Category: School Life

Guest Piece by David Wellbrook: The Long Hot Summer Of ’76 – Recollections Of A 14-Year-Old With Special Appearance By A Lunatic Frenchman, c1 July 1976

With many thanks to David Wellbrook for this “guest piece”, lifted (with David’s permission) from his posting in the Alleyn’s 1970s Facebook Group – worth a visit if you are able for the comments – click here.

The Alleyn’s School water polo boys on a more appropriate pool mission

THE LONG HOT SUMMER OF ’76 – RECOLLECTIONS OF A 14-YEAR-OLD WITH SPECIAL APPEARANCE BY A LUNATIC FRENCHMAN

It was a stormy Thursday afternoon (are there any others?). Me, myself, and three others who shall remain nameless (Chris Grant, Ben Clayson and Kevin Blythe), were chortling over Paul Hayes’ Freudian slip from earlier. He had inadvertently called Miss Lynch “Mum” and we were marvelling at how well they had kept their relationship secret and for so long. All six of us were amazed at the audacity of the lad and thoughts were now turning to the identity of the father. Bob Skelly, Percy Kingman and Mrs. Barden were put forward for consideration but we were unable to agree. Each candidate received five votes and so we were at stalemate. After much deliberation, we opted for the time-honoured tie-breaker of rock, paper, scissors and as you might have expected, it landed on tails. (Doesn’t it always?) So, decision made, Dave Stretton it was then. Let’s face it, he must have inherited his cool from somewhere.

But I digest. To our gullible Frenchman: It was around this time that Chris used to import young French boys for his amusement and this particular lost soul went by the name of Gotier. He had, I believe, been imported once before, so having met us now on more than one occasion, really ought to have known better. However, we all found ourselves down at the swimming pool. It was a natural hangout for those of us who liked to swim and play water polo and seemed even more appropriate on what was quite possibly a very hot day. Gotier was sweating profusely. I think he knew what Chris had planned for later. He kept muttering strange French words under his breath. “Baguette” was a particular favourite of his I seem to recall. Anyhow, one of us happened upon the anarchic idea of enticing Gotier to jump into the swimming pool fully clothed, and on the strict understanding that he then had to travel home with us to Beckenham et les environs completement mouille.

“How much shall we offer him?” asked Clayson. “How much do we have on us?” asked Blythe. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” enquired Grant, forever and to this day our moral compass. He perhaps felt that if there was any dampness involved it should be of his making and no other. “Yes, it’s a cracking idea,” I chipped in. “And let’s make him cry Vive la France as he goes under.”

We gathered our resources and came up with the tidy sum of £4 and a few pence. We approached the hapless Gotier with our proposal and having explained to him that with exchange rates being as they were at the time, that £4 and a few pence was uncommonly generous, he agreed.

And so the stage was set. I was elected to distract Harry Whale and Alan Berry, who at that precise moment were taking it in turns to slipper a 12-year-old, whilst the others were assigned the arduous task of pacing out Gotier’s run up. And then the moment arrived. With a Gallic scream of “Un, deux, trois, allez…!” Gotier was off, legging it poolwards as if he had not a care in the world. He leapt, he might even have somersaulted I honestly can’t remember, and there was a mighty splash followed by the gurgled incantation of “Vive la France, Vive la France.” Let’s give the boy his due. He did not let us down. Good for him. Only honourable Frenchman I’ve ever met.

Gotier was duly rewarded with his £4 and a few pence which he kindly used to buy us Maynards wine gums and Coca Cola down by Herne Hill station.

To this day, that incident (which is 100% true by the way), is my most vivid recollection of the Summer of ’76. That and being arrested for shoplifting in Millets.

Another day perhaps…

 

When Fellow Pupil Sandy Rowswell Challenged Our Alleyn’s Schoolmaster Stephen “Mr Murder” Jenkins On The Veracity Of His Tales Of Visiting Tibet, Possibly Spring 1976

Stephen Jenkins was an Alleyn’s schoolmaster whose reputation preceded him. By the time my cohort entered his orbit, in the mid 1970s, he had a reputation for telling long-winded tales of psychic happenings, visits to far-flung places, UFOs, extra-sensory perception, ley lines…

…his 1977 book, The Undiscovered Country, can still be obtained from sellers of rare second hand books for under £100 at the time of writing (February 2020), a snip at the price I’m sure but I shall personally pass on that one. I’ve scraped one of the product descriptions to here in case the above link ceases to work…

…in short, he’d talk in lessons about pretty much anything other than the subject he was meant to be teaching.

“During the war…have I told you this anecdote before?…anyway…”

So why in the name of all that is good and pure was this fellow allocated to my third year class, 3BJ, to abstain from teaching us not just one but two key subjects; English and history?

Strangely and despite Stephen Jenkins contrary efforts, many of us managed to bounce back up to the A-stream after 3BJ. In my case, I ended up with Jenkins again, I think for history ‘O’Level (perhaps it was English – it really is impossible to recall what Jenkins was supposed to be teaching us) when I was in 4AT/5AT, so this anecdote about Sandy Rowswell might have happened a year or two later than I am guessing.

I should add, to avoid confusion, that the Alleyn’s Stephen Jenkins died some years ago and has nothing to do with the impressive LSE Professor of Social Policy who inadvertently shares his name.

Anyway, I clearly recall an incident in class when the Alleyn’s Stephen Jenkins was waxing lyrical about his latest trip to Tibet.

The incident has been brought back to my mind lately, because I have been Ogblogging the rather wonderful though gruelling trip that Janie and I made to Tibet in 2002 – click here or below for a sample page – feel free to read, look at the eye candy pictures and divert yourself from whatever you are supposed to be doing – it’s what Stephen Jenkins would have wanted:

Nepal, Tibet & Kerala Day Eight: Gyantse To Shigatse, 14 April 2002

In truth, I always liked Mr Jenkins’s tales of far-flung travel the best. I found the psychic and UFO stories hard to believe, I found the idea of ley-lines intriguing but unconvincing, but I did enjoy the tales from his travels. They were believable, enviable even…and I felt I was learning something useful…even if it wasn’t particularly useful for the purposes of progressing to O-level English or history.

Anyway, during a long Stephen Jenkins anecdote about his recent visit to Tibet, Sandy Rowswell chimed in by saying words to the effect of,

“sir, I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that you have ever been to Tibet.”

There was a hush in the classroom. One glance at Stephen Jenkins’s face and the self-styled sobriquet “Mr Murder” now looked very apt. Sandy Rowswell was ejected from the class and told in no uncertain terms that his punishment would be swift and merciless afterwards.

It seemed such a daft challenge to me. Of all the things Mr Jenkins waffled on about, the travels element was the only manifestly plausible aspect.

I don’t think Sandy Rowswell really got the idea of overseas travel…nor the idea of tempering one’s remarks about a subject whether one “gets it” or not.

My only other recollection of him was for another ill-considered remark, in 1979, soon after we confirmed that I was to join Anil Biltoo and his family in Mauritius that summer – a wonderful, life-changing experience for me that cemented a love of travel:

Confirmed Mauritius, The Overcrowded Barracoon, 10 April 1979

  I recall Sandy Rowswell approaching me and saying,

I hear you are going to Mauritius with Biltoo this summer?

When I confirmed that fact, Sandy Rowswell replied,

You wouldn’t catch me going to a place like that, having to stay in mud huts.

I laughed and shrugged it off, but word of this exchange must have reached Anil Biltoo from other sources, because Anil sheepishly raised the matter with me, pointing out that his family did not live in mud huts. I recall telling Anil that I really didn’t mind what sort of accommodation we’d be having.

There is a rumour that Sandy Rowswell went into the diplomatic service after leaving Alleyn’s. OK, the source of that rumour is the preceding sentence of this article, but a rumour is a rumour.

Returning to the Tibet veracity incident, I have no real reason to assume it took place on 18 May 1976, but while skimming my diary for clues, I did enjoy the entry for that day.

Great tennis won 6-4 6-4 with Driscoll.

Does that mean I beat Paul Driscoll 6-4 6-4 at singles, or does it mean that, partnering with Paul Driscoll, we beat some unfortunate others 6-4, 6-4? There is only one person in the entire world who might possibly remember the event (because I sure as hell cannot) – so I’m shouting out to Paul who will no doubt confirm a similar blank on this one. He probably doesn’t even remember that there was no water polo the next day, despite water polo having been far more his thing than mine..

But I am now digressing more than a typical Stephen Jenkins lesson. Click the link below for a chance to buy Stephen Jenkins book – you know you want to.

My Very Brief Junior Career As A Limbo Dancer, The Peacock Club, 10 August 1975

This event came to me as a memory flash while in e-conversation with Rohan Candappa in December 2020 on the topic of that “limbo period” between Christmas and New Year. Rohan pointed out:

Limbo is a strangely schizophrenic word. It’s either a time when nothing is going on, or the most extreme dance you can imagine.

Suddenly it all came flooding back to me. The dinner & dance the day after my Barmitzvah. The Peacock Club in Streatham. The limbo dancer my parents arranged as entertainment for said evening. My limbo dancing “career”, not just remembered but I knew for sure that I have photographs.

Why the choice of limbo dancer for a Barmitzvah party? The answer to that question is truly lost in the mists of time. Some would suggest that it was a very “South London” choice. Others that it was an inappropriate choice steeped in cultural appropriation.

My guess is that someone dad knew through his photographic shop business was connected with the charming young lady in question.

Dorothy.

I know that she is/was named Dorothy because the pictures in my parent’s memory book / photo album have clearly been labelled “Dorothy”.

[Infantile readers may insert their own version of the joke revolving around the idea that “Ian was a friend of Dorothy when he was thirteen years old” here.]

Dorothy [Thinks]: What a funny little boy he is.
Ian [Thinks]: I could be in here…whatever “being in” might be.

Dorothy showed us how it should be done.

Steve Lytton was one of several people who had a go. Unfortunately for him, his photo survived and has lived peacefully in my parent’s memory book for 45 years and counting:

Friends from the neighbourhood and school might recognise Andy Levinson in the background of the above and following picture. He’s hiding behind is mum. It seems he didn’t have a go at limbo dancing.

My technique showing real promise there. If only I had persevered with the practice, I could have been a contender.

Then Dorothy started to show off.

I mean, really, was that completely necessary?

Seriously, I do remember Dorothy being sweet with me and making the whole event feel special. She was clearly very talented at limbo dancing.

One day I’ll write up other aspects of my Barmitzvah. Sadly, for lovers of music and theology, there is a recording of me singing my rite of passage passage and I’ll feel Ogblog-honour bound to upload it, if only for the sake of completeness.

Anyway, the limbo dancing was great fun. Dad clearly felt that he had pulled off a blinder by booking Dorothy…

…while mum did far more dancing than was good for her, just three months after having a hip replacement:

Update/Footnote Post Publication

I managed to track down and get in touch with Steve Lytton after publishing this piece – it seemed only polite to let him know that his youthful limbo dancing efforts were now in the public domain.

It was really nice to catch up with Steve and e-chat after so many years.

One thing that Steve said solved at least part of the “why a limbo dancer at my Barmitzvah party” mystery:

…what a coincidence. We had a limbo dancer at MY Barmitzvah party…

…said Steve. The penny dropped. We had a limbo dancer at my celebration because I/we had so much enjoyed the limbo dancer at his, a year or so earlier. So the question now really should be, “why did Steve have a limbo dancer at his Barmitzvah party?” Or maybe it was simply the fashion for such parties at that time.

The Day I Took A Hat Trick At Cricket, Alleyn’s School, 9 July 1975

Ascent of Man photo ESO/H. Dahle, CC BY 4.0

On 23 September 2016, I was honoured to witness live Toby Roland-Jones taking a hat-trick for Middlesex, sealing the County Championship for my beloved county – naturally I Ogblogged about it – here…

…but that wasn’t the first time I had witnessed a hat-trick live. Indeed, it wasn’t the first time that month, September 2016, that I had witnessed a hat-trick live – I saw Middlesex on the wrong side of one at Trent Bridge, Nottinghamshire – Ogblogged about here – just 17 days before the day of glory…

…but that Trent Bridge one wasn’t the first hat-trick I had witnessed live, although it was the first professional one.

The first hat-trick I witnessed live (and the last one for more than 40 years) was, remarkably, my own.

I don’t have many glorious feats of cricket to report. Let’s be honest about it; I’m not much good at playing cricket. I love it, but I’ve never been much use at it. But on 9 July 1975, the last match of 2AK’s trophy-winning season, I reported with little ceremony in my diary the following:

july-1975-hat-trick

The irony of having watched The Ascent Of Man after such an auspicious sporting achievement is not wasted on me.

I remember the hat-trick remarkably well. I am pretty sure we were playing up on Alleyn’s top fields – not the very top one but the large, “lower top field”. That was mostly used as the second eleven pitch, but for the juniors I recall that field was divided in two, with a couple of strategically located mini-squares, so all four classes could play at the same time.

I can’t remember the name of the master who was umpiring.  I do remember that my first wicket was a clean bowled and the second was a caught and bowled. The master and I then had the following conversation:

“Do you realise that you are on a hat-trick, Mr Harris?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What are you proposing to do about it?”

“I’m going to try and bowl the same ball again, Sir.”

Which I did.

The “same ball” being pretty much my only ball. A moon ball, ludicrously slow, with an attempt at spin on it; probably a bit of top spin but nothing else in its favour other than being straight.

You see, I was very keen, so I used to practice bowling in the back drive against the garage door for ages. I didn’t get much better at bowling, but I was usually at least able to bowl the ball straight in those days.

Clean bowled.

In my memory (undoubtedly a falsy) the master was rolling on the floor laughing when I took the third wicket in three balls. I’m sure he really did laugh, anyway.

9 July 1975, a truly memorable date in (my personal) cricket history. The ill-fated 1975 Ashes series started the very next day; I don’t think this fact is even faintly relevant to my story, but I wanted to write it nonetheless. I can write what I like on Ogblog.

A lot of very good bowlers have played an awful lot of cricket without ever taking a hat-trick. I know that I’m not and wasn’t ever a good bowler. My hat-trick was at a very elementary level and only has significant meaning to me. But it is a memory I have carried with me all my days since and I shall continue to cherish that memory until I am gaga and/or dead.

I wonder who the hat-trick victim was?  That much has slipped my mind completely. His too, almost certainly.

The Production We Didn’t See – Entertaining Mr Sloane by Joe Orton, Duke of York Theatre, Possibly 7 July 1975

Michael Lempriere had arranged for our drama class to go and see Entertaining Mr Sloane by Joe Orton. It would have been the mid 1970s Royal Court revival production (probably the West End transfer thereof), with Beryl Reid as Kath, Malcolm McDowell as Sloane, James Ottaway as Kemp and Ronald Fraser as Eddie.

Here is a link to some good resources and reviews of that production.  Good reviews from that source, naturally.  It seems that the Spectator hated it though; a harsh paragraph at the end of a lot of stuff about other productions here.

Anyway, when my mum got wind of it that we were going to see THAT play, she went into high horse mode, for reasons I cannot quite work out. I think she just felt that we were far too young for…whatever it was…not that she really knew anything about it, other than the fact that she probably mentioned it to a friend and that friend looked horrified at the thought. perhaps a sample of two priggish friends.

Mum was probably in a grumpy mood generally at that time – she was in and out of hospital for the first half of that year, culminating in a hip replacement in May. Anyway, she decided not merely to ground me from this one – I might have got away with just minor embarrassment for that. She got on to the school and got the outing cancelled. How un-hip was that?

Several of my drama pals were mightily unimpressed with this, as was I. We were all very disappointed as much as anything else. Michael Lempriere handled the matter with great dignity I’m sure, but that couldn’t prevent the ribbing. In particular, I recall Bob Kelly giving me a hard time; not least suggesting my mother’s physical as well as behavioural similarities with Mary Whitehouse. As my mother had chosen to go down the cruel spectacles line during the mid 1970s (illustrated with a 1977 picture below) this was a difficult charge to deny.

Mum 1977

I’m not entirely sure when the theatre trip that never was should have happened. My diary is silent on the whole matter.  I am guessing it was supposed to be an after exams jolly at the end of my second year, but it might just have been a start of the next academic year jolly for our drama group. If the latter, we didn’t miss out on Ottaway and McDowell, we missed out on  Harry H. Corbett as Ed and Kenneth Cranham as Sloane.

I did eventually get to see a production of this play, but not until January 2001 at the Arts Theatre. My moral compass was not adversely affected by witnessing the play, as far as I can tell, nor was Daisy’s, although we were to be seen sunning ourselves in South-East Asia only a few weeks later…

 

The Very First Cricket World Cup Final, Australia v West Indies, 21 June 1975

I made three mentions of the very first cricket world cup (which was billed as the Prudential Cup) in my 1975 diary. I have already Ogblogged the very first match…

The Very First Match Of The Very First Cricket World Cup: I Was There (In Our Living Room), As Were Tom And Jerry, 7 June 1975

…and also the day that England made an untimely semi-final exit:

A Truly Thrice Awful Day In My School/Sporting Life, 18 June 1975

Here is my diary entry for the final:

Even I have had to do some Photoshop forensics on that 21 June entry:

West Indies won first P Cup by 17 runs. Had a day off school for founders day. TV: Cannon, That’s Life. Still swotting.

I’m not sure why I got a Saturday off on Alleyn’s School Founders Day. Perhaps it was because my year was still swatting for exams so we were exempted. Perhaps I was exempted on religious grounds, as that Saturday was just a few weeks before my barmitzvah.

In any case, I can’t imagine when I did the swotting boasted in the diary entry. I don’t have any recollection of swotting that day. I only recall being glued to the telly, not least for most if not all of that cricket match.

I certainly recall seeing Roy Fredericks getting out hit wicket, which was very early in the match…and seeing that partnership between Clive Lloyd and Rohan Kanhai…and seeing the Aussies struggle against that West indies bowling attack…

I do also recall the match going on late…indeed past the time that dinner was normally served in the Harris household. There was a golden rule that meal times took precedence over ANYTHING on television.

I remember arguing my corner. This was the first ever cricket world cup final and there would never, ever be another “first ever” and it was building up to a really exciting ending.

I managed to get a temporary stay of execution for the family dinner, much against my mother’s better judgement.

Here is a link to the scorecard and the Cricinfo resources for that match.

Below is a highlights package of the match – I especially dig the floppy hats donned by Fredericks and Greenidge at the start of the innings:

Beyond the final, I know that first cricket world cup had a profound effect on me.

I saved newspaper clippings of the scorecards from the various matches and I remember replaying the world cup with my friends (and on my own) in various formats over the summer:

I especially remember looking at the names of players and trying to understand what the different types of names meant for those different places. The mixture of Portuguese and Southern Asian names from Sri Lanka especially sparked my interest.

I wondered whether I would visit some of those exotic-seeming (judging by the cricketers’ names) places. I have now visited most.

Writing this article on the eve of the 2019 Cricket World Cup Final, I am still wondering when England will win the tournament.

A Truly Thrice Awful Day In My School/Sporting Life, 18 June 1975

The summer of 1975 was my sporting annus mirabilis at Alleyn’s School. This was the summer in which I considered winning a tournament quarter-final to be an uneventful day

An Uneventful Day Playing Fives, 9 June 1975

This was the summer in which I took a hat trick at cricket; at the culmination of a league-winning tournament in which my class, 2AK won all but one of the league matches:

The Day I Took A Hat Trick At Cricket, Alleyn’s School, 9 July 1975

But when you are as sporadic at sport as I am, no amount of enthusiasm nor occasional high achievement is going to protect you from the bad days.

18 June 1975 seems to have been such a day. And not just for me.

Just in case any readers are as sporadic at reading finely crafted handwriting as I am at sport, let me transcribe that 18 June diary entry for you.

We lost in cricket league. Boo hoo. Some hot revision. Had to catch 37 train home. Out of fives competition. TV Ascent of Man, Only On Sunday. England out of Prudential Cup.

That loss in the cricket league will have really hurt at the time. I have all of the scores neatly recorded in the back of my diary (I’ll write up the tournament at some point) so can confirm that we lost that game to 2BM by three runs (90 played 93). They were the other form team in the league – we had beaten them once before in our run of six wins at the start of the tournament. A seventh win on 18 June would have confirmed the tournament for us, but that loss kept our main rivals in the race – we were to face them once more a couple of weeks later.

It appears that I not only had to vice-skipper the cricket team that day but I also had to play my fives tournament semi-final. I dont record who my fives nemesis was that day, but I have a feeling, thanks to John Eltham’s extraordinary memory for our school’s sporting legends, that it was Neil Hodson.

The 18 June 1975 diary entry, I must say, is extraordinarily bleak, even in its brevity. “Some hot revision”, I sense, was my juvenile attempt to record that sense of being hot and bothered all day at Alleyn’s. Clearly even my preferred route home from school on that day of sporting disaster was confounded.

Then, to cap it all, “England out of the Prudential Cup”, that first cricket world cup that I had been following avidly since the very first day of the tournament.

The Very First Match Of The Very First Cricket World Cup: I Was There (In Our Living Room), As Were Tom And Jerry, 7 June 1975

And let’s be honest about it. England hadn’t just been knocked out. England had been soundly thrashed by Australia of all teams. Soundly thrashed – click here to see the scorecard.

England’s nemesis that day – a left arm swing bowler named Gary Gilmour. 1975 was to be his annus mirabilis too. But Gilmour’s sporting heights were mirabilis electi while mine were mirabilis ordinarius.

The Ascent Of Man was clearly compulsory television viewing in our household that summer and quite right too. But what was Only On Sunday? I had to delve deep for this one, but Only On Sunday turns out to have been a comedy pilot for a sitcom set in the world of village cricket. I don’t suppose that screening the pilot on the day England were thrashed out of the cup did much for its chances, despite the top notch writing team and cast. Others cashed in years later with a similar idea, Outside Edge.

I wrote the words “boo hoo”, cynically I suspect, but I wonder whether or not the 12-year-old me really did cry at some point during that day or evening. I must admit that, writing this up now, aged 56, I welled up a little imagining my much younger self going through and then reflecting on that awful sporting day.

An Uneventful Day Playing Fives, 9 June 1975

Phil Bishop & Dave Fox playing Rugby Fives, RFA Website, GPL

Without doubt my favourite game in the early days at Alleyn’s was fives. Specifically at Alleyn’s we played Rugby Fives.

It was the only sport at which I was good enough to represent the school and no doubt that selection only came through my comparative ability with the left-hand as well as the right. Let’s not call this ambidextrous, in my case more like ambiclumsy. In any case, my doubles partner was Alan Cooke and he was good. I probably got my team berth more on the back of Alan’s skills than my own.

Still, I wasn’t bad and there are lots of references to my successes and failures throughout my diaries, especially 1974 & the first half of 1975.

But looking back today, early February 2016, I thought I should write a short piece about this simple entry I found for 9 June 1975.

Uneventful day.  Beat Eltham 11-5, 11-5 in Q-Finals.

Now in my book, John Eltham was good at sport. Really good at sport. I’m not sure John played fives much, but he was generally good at sport.

I was not good at sport. Really, really, really not good at sport. There was the occasional success, of course, not least one goalkeeping tale of derring-do that I have promised not to blog about…

…for the time being…

…until I can find the reference and/or unless the promised hush money proves not to be forthcoming…

…but my point is, looking back, I don’t see how the two sentences in the above quote could possibly be talking about the same day. Beating John Eltham at any sport made it an eventful day. Heck, just having got to the Q-Finals of any sport made it an eventful day for me.

But perhaps my young mind, turned by some fleeting success, was by then looking beyond a semi-final appearance to greater glory than that achieved.

The diary is silent on fives for the rest of the term apart from a fleeting mention of my semi-final loss a week-or-so later, with no mention of the score or the opponent – click here or below – clearly I couldn’t even bear to write down that particular losing result.

A Truly Thrice Awful Day In My School/Sporting Life, 18 June 1975

Anyone care/dare to own up to ruining this poor kid’s day by destroying his one chance at glory in the internal fives competition? I fancy a rematch.

Postscript One

John Eltham, on seeing this posting, e-mailed me the next day to say:

You modestly left out the fact that we had at least two national Rugby Fives champions in our year ! Hodson & Stendall.

Indeed we did, John. And indeed Jumbo Jennings latterly. I’d forgotten about Neil Hodson in that context.

I have a strange feeling that it might well have been Hodson who beat me in the semis – I have always had a sense of unfinished business with him and I probably would have been too gutted to report the loss. Whereas Chris Stendall was, like Alan Cooke, an old mate from primary school; I took my (more often than not) losses against them on the chin and regularly recorded those in the diary.

Postscript Two

After writing the above line “I fancy a rematch” and posting this piece, I then knelt down to put the 1975 diary back in the box under the bed and then…felt my left hammy twinge when I got up again. Perhaps a fives rematch at the age of 53 is not such a good idea after all.

Postscript Three

For reasons of his own, Rohan Candappa presented me with a trophy commemorating this historic fives victory, in December 2018, described here:

An Award-Winning Evening During Which I Hung Out With The Alleyn’s Old Boys Crowd, Sripur Restaurant, 6 December 2018
From left to right: John Eltham (just in picture), Rohan Candappa, Paul Driscoll & Ollie Goodwin

Three Weeks Of Easter Holiday During My Second Year At Alleyn’s School, Including Football, Violence On The Terraces, Tennis, Snooker & Even The “B” Word, April 1975

The Thinker, 1975

I didn’t much use the B word (“boring”) in my teenage diaries, but that word does crop up more than once during the first three weeks of April 1975, deployed recklessly, as I shall point out later in this piece.

Tuesday, 1 April 1975 played on my own. TV Flintstones, Edward VII. Made model plane.

Wednesday 2 April 1975 – went to Andrew’s [Levinson] in afternoon. Played snooker etc. TV 20th Century Fox Presents, Fight Against Slavery.

Thursday, 3 April 1975 – played tennis and football in morning with Andy [Levinson] and Stuart [Harris]. TV man about the house, are you being served, Dave Allen.

Friday 4 April 1975 – played with Andy in afternoon. In morning got record missing from library [?].

Saturday 5 April 1975 – went to Spurs in afternoon. TV Pot Black, Canon.

I cannot fathom what I am trying to tell my diary about the record library. I do recall borrowing a lot of records from the library over the years, probably starting around then.

I can convincingly report through the power of memory that Stanley Benjamin took me to see that match. My memory (as enhanced by Google) can also report that a star-studded Spurs beat Luton Town 2-1 that day.

Picture from e-Bay listing – click here.

Sunday, 6 April 1975 – classes morning. Kalooki in afternoon and evening. All square!? Times seven.

Monday, 7 April 1975 – played with Andy. TV Likely Lads, Alias Smith and Jones, Goodies, Horizon.

Tuesday, 8 April 1975 – went shopping. Classes, grammar, whole book!! TV High Society, Edward The Seventh.

Wednesday, 9 April 1975 – Paul Deacon came over for day. Nice time.

Thursday, 10 April 1975 – classes! Andrew in the afternoon. TV Man About The House, Are You Being Served?

Friday, 11 April 1975 – another boring day! Tennis Stuart Harris. TV Caribe, The Good Life, Within These Walls, ? by 10!

I can only apologise to my friends whose names are juxtaposed with the word boring. I am quite sure I meant to say, “boring day apart from…” rather than suggest that my activities with friends were boring.

Saturday, 12 April 1975 – went to Chelsea V Man City. Lost 0–1. Good match though.

That match will have been with Andy Levinson and his dad Norman. Asa Hartford scored the solitary goal. Here’s a link to a report with pictures.

Sunday, 13 April 1975 – Kalooki 4p. Classes pretty boring as usual. Benjahair turned up! Mini squidge joined.

I cannot work out exactly where those nicknames came from, or even in the case of the first one whose nickname it was. Benjahair might have been Alison Benjamin‘s nickname at that time. Mini Squidge was Graham Laikin, younger brother of “Squidge” who was Richard Laikin. I’m sure these lovely people will be thrilled to have their teenage nicknames dug out of the archives for posterity. This is what happens when information treasure troves are opened under the fifty year rule. 🤪

Monday 14 April 1975 morning uneventful. Afternoon Andrew and Henry. TV Likely Lads, Alias Smith & Jones, Goodies – goody goody yum yum!

Tuesday, 15 April 1975 – Andrew afternoon snooker 7-6 to me after 5-1 to him. Molivers [Josh & Sadie] came in evening. Nice day!

Wednesday, 16 April 1975 – hospital mum in within three weeks. Taken by Marjorie and Wendy [Levinson]. Brixton haircut. TV Survivors, Fight Against Slavery.

Coincidentally, a few days after writing this piece, I spotted “Auntie Marjorie’s car” in Waitrose, Ealing. The proud owner, who had recently acquired the car, was delighted that I wanted to photograph it:

I cannot recall who Henry was. If it was someone from Alleyn’s School, Henry is a nickname which has slipped my memory. Apologies. Perhaps a friend of Andy’s from his previous school, Dulwich Prep. Sadie Moliver was mum’s cousin, although a generation older than mum in fact. Sadie was one of the few people on the planet who terrified my mum. It might have been on this occasion that I helped make the tea and mum demanded in a trembling voice that I ensure that Sadie’s cuppa was strong or else she would denounce it…

“this tea tastes like piss”.

Sadie when much younger. Thanks to Sidney Pizan for the picture.

Thursday 17 April 1975. I’ve – went to Alan’s [Cooke] for day. Lovely time. Went to classes. TV Love Thy Neighbour, Are You Being Served.

Friday, 18 April 1975 – had diarrhoea! Went shopping. In afternoon saw film on TV: The Village, Husband of the Year, The Good Life.

I’m sure that many of my readers are appreciating this level of detail in my juvenile diary, especially the many readers who like to use Ogblog as mealtime reading. [Please insert your own joke along the lines of “verbal diarrhoea diary” here]

Saturday, 19 April 1975 went to see Chelsea V Spurs. Fighting on terraces. Lost 0-2. Boo. TV Pot Black final, G[raham] Miles won. Canon.

Regarding THAT football match, I remember the occasion quite clearly. Again I was with Stanley Benjamin & some other members of the Benjamin family in their season ticket seats. The scrappiness of the football can be seen in this “classic match” video:

The match, the violence and the long tail of resentment between the two sides is captured in this article – click here -one of many I could have chosen.

I didn’t feel any sense of danger, as my hosts knew (or at least held themselves out to be knowing) how and when to leave the ground to avoid trouble.

My parents, however, were unnerved by the fact that I was on my way home from a football match while they were seeing scenes of violence from the ground on the news.

It might have been that occasion, more than anything else, that made my parents a little more reluctant to let me go off to football matches, while being quite relaxed about me toddling off to see county cricket at The Oval.

Friends who have shown concern about my football allegiances at that time (Perry Harley – you might be one of many) will spot the clarity of my express emotions in the April 1975 diary – my heart at that time was with Chelsea. Whereas I can now honestly say that my heart is not with (or against) any football team.

For those who find snooker more to their taste than football, I have found that Pot Black final on YouTube too:

You might sense that I was becoming a little skittish for the last two days of that school holiday. Dig the final two holiday entries:

Sunday, 20 April 1975 – found snail (Sydney). Kalooki, won 22p. Nice day in all!

Monday, 21 April 1975 – went to Tooting. Played around. TV Likely Lads, Alias Smith and Jones, Goodies – a goody goody yum Yum.

What I did in Tooting and with whom I played around on that last day of the holidays is lost in the mists of time. Andy Levinson and/or Stuart Harris most likely.

The ultra violence of those London derby football matches was clearly starting to have an effect on us youngsters! 🤪

Last Week Of March 1975: Alleyn’s End Of Term, Passover, Easter, Subbuteo Cricket At Home & Full-Sized Football At White Hart Lane

Colourful diary pages and a few colourful…or at least memorable… diary comments that week too.

Don’t bother to tell me. You need me to transliterate the above diary page, don’t you?

Monday 24 March 1975 – Five’s good. Made echo with recorder. TV Likely Lads, Alias Smith & Jones, Goodies, Horizon

After the dreadful noise I made “performing” Britten’s Psalm 150, recorded for posterity the previous day…

Alleyn’s Concert “A Big Flop”, “Concert Went Well”, Trial By Jury, Battle Of Stamford Bridge…Reviewed With Evidence, Late March 1975

…the noise of me playing with the echo effect capabilities of our Sony TC377 were probably a relative mercy to my parents ears. I am relieved and delighted to inform you that those particular echo chamber efforts appear to be lost for ever, so you are spared the indignity of hearing them. But fear not, echo lovers, I think there are one or two other recordings of that ilk that have survived – eh, Paul Deacon? 😉

Far too much telly, as usual, but it does seem that the Harris family TV vigil was mostly in front of BBC2 in those days, which at least had some educational content. See this link for the BBC2 schedule that night. Strangely, I remember that Horizon programme about the Milgram Experiment very clearly, as it affected me profoundly and I still think Milgram’s work has currency, despite it not conforming with modern standards of control and rigour.

Tuesday, 25 March 1975 – no [Hebrew] classes. TV Flintstones, Gillette Cup 71, Napoleon, Police Harrow Road.

Wednesday, 26 March 1975 – broke up from school. Not bad report. Andrew Levinson] in afternoon. Our own little Seder with duck. TV Rhoda, Slaves

“Our own little Seder” would have been me, mum and dad. Radical choice of duck for that “dress rehearsal” ceremonial meal, but dad was always partial to duck (as am I) and it was, after all, our own little Seder. I can tell you for sure that dad would have rushed through the ceremonial verbiage to get to the meal as quickly as possible. The next night we’d have been on better behaviour and the whole thing would have been more “regular”. I expect lamb was involved on the Thursday.

Thursday 27th of March 1975 played Subbuteo cricket. Seder with Marie and Louis and Grandma Jenny.

The first mention of Subbuteo cricket in my diary. I am pretty sure I would have been given it for – or rather funded the purchase from money given to me around – Christmas.

The approach of the cricket season…which even in those days included the BBC showing highlights from a Gillette Cup final from a few year’s earlier…must have prompted me to get started with my Subbuteo Cricket on the first day of the Easter holidays. Good for me.

Home

I had the Club Edition. The fancier versions were for the posh boys.

Club Edition

I probably tried to emulate a Roses Match, using a press clipping of the scorecard from the 1974 May Bank Holiday match scorecard as my team sheets.

Friday, 28 March 1975 – went to see Spurs V Wolves 3-0. Went to Grandma Anne’s in evening. TV Around The World In 80 Days.

The visit to White Hart Lane to see Tottenham Hotspurs play Wolverhampton Wanderers will have been with Stanley Benjamin. The Benjamins (Doreen & Stanley, plus daughters Jane & Lisa) were friends of the family and lived in our street.

Mum with Doreen & Stanley, late 1950s or c1960.

The entire male branch of the Benjamin family had season tickets at White Hart Lane. Andy Levinson and I were convenient substitutes if one or more of Stanley’s brothers/kin were away. On this occasion, as I don’t mention Andy, I think it was just me and I think we joined one or two of Stanley’s brothers in the posh stand where their season ticket seats were located.

There was a big bank holiday crowd that day and I remember oh so clearly that John Duncan scored one of the goals and Steve Perryman scored the other two…

…OK, in truth I remember nothing of the sort, but I do know how to Google a scorecard.

If you want to see the programme, it is available on e-bay – click here. I note that I saw Cyril Knowles play that day. No doubt there were many choruses of “Nice One Cyril” ringing out around White Hard Lane that afternoon, as the promise of a Spurs victory came good. Go on, click the embed, you know you want to hear the song.

Saturday 29 March 1975 – went to shule. Went shopping. TV Doctor Who v good.

Sunday 30 March 1975 – no classes, lunch at Feld’s, Grandma Anne around for tea and evening. TV film Camelot.

Monday, 31 March 1975 – Dad was home. In all day. TV Scooby Doo, two Al Jolson films, Paper Moon, Goodies, Futtocks End, Alias Smith & Jones, Further Up Pompeii

An insane amount of telly on Bank Holiday Monday. I’ll guess it was a wet day. Futtocks End was one of those short comedy films that came around with alarming regularity on public holidays. I remember that there were no words – just grunts and exclamatory noises. My dad loved that film. Here are some clips:

John Burns, aka John Random, reports below that we both must have been watching the same stuff on TV. Well, there were only three channels; I’m sure the choices of discerning viewers such as our parents would often overlap! As evidence, John has sent in a magnificent sketch of his own – not a comedy sketch on this occasion but a pencil sketch. My dad would surely have approved.

Up Pompeii starred Frankie Howerd – it was a sort of cross between “A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To the Forum” and “Carry On Cleo”. I’m not sure the material has aged well…or perhaps it was always somewhat infantile… but in any case I do recall liking Up Pompeii as a child, whereas I find this short clip excruciating now