Unlike my own children I only attended one school from the time I was four until I went to Grammar School at the age of eleven. I unrolled the obligatory school photograph the other month and was instantly transported to a different world. There I was in the class of 1951 with all the other boys clad in shorts (for in those days it was considered common or vulgar to wear 'longs' before we were thirteen or so). The British Empire was built of sterner stuff then.
The school was solid - brick built - a long line of classrooms either side of a central hall that served as a gymnasium. A balcony ran along its length to protect us from the worst of the weather as we made our way from class to gym or dinner hall. The latter was set at right angles to the main line of the school at one end and was the only part that was two floors high. The lower floor contained the boiler room and kitchens I believe.
Behind the buildings was the playing field. Having been built on the outskirts of the town it was possible to have a field whose size must be the envy of many a town and city centre school. Beyond the high chain link fence were the playing fields of the girls' and boys' grammar schools to which we were encouraged to aspire.
In those days it was deemed necessary for young children to have a rest after lunch. The oldest ones would erect the camp beds that were a standard part of the school equipment and stripped to pants and vest the younger ones would have soothing stories read to them by teacher while they took their ease.
I remember my sister coming in to tie my shoe-laces after one such session, but whether this was a regular occurrence I know not; how proud I was that she could.
Mr Slater, the headmaster, was a stern but kindly soul who showed concern for his charges. I was later to encounter others of a similar disposition when our children attended small country schools. He showed remarkable insight into the future, for even in the years before the Coronation he foresaw the use of televisions in schools. Even wirelesses were the exception rather than the rule yet by the aid of such devices we were transported to the heat of Africa or the cold of the Arctic.
It was that man's enthusiasm that I remember in contrast to the discouragement and arrogance of many a secondary school master I met later, people whose vocation I seriously question. There seemed such a contrast between the care and nurture at primary school and the 'character building' at secondary schools modelled on the worst aspects of our public schools.
My introduction to the television came in 1953 on June 2nd. The date is imprinted on the minds of a whole generation as the day Queen Elizabeth II was crowned.
Our groceries were delivered by a shopkeeper from a considerable way across town. I could never understand why because there were several grocers whose premises were closer, the nearest being about one hundred yards down the hill. I assume that it was because my parents and he were friends. Once a week he would drive his Hillman Husky van on the round that passed our house.(How apt the name of that vehicle in that part of town!) Occasionally as a treat I would be allowed to go with him. The thrill was greater if it took place after dark, when we would venture up Ditchling Road and Surrenden Crescent with their overhanging trees that created shadows below the inadequate street lights and made our progress depend on the van's dim but dark-probing headlights.
In those days of rationing it was doubly useful to have such friends, (although I do not suspect ulterior motives in my parents) and the greatest pleasure they could give my brother was a tea with such goodies as were reserved for the favoured few; a tea with so many good things that he felt not a little queasy when he returned home afterwards. Many children owed their Saturday treats to broken biscuits purchased with their own pocket money in those days before the abomination of cling film and cellophane wrapping on all consumables locked them beyond our grasp. So it was with anticipation that we waited for Coronation Day when we would be fetched and delivered to their flat above the shop, there to be indulged with tasty morsels for luncheon and high tea. And it was on that day that we watched television. Not just through the window of a shop, but sitting on comfortable chairs with food and drink available in plenty. When I recently reviewed those events, with Queen Salote of Tonga, larger than life, and what appeared to be half the world paying homage, I felt the same tingle of excitement as originally, yet tinged with sadness for a world that has passed. How strange it is that I should look back with such feelings to those days when this country subjugated many nations to do our will, provide our food and raw materials, and virtually enslaved the ranks of lowest paid menial workers. There is something both noble and base in the same human spirit.
The television was a typical set of the time, a very small screen, smaller than today's portables, in a large wooden cabinet. The picture was remarkably clear, but only in black and white, and only visible in a dimly lit room. It required the expertise of a lighting engineer to create the right atmosphere for viewing; too much light would overwhelm the picture whilst too little would leave us with a headache brought about by squinting at the tiny screen while trying to see our surroundings. On that day, for a few hours we were transported to the very heart of a capital city, and the capital city of the British Commonwealth and Empire, no less. There we saw exotic people from all over the world, wearing their most ornate and costly robes and fineries while the Church of England and the people of England provided the spectacle and pageantry as only we could. And at the heart of all this I saw the uncle of one of my school friends raise the crown high and lower it onto the young Queen's head and crown her. I never met Archbishop Geoffrey Fisher. Such are the twists that occur in life that some twenty years later I was to become herds manager to Bernard, Duke of Norfolk, who played such a prominent part in organising the spectacle; but that was in the future and I doubt if anyone watching those events with me would have believed me if I had foretold it to them.