I approached my final year at school, and being told by dear Stanley, I had no chance of staying on, as I was far too stupid, they just put me in the nearest school available to the house. Now this was the only time either my mother or step father ever came to my school, in fact it was always mother who took me on my first day to any new school and signed me in. I was duly handed over to the headmaster Mr Dacre with an indispensable doctor’s note excluding me from all sports, as a cold in the back could kill me after years of sleeping in hospital. Many years later I read of my father’s hatred of games so I guess he managed to even pass that down to me. Now poor Mr Dacre was kindly, short, rotund man, with a balding head, but if I remember correctly he seemed very soft hearted. I don’t remember much of the school, I was only there a year, except it was a modernistic building so hated ten years after the dumb architect had earned lots of money and won some fantastic award for building, the hole, which nobody with a brain ever wanted anyhow, it is demolished today.
I just drifted through the last year there as coming from the “smoke” as London was called, I was still ahead in my lessons even with the missing years, it seemed that the school boards thought that Yorkshire pupils no need of any other language, so they did not teach French or Latin just the basics, Reading, writing and sums. Gone was even the gardening as Pudsey was the same as a big city and everything was produced in the supermarket Asda. No offence to other supermarkets but I find Asda the easiest to spell.
They also had an intensive sports program dedicated to running and high jump. This puzzled me until a conversation with a local boy, he explained that running and jumping was a basic survival need in Yorkshire, as everyone needed to run from the rent man at some time, and the act of leaping over a green stone wall can save hours in Court, as the “Clean escape” was made, and another persecution was not enforced.
The school had been told of my stupidity by dear Mother so they put me in a C class, which suited me, best, so they thought I must admit that I thought differently I thought I was brilliant!
But as the year progressed I found I fitted “C” class just fine and had no desire to leave. My fellow students were like me also survivors and were using the system to their advantage. The A classes were always laden with homework and big problems, this was the stream I had always worked and strived to be in, at last Pudsey school taught me that the real brains was the C classes, where these brilliant students need not do homework, or show of their skills at open day, or perform at morning assembly we were just left alone. I was amazed at how fast and with what ease the final year passed. I did nothing, which I am so excellent at, and I enjoyed it, passing all the exams that I never took with many “A’s”
One day the class was taken outside in the short summer for some kind of open day, to watch our great hope in sports, who was a pole-vaulter, who was being pampered and trained as our great inter schools hope, he would put Hough Side on the map. We the C class, were watching for two reasons “A” to cheer him on and “B” to inspire us to want to copy him. The guy was good and as we watched the bar was raised higher and higher, he began to sweat and I began to yawn. Then as the bar was raised to some impossible height he could not reach he began to tumble; now this was interesting, as it was long before the days of air filled landing balloons, so the powers that be, had piled coconut mats in a heap so that he could land hopefully without breaking anything, his cries of pain woke me up.
At the end of the day the guy was very sad that he had been unable to reach his best height, I was sad he entertainment was over, the teachers were sad that none of us idiots in the idiot class had sprung up proclaiming “I see the light Miss please I see the light I want to be an A student”.
I left that Pudsey Hough Side School with a new slant on life and I knew for sure that the students that were in the “C” classes everywhere were always brightest in the whole school, mostly ending up by being paid more in their working life as they took the jobs that nobody else wanted. The year passed with me managing to walk to and fro to school with ease thus saving money, and also seeing the excitement in Stanley’s face as it came nearer my leaving date and he knew I would soon be earning and paying my way, it was wonderful.
He had managed to fit me up with a job so that the day after leaving school I would be working as a graphic artist for Gilcrist Bros in Leeds.
At school I managed to make one friend, whose name I will not mention as in the future he would steal from me and go on to steal from another friend I introduced him to. He became like a walking disaster and the easiest way eventually was to disown him after trying so hard to point him in what I thought was the right direction. He now lives in Spain in some luxury, with a live in lover half his age. I was trying to guide him to the honest side but at the moment he is winning, I guess crime pays, and I think that his two daughters will love going to Spain to see Daddy living in luxury.
I think that at least ninety per cent of what we are is inherited from our parents. At least in my case it is true. Without knowing my father I am following closely in his footsteps, so much so that my life is almost a mirror image of his. His legitimate son seems from the records to have had little more to do with his father as I had. It seems that it was due to his mother’s ill health that he seldom saw his father. Malcolm John Logie Bard’s legitimate son wants nothing to do with me. Why I don’t understand as he wears the crown. He seems more like I would imagine his mother to be and I would lay odds on he can play the piano and read music.
My stepfather used to say “If you cannot say something good about someone say nothing at all” I try to obey this rule but nowadays and as I get older the rule seems to close too many doors. Sadly in Malcolm’s case I must obey the rule as he has never held out a hand or anything in friendship and I was so looking forward to having another half-brother. I guess Bernard will have to fill this spot alone. Mother said that Father John Logie questioned the heritage of his son. I feel strongly that children must be told of their parentage. It is said that the beetles had children out of wedlock so please mums tell your children, just maybe we will be able to enjoy some more fantastic music.
The final day at school was memorable. Not because of it being our final day but because of the leaving circumstances.
The school gathered into the main hall to say goodbye to the departing 6th form that included me. The “A” stream were the ones chosen to do the passing out show and speeches. This meant that I along with all other unworthy were sat in the main hall at the far rear. We at least were able to relax. I was sat next to a pretty girl from our class with whom I had little contact with over the past months. She was dressed in the formal uniform that is a white blouse and grey pleated skirt. As the people droned on about how wonderful the all were, and how in life we should emulate them etc. the young lady next to me unzipped her skirt and put my hand inside. Well suddenly there were two people who were happy at least. As I explored the soft folds of knickers which were certainly not school regulation issue but fine white see through nylon. As I felt the flesh beneath a smile on her face told me I was at long last doing something right in my life, which with the wonderful sensations of hand brushing against the warm soft nylon panties under pleated skirt, caused a large smile to open on my face. Everyone around us was either sleeping, or playing with their fingers. Some stared at the stage with truly vacant stupid expressions.
In what seemed an instant it was all over and the hall disgorged its contents, including my newfound friend and me. Outside in the throng my new love had disappeared and was nowhere to be found so with head hung low in sadness I began the walk from Pudsey Hough side down into a small village set at the bottom of two hills called Troydale and up Troydale Lane to the Stanley’s small holding and cottages, sadly alone again.
I had the questionable “luxury” of Saturday and Sunday working in the family small holding then it would be on to work early Monday morning at Gilcrist bros a printers that Stanley had managed to get me, the idiot a job. It was due to his contacts that I was employed there as an apprentice line retoucher.