4A2

Pauline Cadwallader seemed distressed when she was called out of the classroom one afternoon. Someone told me later that her father had died. Though I hardly knew Pauline, I felt desperately sorry for her.

Everybody likened John Chivers to Mick Jagger. Long hair and a lean build contributed, but the most obvious likeness was in his lips. Not that I’d have said anything to him about it. Till we found ourselves together in 4A2, a class he’d arrived at through promotion, our paths had rarely crossed.

History with Mister Askew, in our own classroom, was the last lesson of the day. As our form teacher was late and the door was locked, we waited in the bottom corridor of a block that still smelled of fresh paint two years after it had been built. Strung out in groups of two, three and four, a dozen conversations were taking place at the same time when a pause within our group meant I overheard John Chivers, one of the lads in front, mention a mars bar. Like any other schoolboy of the time I immediately thought of Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithfull, and with a smirk on my face I whispered to Paul… ‘Mick Jagger.’

As Paul and I were usually on the same wavelength, I anticipated him grinning in recognition of the infamous mars bar allegation. I did not expect him to shout ‘Here Chiv, Lynch says you look like Mick Jagger.’

I was aghast, but before I could utter a word of explanation, I was under attack from the raging Chivers. He punched, kicked and kneed me down the adjacent corridor till he had me backed up against the door that led outside to the craft block. I was in danger of a severe duffing up when the cavalry arrived.

‘Mister Askew!’

Still glowering, John backed off and returned to the ranks.

Phew! That bloody Parker.

One of football’s glorious moments – that get locked in the memory forever – happened in the playground. This time it was Paul, busting a gut as always, to be first to a tennis ball rebounding from the wall. As reckless as it was on a surface covered in slush and ice, Paul made it. At full stretch he caught the ball on the half volley to score a highly impressive goal.

Football was a passion that kept us fit and away from trouble. It also kept us safe from the attentions of Misshape, a kid with a big pointed nose who, for no apparent reason, had latched onto us. Misshape, as we named him, was a harmless fourth year from lower down the scale and a pest we tolerated, usually with good humour. But his habit of sticking his enormous conk into our business and interrupting our conversations with an inane remark could be annoying, especially if we having a serious talk, as we were on the day Paul found himself trying to talk around Misshape’s grinning face. 

‘Oh go away, Misshape!’ snapped an exasperated Paul. 

I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did, loudly. I couldn’t help it.

January 24^th

 

The Gills were at home again in the FA Cup, this time against fourth division Peterborough. After scraping past fourth division Newport in the previous round and getting thrashed at Barnsley just the week before, I didn’t know what to expect.

Gillingham 5 Peterborough 1

Yes!

Mike Green scoring against Peterborough. John Wile (the Peterborough number 5) didn’t have the best of days, but he’d go on to achieve legendary status at West Bromwich Albion.

This thumping win put Gillingham into the fifth round with a real chance of drawing one of the big boys. I hoped for Manchester United, at home. Instead they got second division Watford, away.