasteful Harris garden a couple of years later. Sadly, we have no pictures of me and Stuart in action, pulling off our stunning tournament victory that day in 1974, but I did commission DALL-E to reimagine the scene using AI technology and I think it has done quite well:
That tournament success seems to have preoccupied me so much that I simply scrubbed out the following two days. Presumably the celebrations went on deep into the night and then into the next night…
…or perhaps I was starting to lose interest in diary writing for a while, as evidenced by my seven month “sabbatical” between late April and late November that year.
Anyway, I shall use this diary discovery to try and reconnect with Stuart after all these years (I think I have found him) and we’ll see if any amusing memories and/or law suits ensue from him.
Postscript: Stuart Harris And I Are Indeed Now Back In Touch With One Another
Stuart, amongst many other things unrelated to this piece, points out that there was a Stewart in our street: Stewart Starkin, who quite probably was part of our tennis-take-up group that Easter. Indeed, re-reading my diary entry I strongly suspect that the name Stewart does indeed refer to the other Stewart and SH refers to Stuart Harris. That means that there must have been at least five of us in that tournament, which puts the victory on an even more impressive footing, don’t you think?
Here, For The Record, Is That Entire Diary Week Transcribed.
Sunday 31 March 1974 – Classes in morn. G Anne, Ida trouble [that means a family row]. VERY BAD DAY.
Monday 1 April 1974 – Tennis v good in morn. Afternoon OK. Andrew [Levinson] for badminton.
Tuesday 2 April 1974 – Tennis instruction v good. Classes good. Donuts for class notes. [Some form of sweetmeat bribery to do our studies, if I recall correctly]
Wednesday 3 April 1974. Morn uneventful. Afternoon tennis: Gary [Sugarman] Stewart [sic – actually Stuart Harris] and John [almost certainly Davies], M singles & doubles tournament – SH & I won!
Thursday X
Friday X
Saturday 6 April 1974 – Tennis morn. Afternoon uneventful. Seder v good – sung Ma Nishtana – v enjoyable evening.
Oh boy, was I hooked on the tennis early.
Here is another 1976 take on the dynamic duo that won that Woodfield Grove trophy in 1974 – the pictures below taken the same day as the headline picture:
I have put the main highlights into the headline, but it was a full tilt time for me, the last three weeks of March 1974. Not only the above things but I also did “senior work with Morris” (whatever that might be), a load more drama with Ian Sandbrook, played cricket & fives & tennis & chess & Subbuteo…and got super-excited (as the young folk now say) about the hi-fi my dad procured that month.
But I am getting ahead of myself, let’s trawl those diary pages and try to make sense of them.
Sunday, 10 March 1974 – Classes party. Bar mitzvah – Mark Briegal, very good indeed. Got drunk.
Monday, 11 March 1974 – Drama good, stamp swapping. Cricket good.
Tuesday, 12 March 1974 – Saturday periods one to four. Art good. Navy display in pool v good. Senior work with Morris.
Wednesday, 13 March 1974 – Chemistry, good. Fives v good – more tuition from elderly man. World At War, good. Benny Hill.
Thursday 14 March 1974 – Not bad day. Classes good. All is okay.
Friday, 15 March 1974 – Drama, good. Hi-fi amplifier, tuner and speakers.
Saturday, 16 March 1974 -Exeat. Listened to hi-fi. Subbuteo after. Mum in a peeve.
Mark Briegal is my second cousin once removed (one of many such cousins). I am quite sure that Mark will feel honoured that my first diary reference to getting drunk (and quite possibly the very first time I felt drunk) was on the occasion of his bar mitzvah party. I vaguely remember cousins from the Jacobs branch of that family encouraging me to partake. Also rather a lot of dancing emanating from the Jacobs side. The following example from my own bar mitzvah party nearly 18 months later.
Let’s move on.
Not too sure where stamp swapping came from; I was never really into stamps. I do recall a neighbour giving me quite a sizeable box of miscellaneous stamps from the length and breadth of the dominions, some of which, for all I know, might have real value now. I still have them somewhere and should probably let someone who knows what they are doing have a look at them one day. In short, the sun never sets on my stamp collection, nor does it ever see the light of day. I might have swapped away the best of them, of course.
I cannot fathom what a navy display in the pool might have been, nor what “senior work with Morris” might have comprised…or even who Morris might have been in this context – Colin perhaps?
This was a big deal for me. I loved that hi-fi. Dad loved that hi-fi. I think he spent quite a lot of money on it, perhaps unaware that there were desperately difficult financial times just around the corner for him. Dad prioritised the hi-fi over the purchase of a colour TV – the latter purchase being beyond his means for a year or so after the purchase of the hi-fi.
I’m all of a quiver having found an image of that wonderful beastie.
Not sure what I was doing with Subbuteo and/or the hi-fi that put mum in a peeve – presumably playing for too long and/or playing music too loud while playing for too long. Mum would need to get over that – such conduct, although not recommended to younger readers who might stumble across this piece, became quite common in our household.
The Next Week Including The Mikado With Trevor Tindale
Sunday, 17 March 1974-Classes good. Feld’s lunch. Home after Kalooki 3p.
Monday, 18 March 1974 – Drama play Sherlock Holmes. Cricket good. Waltons good.
Tuesday, 19 March 1974 – Art good. Classes good. Likely Lads good.
Wednesday, 20 March 1974 – Fives v good indeed. Mikado – Tindale, extremely good as Ko-Ko.
Thursday, 21 March 1974 – Classes good. Uncle Cyril for chess – nice one Cyril.
Friday, 22 March 1974 – Acted play. Drama v good. Stereo player v good.
Saturday, 23 March 1974 – 27th in class. In afternoon, listened to record player.
This lifted from the Alleyn’s performing arts book – hoping that Mike Jones might dig out the full programme
The Alleyn’s Performing Arts book suggests that the school’s Gilbert & Sullivan was revived around 1973, primarily by Iwan Davies and Trevor Tindale, with the blessing of the Music Master Frank “Pop” Kennard. The Mikado would have been the second production.
My memory is clear that the first G&S I ever saw was the Pirates of Penzance, but whether that was the Alleyn’s production (either in my first term or perhaps before I started but once it was known I was to join the school), or possibly a professional production with my parents, I cannot recall. I can clearly visualise Iwan Davies and Trevor Tindale in their Mikado roles. I remember my folks being very impressed with it and loving it myself.
I went on a bit of a G&S binge in the aftermath of this show, borrowing any G&S I could find in the Lambeth Public Library and scraping it onto reel-to-reel tape at a rather shocking 1.875 IPS speed, which rather defeats the object of having a classy amplifier and a decent quality reel-to-reel recorder, but there you go.
I’d love to hear and see more memories of this event and am hoping that Mike Jones can lay his hands on some additional bumf and perhaps share his own memories.
27th In Class
How did I come 27th in a class that only had 26 people in it? OK, maybe there were 29 people in the class. Perhaps counting things was part of my problem at that stage.
But actually I now would like to challenge the basis of that assessment. I know that 50 years have passed and that most people might have more important things to do than re-hash old scores…
…but I am not most people, am I?
I would like to know how this somewhat embarrassing position was assessed. There is no reference to exams in my diaries. Continuous assessment had surely not been invented back then. So how were the class positions determined? Mr Sandbrook might or might not choose to respond to this question.
Was this some sort of rating/ranking system based on the teachers’ assessment of our performance in each subject using that rather subjective method of allocating the letters A to E with pluses and minuses attached?
Did Sir (Mr Sandbrook) apply numerical scores to those modal assessment classifiers? If so, was he aware that the application of conventional quantitative statistical methods to qualitative modal data is flawed for oh so many reasons. Machine learning algorithms, which can help with this type of classification and prediction problem, were mostly yet to be postulated, let alone of practical use, in 1974.
Tuesday, 26 March 1974 – Art good. Classes good. Likely Lads v good.
Wednesday, 27 March 1974 – chemistry, good. Fives v good – Cookie won as usual !!!
Thursday, 28 March 1974 – broke up from school. G Jenny’s, missed classes, report q. good, art A- excellent.
Friday, 29 March 1974 – Uneventful, Andrew not available, wargame, Subbuteo, five-a-side cup snag.
Saturday 30 March 1974 – joined tennis club. Learnt forehand and backhand. Shopped in p.m.
I’m struggling to work out why I was so motivated to write down that I caught Nick Jarmany out at cricket. I don’t remember sporting rivalry (or indeed any rivalry) with Nick. Perhaps he had been doing very well in that particular game – the moment seeming noteworthy in that context. It’s a badge of honour, getting a sporting mention in my diaries, Nick. A badge of honour.
Interestingly, in the Wednesday entry, Alan Cooke finally gets the mention he deserves with respect to fives. My memory of it was that invariably won, although the diary documents a couple of (I suspect rare) Harris victories before this end of term confession.
Alleyn’s branded gloves hadn’t been invented back then
How did I get quite a good report for coming 27/29 in class? Sadly, mum threw away all of my old school reports without asking me if I wanted to keep them…”yes please, mum”, I’d have said…so the details are now lost in the mists of time.
I might politely ask Mr Sandbrook to try to replicate his summary in that end of term two school report, but I thought I’d ask Chat GPT to have a go first:
Despite ranking 27th in the class, Ian has shown commendable dedication and enthusiasm towards his studies and extra-curricular activities. While his academic performance may not currently reflect his efforts, his attitude towards learning is admirable. He has actively participated in various school activities, displaying a keen interest in broadening his horizons beyond the classroom. With continued perseverance and focus, Ian has the potential to improve his academic standing and excel in his studies. Keep up the good work and maintain your positive attitude towards learning.
Oooh, I rather like that. I feel inspired to buck up my ideas and work a bit harder next term. That report might even stave off my mum’s peevishness.
School’s Out
I love the reference to Andrew [Levinson] not being available and a Subbuteo five-a-side cup snag. Presumably the latter caused by the former, as there is no sign of anyone else to play with that day.
Contrast with “joining tennis club” the next day, which I am pretty certain also involved Andrew and Fiona Levinson, plus some other kids from our street. I have written a whole entry to commemorate the 50th anniversary of me starting tennis, as that feels rather important given the amount (and varieties) of tennis I have been playing avidly since that day.
Election cliff hanger. Water polo, good. Drama, good.
Saturday 2 March 1974
School morn, good. Penalty prize good. Exam tomorrow – prepared.
Sunday…Visited Motel In Hospital…
Motel was someone my Grandma Anne had picked up along the way. Goodness knows where she found him…probably in a kosher hotel in Bournemouth. Or in central casting having asked for “an alte kaker from the schmutter trade”.
“…even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness!”Presumably Motel, Fiddler On The Roof, Otterbein University Theatre & Dance from USA, CC BY-SA 2.0
Grandma Anne’s friend Motel was always nice to me but consistently promised more than he ever delivered. On one occasion he told me that he was going to make me a little velvet suit…I’m still waiting. Not that I think, in retrospect, that I was or am the little velvet suit type.
I’m pretty sure it was on this occasion, in hospital, wired up to a cardiogram machine, that Motel, hand shaking, “gave me a little something”, probably 10p, which, according to my father, sent Motel’s cardiogram readings haywire. Perhaps my dad exaggerated for effect.
Monday…The Banson Mystery
Until this week, my cricket training reports had been either pithy – “good / v good” or explaining my own derring-do such as taking catches or wickets. This week I mention something pertaining to Mr Banson and I cannot for the life of me read the word. Here’s the entry blown up and enhanced as best Photoshop can:
So what was “Banson in…?” My memory of him is mostly as an impatient, old school games master whose motivational technique was primarily based on applying his hand to the boys’ heads with some force.
I would really appreciate it if the hive mind of Alleyn’s alums were to transliterate the offending word/words.
Rest Of the Week
A rare mention of loss in the fives on Wednesday. The unnamed warrior who beat me was almost certainly Alan Cooke.
Thursday and Friday I am clearly pre-occupied with the general election. I have no idea what 440-700 means in that context on the Thursday – possibly the number of people they estimated to have voted at that Synagogue-annex-cum-polling-station in Brixton. Marcus Lipton prevailed in that constituency, which will have pleased my mum who always spoke very highly of him.
No idea what “Penalty prize” means. I don’t think it was a TV show – perhaps it was something we did as games on a Saturday at school.
Sunday, 3 March 1974
Exam went well. Andrew [Levinson] came for lunch, editing learned how to splice.
Monday 4 March 1974
Cricket good. HEATH RESIGNED.
Tuesday, 5 March 1974
Art papier-mâché. Classes good. Okay walk.
Wednesday, 6 March 1974
Fives, v good. Instruction from elderly man – played in old and new courts.
Thursday, 7 March 1974
Physics 9 out of 10. Classes paper. Purim at Bolingbroke – female singer.
Friday, 8 March 1974
Water polo scored and saved goal. Drama v good.
Saturday, 9 March 1974
School morning. Typed play in afternoon. Doctor Who v good.
I’m a little surprised to see “learned how to splice” at such an age – I thought I’d been editing tapes from an earlier age than that. But on reflection, I realise that the splicing method required for reel-to-reel tape included an open blade and my guess is that my dad needed convincing that I was ready to use something as potentially dangerous (to myself I hasten to add) as an open blade.
I love the fact that “Cricket Good” is trumped by, in block capitals, HEATH RESIGNED on the Monday.
Tuesday: Spelling Bee
My attempt to spell papier-mâché has to be seen in the original to be believed. Still, how would you have spelt it, dear reader, had you not seen my spell-checked version in this article?
Wednesday: Rugby Fives Tuition From Elderly Man, Aged 41
When I raised the matter of this “elderly man” with Mike Jones a few years ago, he informed me that it must have been John Pretlove, a name that rang a bell. A fine county cricketer and doyen of Rugby Fives, John was, at that time, often at a loose end and would come down to his alma mater, Alleyn’s, to watch and give informal instruction to the boys.
I was a little shocked when Mike told me that John was 41 in early 1974.
“But I seem to remember having to help the elderly man down from the viewing bench when he offered to help me”, I said. “He was already not in good shape by the early 1970s”, said Mike, “he’d worn out a lot of parts playing multiple sports”..
This might have been the occasion that Barry Banson had clipped me around the back of the head and called me “uncoachable” in front of John. I was upset, as I had been humiliated in front of this senior fellow. But after I helped John Pretlove down from the viewing bench he showed me what he thought Banson was trying to show me – getting my front leg well forward, getting right down to the ball and using my shoulder to give the ball some humpty around the walls. It became my best shot, both left and right-handed.
Rest Of The Week
I’m not sure which was the greater miracle – me scoring 9/10 in a physics test or me scoring and saving a goal at water polo. Several of the people in my year who really were good at water polo might read this piece at some point. Please let me know what you think…as if you guys need any encouragement to let me know what you think.
I’m not sure which of our “plays” this might have been, but this was the fruit of our drama class so it is just possible that this “typing of play” reference is about the Greek classics piece I have previously written about.
Sir (Ian Sandbrook) certainly won’t remember, but he might just be able to make out what I was saying about Mr Banson on that first Monday of this fortnight. After all, Mr Sandbrook had a lot of practice trying to make out my scrawl (and that of others) 50 years ago. Here’s the extract again, in colour this time.
With thanks to Mike Jones (seated) for this 1975 picture of him with Bernard Rothbart, who, in 1973/74, taught me biology and chess
There are many mysteries in our world, but, as I type this piece, none engaging my mind more than the relatively trivial mystery, what was the “BIG TRIP” on 16 February 1974.
Clearly this matter was so very big, it warranted mentioning its planning at school the day before the trip. Also, it was clearly so very big, in my mind, that I had no need to write down what it was because, obviously, I would remember the details of that trip for the rest of my life.
It’s going to need the hive mind of my fellow former pupils and/or teachers to get to the bottom of this one. I’m holding high hopes that Dave French or Rohan Candappa or Ian Sandbrook will come up trumps for this one…
…and talking of coming up trumps, I had no recollection of learning bridge as early as February 1974. In my memory, I was deeply into chess at that time, with thanks to and encouragement from Bernard Rothbart. Bridge, I think, I was shown by my family (probably Uncle Manny and Anthony) and/but I didn’t really get into it until later.
Enough preamble, here are the diary pages, which, I must admit, presented me with some reading and interpretation challenges.
And, oh, the spelling! Sorry sir. It just goes to prove how much I needed tuition from English teachers such as Ian Sandbrook back then.
Sunday, 10 February 1974 – Lots of papers from Aaron. Ginsbury talk. 14 p. Kalooky [sic].
Monday, 11 February 1974 – Cricket good. Maths test 20 VG. PE wriggly snake. Handcraft Midgley.
Tuesday, 12 February 1974 – Horniman Museum art v good. Pot Black good.
Wednesday, 13 February 1974 – Beat Cooke 6–15, 15–10, 15–13 in fives. Man About The House v. good. World At War, v good.
Thursday, 14 February 197 4 – Chess v Leach and H’s – I won although points down.
Friday, 15 February 1974 – Uneventful. Chess practice. Planned tomorrow’s trip. Beat Andrew in chess match.
Saturday, 16 February 1974 – Whent [sic] ON BIG TRIP.
14p was a big haul for me at Kalooki at that time – more than doubling the pocket money I received from my parents. Grandma Anne was probably the bigger loser although I could also clip my mum on a good day. “Did I pick up yet?” – that was one of Grandma’s catch phrases. “Whose turn is it?”…”YOURS!” – that was another.
Cricket with Mr Banson followed by handicraft with Mr Midgely on the same day – it’s a miracle I didn’t get brain damage from the repeated cuffing around the head!
I very well remember those school visits to the Horniman Museum. I’m sure they helped form my fascination with far-flung cultures, especially those from the south seas.
I have mentioned before that I seemed prone, in my diary, to reporting my fives wins over Alan Cooke in the diary while often omitting to mention the losses. My memory tells me that Alan was the better player by some distance and would win more often than lose against me. This method of recording is contrary to those of noble Renaissance players of jeu de paume (real tennis), such as Philip The Bold of Burgundy or Henry VIII of England. They tended only to have the losses recorded. My theory is that this had more to do with money-laundering than humility, but I digress.
The World At War, an epic history series about the Second World War, was “appointment to view” stuff in our household and I’m sure many others during that 1973/74 academic year. I don’t mention it every week, but I’m pretty sure it was on in our living room every week and that I watched most of them with my parents.
Regarding the chess wins, I have less recollection about my chess progress than my fives progress, other than the fact that I got frustrated with chess after a relatively short while and didn’t really follow through with it, in contrast to my lifelong love of hand/bat and ball games. I’m guessing that there might well have been a fair number of unrecorded chess losses too.
But what, in the name of all that is good and pure, was the BIG TRIP that Saturday? Speculation in the absence of clear memories will be gratefully received. Clear memories will be even more gratefully received.
Sunday, 17 February 1974 – Aaron gave even more prep. Learnt bridge, Queen’s gambit.
Monday, 18 February 1974 – Rather bad day. Barbers, went to library with quiz for music in particular.
Tuesday, 19 February 1974 – Taught Andy [Levinson] bridge. G[randma] Jenny. Trousers. Classes. Geography, v good.
Wednesday, 20 February 1974 – Last day of half term. Bridge with Andrew. Mum had her hair permed. World At War, V good – Reich 1940 to 1944.
Thursday, 21 February 1974 – New half of term. Lost chess match. But on the whole not bad day.
Friday, 22 February 1974 – Swimming v good. Drama, did Candid Camera, v good. Chess v Cyril– Up.
Saturday, 23 February 1974 – School morning. Shopping and learning afternoon. Learning and thriller evening.
Ok, ok, folks, I don’t need you to tell me that bridge is bridge and Queen’s gambit is chess. I’m pretty sure this proves that it was Uncle Manny and or cousin Anthony who showed me bridge and a new (to me) gambit for chess on that Sunday.
Uncle Michael, Me, Anthony, Auntie Pam
“Rather bad day…barbers”. I have written elsewhere about my aversion to having my hair cut when I was a kid – this link – here and below – includes a picture of that very barber shop, Ronnies, in Streatham.
“Went to library with quiz for music in particular”. I think Mr Sandbrook set us all a rather fiendish quiz to keep us occupied over half term. Probably another of his ruses to get us into the habit of going to the public library – a habit for which I needed little additional encouragement – but I think that quiz got me looking at sections I wouldn’t otherwise have explored. Top marks, Sir.
I love the way I ended up teaching (or “tourt” as I put it) Andy Levinson how to play bridge five minutes after I’d been shown the basics. Poor chap didn’t stand a chance with a “tourter”…I mean teacher…like me.
I didn’t have it in me to name my chess nemesis on the Thursday.
It seems that we “did Candid Camera” as our drama Friday session that week. How that might work I cannot quite fathom, unless the idea for our drama class was for us to write the scenarios for candid camera vignettes, and/or act as if we were being surprised by hidden cameras. I’m absolutely sure that Sir knew what he was doing and I am positive that it was very good because I wrote “v good” in my diary.
I am 99% sure that My chess victim on the Friday, Cyril, will have been Cyril Barnett the next door neighbour, not “Cyril” Vaughan the Alleyn’s teacher.
Cyril teaching me pancake making while my dad was teaching me a bit about photography. c1978
I have no idea what the Saturday entries “Shopping and learning afternoon. Learning and thriller evening.” I do remember having educational magazines named “World Of Wonder” and “Look And Learn” – perhaps “learning” was my shorthand for burying myself in those. Thriller might have been a TV programme or film. Thoughts and ideas on this, as with other topics in this piece, would be most welcome.
I’m not sure when the Bolingbroke cheder folded, but it will have been at some point between 1971 and 1973, I suspect it closed in the summer of 1972 or 1973. We survivors form that experience were scattered – some went to Streatham while others of us went to Brixton.
Andy and Fiona Levinson for sure came to Brixton. I’m pretty sure Wendy Ornadel also. Jonathan Davies was there too – I’m not sure whether or not he was a fellow refugee from Bolingbroke. I’m pretty sure Mark and Simon Phillips switched to Streatham not Brixton – hopefully Mark will recall.
Other people I remember from Brixton were the Laikin brothers (Richard and Graham) and Lloyd Green, whom I knew from Rosemead, with whom I wrote/edited a cheder magazine later in our time there and who was at Keele University, overlapping with me for a couple of the years there too. Sandra Corbman was there at Brixton whereas Natalie Calvert was not. In Sandra’s case, she needed to remind me, in Natalie’s case I was pretty sure she’d been at Brixton but I was wrong – I remembered her from Rosemead School. not Brixton cheder. Were you at Brixton or Streatham, Liza Abrahams? (“Neither”, says Liza, she went to West London Reform in Seymour Place). Also I recall knowing Karen Eagles before the BBYO years and suspect that was probably through Brixton cheder. Linda Phillips I think went to Streatham, although she had, a year or so earlier, been at the same Brixton kindergarten as me and Sandra – the latter evidenced in the press as well as Ogblog:
For those of us with bar or bat mitzvah approaching, in addition to Sunday morning classes, we were expected to attend additional classes on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. This started around the time I started secondary school at Alleyn’s. In retrospect, I now realise that my chances of becoming good at any school sport were thus nixed. My limited talent at sport added to the minimisation of my chances at sporting glory.
I started keeping a diary in 1974, although I took a break between April and November that year – needing an early sabbatical before hunkering down to write pretty much daily between late 1974 and 1988.
This piece is an attempt to dredge my thoughts about that 1974 period at Brixton, with the help of my diary mentions and also, hopefully, a little help from my friends who read this piece and chime in with their own memories.
The First Quarter of 1974 Diary Says…
Actually the first mention of “classes” is an absence of them. “Missed” must mean that there were classes that day but I didn’t attend. No reason given. We went out with Grandma Anne after classes regularly. Perhaps I’d had an epiphany after Christmas…or am I reading too much into the above image.
My midweek diary references only refer to my attendance, never with any detail about the session. But my Sunday morning notes are quite informative.
Miss Aaron away. Mr Ragshaw gave teaser. I was right…
In truth I don’t remember Mr Ragshaw. He might have been the “headmaster” of the cheder or he might have been a locum. I do recall that the headmaster fellow, if you went to see him, always seemed to be eating surreptitiously in his office. He was probably just a greedy guts who couldn’t wait for his lunch, but the scoundrel rumour amongst us pupils was that he must have been surreptitiously eating bacon sandwiches. (No way!)
Note the comments in ink by a slightly older juvenile version of me, who went through those early diaries at one time, kibitzing on my own past in a cocky manner.
As January progressed into February, I sense that I was itching to get away from Miss (Ruth) Aaron and into the hands of Mr Freed. Clearly this class change (presumably a promotion) had been promised but was late coming. See the next few entries:
Part of my reason for frustration at the delayed move to Mr Freed’s class was presumably a sense of promotion deferred. But part of it was probably a desire to escape the clutches of Miss Aaron, whom I recall as being a rather shrill-voiced woman who used a sharp tongue in her attempts (not always successful) to maintain discipline.
“Were you born in a barn?” or “were you born on a bus?”
,,,I recall her asking people if they entered the room without closing the door behind them.
“Shut up” or “shechet” [shut up in Hebrew]
…she would often screech.
She insisted on calling us by Hebrew names, but with some of us she chose the name (or part name). My Hebrew name is Avram Leb ben Yitzhok. For some reason, she didn’t want to call me Avram, claiming that there were too many Avrams already. In fact, I think the others were all Avraham (the more Godly version of the name) and her insistence on calling me Leb merely shifted the confusion because Lloyd Green, for example, was also a Leb.
But you didn’t argue with Miss Aaron.
In Miss Aaron’s larynx, “Leb” is a four-syllable name:
Le-ay-eh-buh
She would call out a name in that style, when she thought a pupil was not paying attention, asking them an awkward question and then chastising the child if, as she had suspected, the child had let their mind drift. I got quite good at looking as though I was listening when I wasn’t and making it look as though I was drifting when I thought I could tackle any question that might result from the piercing cry:
Le-ay-eh-buh!
I seem to recall that Mr Freed was a gentler sort, although I’m not sure he was any more effective as a teacher.
I find it hard to assess how much or how well I learnt at cheder.
One impediment to my learning was my scepticism about the whole project.
“Ginsbury Talk”
It seems we were preparing for some sort of exam at that time.
Lots of papers from Aaron. Ginsbury talk.
I’m not 100% sure that my note “Ginsbury talk” here refers to a conversation i remember having with Rabbi Ginsbury on one occasion, but I think it might well be and I might as well write up that conversation here.
Soon after starting at Alleyn’s School I became wracked with doubt about religion. I wanted to attend the religious education classes at school, which were Christianity-oriented at Alleyn’s. My parents were content for me to do so.
But it wasn’t Christianity per se, nor confusion between Christianity and Judaism, that started to trouble me. It was extreme doubt about the whole God business. At one point (I think subsequent to speaking with Rabbi Ginsbury), I took a book out of the public library about religions of the world. Each religion in turn seemed like a fascinating and really good idea to me at first, while the basic moral tenets and social mores were set out. But once it moved on to creation and God and the like, my scepticism would always return.
Anyway, I remember fretting to myself, it must have been around this time, that I quite possibly shouldn’t have a bar mitzvah, which is basically the Jewish form of confirmation, if I didn’t believe in God. So I decided to share my doubts and this moral paradox with Rabbi Ginsbury.
Rabbi Philip Ginsbury died in 2023 – here is a link to his Jewish Chronicle obituary. He was a strictly orthodox Rabbi. Mostly kind and gentle – certainly in his manner towards children at cheder or certainly at least towards me.
It must have taken some courage at that age to raise my moral conundrum with the Rabbi, but it is probably also a testament to Rabbi Ginsbury’s approachable manner that I felt able to do so. How I articulated my question is lost in the mists of time. Probably not brilliantly. But a paraphrase of Rabbi Ginsbury’s answer has stayed with me ever since.
Do you really think that God cares a jot whether you believe in him or not? The Torah instructs you as a Jew on how you should conduct your life. God’s only concern is that you conduct your life in that way.
I remember sensing that this answer did not really get to the nub of my problem, but it did give me a very clear steer on what to do about the bar mitzvah. I needed to put my head down, do the tests, learn my passage and get the bar mitzva done. Which I did.
And So It Goes On…Yes, There Was An Exam
17 February 1974 – Aaron gave even more prep.
24 February 1974 – 10X usual classes.
3 March 1974 – Exam, went well.
10 March 1974 Classes party.
I’m guessing that “10X usual classes” is a slight exaggeration. I can only wonder at the classes party and how wonderful that might have been. It will have been a Purim party – hamantashen will have been involved for sure.
10 March 1974 was a double-party day for me and I note, once again, that I claim to have got drunk at cousin Mark Briegal’s bar mitzvah party. What a disgrace.
…Soon After That, We Are Freed At Last
No classes for two weeks due to Pesach, then:
…after which the diary falls silent until November.
My memories of that time are scratchy, yet it was a significant part of my life those years. If I spent a whole morning and a couple of evenings a week doing anything, even now, I’d consider that to be a substantial chunk of my time.
If others have memories to share about this time, I’d love to house those memories with this piece.
A strange mixture of interesting, baffling and mundane diary entries in this chunk of my second term at Alleyn’s.
27 January To 2 February 1974
Sunday 27 January 1974 – Still no Mr Freed [Hebrew classes]. Grandma Anne’s. Made dad a blue moon egg.
Monday 28 January 1974 – Cricket with Banson v good batting and bowling.
Tuesday 29 January 1974 – Art good. Classes good.
Wednesday 30 January 1974 – Fives with Cookie – from 11-3 down to 16-14 up. He one [sic] other game.
Thursday 31 January 1974 – BAD DAY IN ALL
Friday 1 February 1974 – Maths test. Form drama, The Cave. PE basketball match.
Saturday 2 February 1974 – scool [sic] morning. Afternoon played filter paper.
“Blue moon egg” – my dad liked fluffy omelettes and I learnt how to make them when I was still quite small. They were (are) difficult to get absolutely right in terms of fluffiness – a bit like making a soufflé in a pan – but if I got it right, dad would announce that the egg was a blue moon egg.
I’ll talk about cricket in January at Alleyn’s separately in more detail elsewhere. At this seminal stage of our cricketing careers, I suspect that Barry Banson held back on head-cuffing as his modus operandus for “encouragement”.
In the matter of fives (Rugby fives), to be fair on Alan Cooke (aka “Cookie”), it is clear from other diary entries that I was usually the victim of his more able performances. During that early effort in January 1974, I must have found a little something extra to turn a match around thusly. Interesting that we were already playing to 15 rather than to 11. I’m pretty sure that our “proper” junior matches were played to 11.
When a bad day is all in block capitals, it must have been pretty bad. I might well have thought it needed no further exposition, as I would remember the details of its badness for the rest of my life. However, I can now report categorically that I have no idea what made that particular day bad. I can only say with some certainty that, at the time, that Thursday had not been a good one.
By Friday all was well again, with Drama Friday to enjoy and a basketball match in PE. I’m struggling to work out what “The Cave” might have been. I have already asked “Sir” (Ian Sandbrook) who is equally baffled.
There is a play called The Cave by Mervyn Peake which was written in the 1950s but not formally published until after 1974. It is possible that Alleyn’s had some “for school” copies of that piece, as some of the resources we used were not formally published books. Ian Sandbrook says:
The Mervyn Peake hypothesis has some merit as I think the English Dept did consider the Titus Groan trilogy as a candidate for the Mode 3 English Syllabus – although that is perhaps rather a fragile link.
If anyone out there remembers, then do chime in.
The late John Clarke (chemistry teacher) would no doubt have been proud of me playing with filter paper on Saturday after school. Just the sort of thing he would have wanted (perhaps even expected) boys from his chemistry class to do.
3 To 9 February 1974
This week has some even more obscure or difficult references in it. Some of it is handwriting related but some items are simply, to my mind now, truly weird things to write in one’s diary.
Sunday 3 February 1974 – Classes, Freed in March. Bechat Hamazon [grace after meals] v good.
Monday 4 February 1974 – cricket great bat good eye a hit bowl straight and good catch 4 v good, 1 good, 1 bad.
Tuesday 5 February 1974 – Art painting on wall. Classes good. Alf Garnet [sic] good.
Wednesday 6 February 1974 – Fives v Cookie. Man About The House v good.
Thursday 7 February 1974 – Very bad day. Horrible H’s in bad mood. I got the bad.
Friday 8 February 1974 – Monitor for entrance exam. Learnt some magils and /`read] a chapter second WW. Timeslip v good.
Saturday 9 February 1974 – scool [sic] in morning. Changed shoes Tuf /` + reinforcers 400] Dr Who v good.
“Freed in March must mean that I was told that I would transfer from Miss Aarons’s class to Mr Freed’s in March. Not that I was due to be released in March, nearly 18 months before my bar mitzvah. That wasn’t going to happen. Why I was so keen to mention the grace after meals I have no idea. I vaguely recall the Brixton Synagogue Hebrew Class including a sweet, calorific elevenses with Danish pastries, challah bread, jam and the like. This was partly to motivate attendance and partly to teach the meal graces in a happy context. I’ll write more on this topic in a specific piece or two and direct it towards the several friends from that era with whom I am still in touch, 50 years later. I think Andy Levinson was the only other Alleyn’s boy from our year who also attended those classes.
I’m not entirely sure what all of the Monday cricket entry means, but the England selectors might want a look at that young man, based on my description.
The Tuesday diary entry suggests that the art teacher, Mr Brew, liked one of my pieces. This wouldn’t be the last time that Mr Brew took to my crude drawings, despite my near hopelessness. My Dad, being a genuinely good artist with a steady hand and fine eye, tutored me a little at home, rendering me a bit less than useless and very keen.
Alf Garnett was the main character in Till Death Us Do Part – a comedy that wouldn’t pass muster in the modern era because, although it was ridiculing racist and misogynistic opinions, the Alf Garnett character spouted them with abandon. Here is the episode I watched that night with my parents:
Wednesday – the fact that I say “fives v Cookie” without mentioning the score tells you that Cookie must have won – probably won well.
Man About The House was a much gentler comedy than Till Death Us Do Part. Below is the episode we watched that night.
Interesting to read that 1st year pupils did monitoring for entrance exams. I have no idea what “learning magils” means. It might have been some homework for my bar mitzvah class. Also unsure what the second world war reading was about, as for sure we were studying ancient history that year. Perhaps just reading for general interest.
I had to Google “Timeslip”, but when I did so remembered that children’s programme. Unlike the above two shows, which first broadcast the above episodes on the day of the diary mentions, Timeslip was first broadcast three or so years’ earlier. Below is a short trailer which might trigger some of your memories:
I had to Google Tuf to realise that my note about changing shoes included a brand name. Back then, the brand was meant to be indestructible footwear for kids…
“Reinforcers 400” can only be a reference to buying a packet of 400 hole reinforcers. This might be the geekiest diary entry ever and surely confirms my membership of the Dull Men’s Club. We’re only a few weeks’ in to my diary and no doubt there are some well geeky entries to come.
Dr Who very good – who knew? The Doctor was Jon Pertwee at that time and Invasion of the Dinosaurs was the mini series at that time. Here is a short explaining how that season of Doctor Who worked:
Some of this TV stuff might be in colour for you (and for me now) but in 1974 the Harris household was still strictly black and white.
I’d forgotten all about hole reinforcers…I wonder whether I can find some in my draw and repair some damaged holes in my file pages?…
Sometimes the handwriting in my juvenile diaries is hard to decipher.
Other times, the scrawl is legible but the text is hard to interpret. The entry for 25 January 1974 is such an instance, rereading it 50 years later.
P.E. good + drama good. trial me a witness Downing made a mess of it.
Let us not fret about my pre-teen punctuation and sentence structure…or lack thereof.
My main concern here is with the reference to Downing.
There was no-one named Downing in 1S.
I asked a few 1S pals to hive mind this problem. Who was Downing and what on earth might Downing have done to “make a mess of it”?
Dave French suggested:
I remember that Drama class well, it was in the afternoon. Mistakenly, the dinner ladies served up magic mushrooms with lunch that day. That probably explains it – Downing was just ‘in your head’. It was quite embarrassing really; I still have nightmares.
Rohan Candappa offered an alternative theory:
Actually I remember the boy ‘Downing’. Downing was his nickname. It was a Cockney rhyming slang thing: Downing Street – Warwick Frearson.
To be honest, I think none of us really knew how rhyming slang worked.
Hmmm. The half-century-old 1S hive appears to be a bit of a struggling colony these days, especially in the matter of remembering the finer details of class activities. I can’t imagine any of the above evidence holding up in a jury trial.
“Erase from your minds inadmissible, hearsay evidence…”
I decided instead to seek help from the internet. I put the name “Downing” into the Alleyn’s 1970 Facebook Group search and found “Mike Downing” in our group, stitched up (or should I say “introduced”) by Steve Williams some years ago.
A Google Search of “Mike Downing Alleyn’s” found the gentleman on LinkedIn, asserting that he spent 1972-1979 at Alleyn’s (a year above us) and again a visible connection with Steve Williams.
There was nothing else for it. I contacted Steve Williams. Steve confirmed that Mike Downing was indeed a year above my 1S year, two years above Steve. Steve also confirmed that Mike was and still is a top bloke, who would no doubt enjoy the fifteen minutes of fame (or infamy) and rise to the challenge of trying to recall what might have happened.
Frankly, I can only imagine a few possibilities for this mystery diary entry.
The most plausible in my mind is that Mike Downing inadvertently entered our classroom half way through a double lesson. Opening the wrong classroom door by mistake during another class’s lesson was not an uncommon occurrence at Alleyn’s.
But in order to make it into my diary – a very rare mention of a specific event – the interruption was, presumably, during a key dramatic moment while I was giving evidence. I imagine myself fully in character. Lost within my back story and the highly-charged dramatic circumstances in which my character found himself. Such an interruption would, in those circumstances, have utterly demolished the fourth wall. My potentially monumental acting career thus cruelly interrupted, never again to find the giddy artistic heights that were just that moment about to blossom. A mess of it indeed.
The other possible answer to the Downing mystery is that Downing was part of that drama class and somehow muffed his lines. Perhaps he got tongue-tied or incriminated himself or failed to cross-examine me well enough to expose the implausibility of my evidence.
Is it possible that we occasionally (or even regularly) combined forces with a second year class on drama Friday? Or might Downing have been attending remedial first year drama classes, having made a mess of drama when he was a first year…only to go and make a mess of it again as a remedial member of our class?
I put it to you, dear readers (aka members of the jury) that we need to call at least two additional witnesses to the infamous “made a mess of it” event. Mr Ian Sandbrook (Sir) and Mr Mike Downing. Unless someone else who was there on that fateful day has memories to share.
For sure the sentencing needs to be a lot more incisive than the 25 January 1974 diary entry
Postscript One: Mike Downing Writes:
I seem to recall that I was in the end of year production of Dr and the Devils by Dylan Thomas for which I received critical acclaim in the school magazine but that may have been 1973. A later foray into Drama spanning some 40 years revealed that I was always late to put my book down and could paraphrase with the best of them when the lines were not forthcoming! I was also in the G & S society production of Trial by Jury so maybe that makes sense and I may well have messed up but old age has reduced it all to a vague blur! Shame you didn’t get to critique some of my later efforts as I definitely got quite good at the whole drama thing in the end. Came close to going professional at one stage but rather preferred the security of a regular pay cheque. Does that jog your memory at all? I doubt it refers to my older brother 1968-75 who never went near a stage in his life.
Postscript Two: Ian Sandbrook (“Sir”) Responds:
IAN SANDBOOK: I am very sorry, but I have absolutely no recall of Downing’s intervention in the drama class of Jan 25th 1974…
IAN HARRIS: Don’t worry about your lack of memory. It’s my diary and I cannot remember this stuff, so I cannot realistically expect others to remember it for me.
I started to keep a diary in January 1974. The 23 January entry is my first record of visiting the theatre, although I went with my parents to see pantomimes and children’s shows before then.
This visit I’m sure was my first school trip to the theatre, an Alleyn’s School outing. I think just for my class; 1S, probably Ian Sandbrook’s initiative. It was a revival of the first production at the Young Vic Theatre, which I think therefore makes it the Young Vic’s first production as an independent theatre company. It seems the revival was a precursor to a glittering US transfer.
All the 11 year old “critic” wrote at the time was:
“Scapino v good indeed. Jim Dale good. Got to bed very late.”
Yet the evening stays quite clearly in my memory. I remember liking the patter song about Italian food and I also recall catching a plastic facsimile of a glass of wine and keeping it in a bottom drawer for years and years. It survived many clear outs, but I think it came a cropper in the end. Who knows, it might turn up in one of my junk boxes some day.
. Came close to going professional at one stage but rather preferred the security of a regular pay cheque. Does that jog your memory at all? I doubt it refers to my older brother 1968-75 who never went near a stage in his life.
