Friends
one and all, yet I’d been particularly close to Paul in that final year. The shared
sufferance of watching Gillingham that season consolidated
our friendship, as did a first bottle of cider, and the pair of us doing Evening
Post rounds after school, under the direction of a grumpy old git in Broughton
Close.
I saw
little of Paul that summer. While I was knuckling down to life as a dockyard
apprentice, he was enjoying the school holidays, doing his paper round and
chasing Christine Willoughby.
Paul
wasn’t long into a fifth year at Upbury when I caught up with him again. News of
a move to Lowestoft came as a bolt from the
blue. Lowestoft? Jesus, it sounded like the
other side of the world. So we said goodbye and that was that. The sense of loss
came later. It seemed a piece of my life had broken away.
5th August 2002. Contact from Friends Reunited: Paul Parker.
Hello Gerard. Remember me, Paul Parker? Your mum once made me a plastic
model of King Kong! We were mates before you left for, I think, the dockyard
and my family left for Lowestoft. Other names
I remember are Clive Ward and Kevin Garlick. I lived on Wingham Close. Up the
alley and turn left and your house was on the left, can’t remember the street
name though!
Jesus,
how could I not remember him?
Wow! You remember, brilliant. And yes I know what you mean about the
past leaping out at you. I haven’t lost sleep but I’ve been anxious, first
would you remember, second would you reply.
Of
course I replied, lots of times and we covered many things, usually all at the
same time.
So what about the Gills, eh? Did you go to the two Wembley games? I did.
I was looking out for you all, I wonder if I would have recognised you. So what
about Clive Ward and Kevin Garlick? What happened to them? I’d love to know. I
remember Stanley Slaughter. I had an email from Marian McLean, remember her?
She left to live in Australia.
Apparently I asked her to send me a duck billed platypus!
Families;
jobs; highs; lows; births; deaths and marriages, we spoke of them all. Most of
all, we reminisced. Paul’s memory wasn’t too good at the outset but the more we
talked…
Ah yes, that’s the King Kong model. My mum hated dusting it! She still
remembers catching us looking at pictures of women in their knickers.
[And
so do I. We were sitting on Paul’s back doorstep, thumbing through a catalogue
and sniggering at pictures of ladies in their underwear when she sneaked up on
us. I remembered all Paul’s family, not least his dad, for his beard and the
fact that always seemed to be washing his car. Around the time of the ‘66 World
Cup he kept referring to Pele as Peely.]
Don’t remember Dad washing the car (he had a Ford Anglia) but remember
the way he pronounced Pele – he still mispronounces it.
Twydall…
Miss Rusted. She’d send us to the cloakroom to select a slipper which
was then used to whack you in front of the class. I remember your face as I
bent over to receive a whack from her.
I
wish I could remember this.
In the morning we had to say “Good morning Miss Rusted.” But we could
never keep together and it always came out as “Good morning Miss Rusted-usted.”
True
Civil War Cards. I remember the one called “Painful Death” – a soldier
impaled on spikes. Confederate, I think.
[A
playground craze in 1965, these cards came in slim packs with a piece of bubble
gum and an imitation dollar bill.]
Oh my, there it is, ‘Painful Death.’ I’d forgotten about the dollars.
… hearing during a lunch break that the Martians had landed and being
very scared!
…selecting somebody to be “it” by via “horsey horsey in the stable,
horsey horsey out! Or “Ink, pink, pudding stink, out goes stinky.”
You writing a mammoth story – seemed to go on forever. I remember I
copied the idea and wrote about a giant Guy Fawkes coming alive and terrorising
the planet.
Holidays. I remember the Parker family packing up each summer and
spending two weeks in sunny Leysdown. Probably about one hour from Twydall on
the Isle of Sheppey, not far from Sheerness. We used to stay in a chalet, go on
the beach each day and accompany our parents to a sort of family night club in
the evening. I remember my dad then got into camping so we had a few camping
holidays in Dymchurch and Wales.
One year he discovered Butlins – the year was 1966 and I missed the World Cup
Final. Where did you and your family go for holidays?
We once
spent an afternoon picking blackberries at Sharps Green.
Sharps Green. I think I remember that area. I think it was there where I
once inscribed ‘Paul Parker loves Janet Watkinson’ on a tree. Have you left
similar marks in that part of the world?
No.
[I didn’t particularly like Sharps Green. I thought it an eerie place.]
Lots of memories of Clive (Ward). We were both made to
wear balaclavas during winter. To adopt a phrase used by my kids, balaclavas
weren’t ‘cool’ in those days. We became soul mates because of those bloody
balaclavas!
Participating in school assembly – progressing from the triangle to the
tambourine.
I remember the play you and Kevin did – marvellous!
[A
shadow play performed behind a screen on the stage.]
Getting told off by Miss Frankland for not having cleaned my shoes.
[Our first year teacher at Twydall Juniors. Not old, but a dragon in the
making, she regularly had us line up for shoe and fingernail inspections.]
Say what you will
School dinners make you ill
Davy Crockett died from Shepherd’s Pie
Our school din-dins come from pig bins
Out of Town
Your recollection of me playing an invisible guitar in the playground…
[John,
Paul, Clive and Nigel strumming imaginary guitars and singing Beatles’ songs in
the playground]
I have a memory of me in our front room miming to Beatles’ songs using
one of my brother’s crutches as a guitar. My mum’s pouffe came in useful as
drums. I think Clive Ward got involved sometimes, can’t remember if we invited
you to be a member?
What,
with my haircut?
Yes, that’s you – it’s all flooding back now – did you always have a
crew cut? You were tall, weren’t you – how tall did you eventually grow? I only
got to 5ft 8ins but then as I tell me kids, we still had rationing when I was
born (ha, ha).
I remember you making a Julius Caesar model. You used to bring it to
school each week in a plastic bag with paints, brushes, etc. You made slow but
impressive progress and took great care in making the model and painting it.
That encouraged me to try something other than aeroplanes and I remember
making a model of Oliver Cromwell. Did
you hang your aeroplane models from the ceiling using cotton and a drawing pin?
No, I had no interest in aeroplanes. You’re thinking of our friend William
‘Bim/Bimbo’ Hollands.
You might recall the
three of us straying beyond our usual boundaries to the Darland Banks in the
summer of 1966. It was a scorcher that day so we took a bottle of water with us,
and a good thing we did. We’d no sooner got there when we came across an
upturned car bonnet with a piece of rope attached, and a sheet of corrugated
iron. The purpose of each was obvious. Within seconds I was bombing down the
hill in the car bonnet, enjoying an exhilarating ride in something perfectly
shaped to ride every dip and bump. Alas, your makeshift sledge was not. You and
Bim came a cropper at the first dip when the front end jarred and threw you
off. Apart from a tumble down the slope you came out of it unscathed but Bimbo
suffered a nasty gash to his hand. Sensibly, we took him straight home, keeping
the wound clean by rinsing it at regular intervals. Police Sergeant Hollands wasn’t
overcome with gratitude when he came to the door. He didn’t say a word; he just
fixed us with a hateful stare. He was still burning holes through us when we
gave up trying to explain and backtracked to the gate.
I’ve been meaning to mention the Darland Banks but have always stopped
because, while I recalled a day out there, I couldn’t recall any detail. Well,
you’ve certainly filled in the blanks. It was an unwritten rule but yes, it was
out of bounds for me as well. As you said the Top Road was the limit. But I do remember
going up there one day and taking in the magnificent view, it was definitely a
hot day.
What do you remember of the 11 plus exam, Gerard? I remember little of
it other than it was held in the school hall and I failed. This is another of
those turning point events in my life that I often think back on and wonder
what the hell happened there. I have no recollection other than of arriving for
a normal school day to find myself ushered into the hall with lots of other
kids to do an exam called the 11 plus. But I have no recollection of anything
leading up to the exam, no preparation, no discussion, nothing. I don’t recall
that it mattered much to anyone that I failed. When and how was I told I’d
failed? I often think back and realise that me, and you in particular, only
just failed as we wouldn’t have arrived at Upbury in the A1 and A2 stream. All
it needed was a little more effort, a little tuition, some explanation of the
exams importance and we might have made it to Grammar school and beyond.
It
was unlike anything we’d done in class and there was no preparation, but did we
get a raw deal? Were our betters primed for it? I don’t know. I’d like to think
it was the same for all and we just came up short in a test of intelligence, and
not a test of things absorbed through practice.
Upbury…
I started the first day with all my pencils in a brown envelope because
my dad forgot to get me a satchel.
Uniform – grey trousers, tomato red jumper, red and grey striped tie.
Probably a blazer involved as well. Am I right in that we had to wear grey
shirts until the fourth year or so when we were permitted to wear white?
Grey
was the official shirt colour and that’s what most of us wore when we started
at Upbury. However, the vast majority of kids from the second year upwards
favoured white so just as soon as we could, we did likewise.
Houses: Gordon (red), Mills or Miller (green). Can’t remember. They were
all generals so should be able to work this out.
Mill (green), Queens (blue) and Nowell
(yellow) had their origins in the farmland on which the school was built. How
General Gordon got in the act I don’t know, though he does have a statue in
nearby Brompton barracks.
Hymns: Did you have any favourites? One that sticks in my mind had a
verse like this.
God is love, love love,
God is good, good, good,
God is truth,
God is love,
God is beauty
Praise him.
The
hymn is God is Love, sometimes known as Sing Aloud, number 502 in the school
hymn book. It was much loved in our early years, less so when we became hard
bitten third and fourth years. [I don’t recall a favourite but Dear Lord and
Father of Mankind is a hymn that always takes me back to assembly.]
Hymn book: Remember that you didn’t dare lose it. I remember mine was
covered in a wood effect plastic cover.
Mine
got ripped to pieces by person or persons unknown in the fourth year.
There was shop somewhere between the bus depot and Upbury Manor. I
associate this shop with flying
saucers with sherbet inside. The flying saucer would melt in your mouth leaving
the sherbet to explode on your taste buds.
[On
the corner of Gillingham Road
and Copenhagen Road]
Gerard, wow! What a memory! How on earth did you remember all those
names? I’ve got nothing like your memory for names. Please tell me that you’ve
kept a written list all these years and they haven’t come straight from your
memory. I’ve been staring at the names for a few days now and only a few are
anything like familiar.
I remember Pauline Cadwallader. And Diane Clark, she had an inseparable
friend?
Susan Johnson.
I’ve got John Greenland now; of course he lived in Wingham Close, across
the other side from me.
I’ve also got Philip Jones too; he was still wearing short trousers when
he started at Upbury Manor, right?
Kay Higgins – I went out with her. She chucked me.
Nicola Wood – a bubbly curly haired girl, very bright, good at French.
I remember having a homework assignment to write a piece of music. Not
having a musical instrument at home was a hindrance I suppose but it really is
no excuse for the abomination that erupted from the teacher’s piano when she
played it the next day. It was so awful I just fell about laughing. I remember
Nicola Wood’s effort did sound like music, clever clogs!
Headmaster – Mr. McFie, I think. Frail but was awarded the MBE or maybe
an OBE. A woman took over from him, I think. Not sure though.
Miss
Chalkley, deputy head, took over when Mister McVie passed away in 1968.
There was a Mrs Garth, tall slim lady, short hair, taught French.
A teacher who had no toes, lost them when a German tank ran over them
during the war. It was said he’d fall over if he tried to cane you too hard.
Remember him, who was it?
Mister
Berger, a science teacher with a very strange gait.
Did I get the story behind the lack of toes correct? I believed it at
the time but it doesn’t sound feasible now.
Mister
Berger’s toe deficiency was the generally accepted reason for his odd walk. However,
how he came to lose his toes was the subject of much speculation, some of it
very imaginative.
Pity you don’t recall Mrs Garth. I think it was in 3A2 so you’re right,
she wouldn’t have taught you.
History teacher – Miss Marshall? Thick glasses. I remember giggling in a
history lesson with Stanley Slaughter over her use of the word ‘flint stones’
She was enlightening us as to the skills of our stone age cousinns but we, of
course, immediately thought of Fred, Wilma, Betty etc.
Pottery classes. I made a green square pot. Class was on the second
floor.
Barn dancing when it rained.
Hello Gerard. Thanks for the email which, by the way, the females in my
life (wife and daughter) love to read as much as I do. Not remembering much I’ve
never been able to tell them a great deal about my early days so it’s like a
whole new chapter of Paul Parker’s life opening up.
Oh, you remember Kay Higgins. I now think it was me who chucked her because
I felt under pressure from the micky taking I was getting about her legs. Kay
Higgins was mentioned in our last Sunday morning phone conversation. She must
have lived somewhere between Upbury Manor and the top road. I can remember
being with her at a bus stop one time, somewhere near the Municipal Buildings
which I think is Gillingham’s version of a
Town Hall.
There was another girl I fell in love with (there’s that theme again)
who had bent legs. Can’t remember her name though.
[Perhaps
just as well]
The
trumpet player was indeed Lindsey Bennett [a Twydall boy, a year or two above
us at Upbury]. Thank you. Did he become famous I
wonder.
Telephone numbers. Can you do this? I can still remember my telephone
number! It was Medway 33703. Our phone was green.
Ours was
black and located in a box round the corner on Petham Green, off Milstead Road. I
was twenty six before I lived in a house with a phone.
First record?
Esther
and Abi Ofarim’s One More Dance, the follow up to Cinderella Rockerfella. After
six plays I knew I’d made a mistake. After a dozen plays I was sick of it.
My first record was a second hand copy of Sugar and Spice by The
Searchers. My first full price record was as bad as yours – Gentle on my Mind
by Dean Martin on the Reprise label!
Swap?
Hair cuts. The only other barber I can remember is one run by my dad’s
friend somewhere around Livingstone Circus.
This was me in 1967, I think. Here I am sporting the latest Beatles
haircut and my inability to do up a neck tie. I had the rice crispy enamelled a
few years ago but it kind of ‘seeped’ back later.
[Rice Crispy – a front tooth with a
slight deficiency in the enamel, known as the rice crispy tooth from the day I
helpfully (and innocently) told Paul he had rice crispy stuck on his teeth.]
Books I read: The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rowlings. The Incredible
Journey by Sheila Burnford
Then there was walking to and from school, thus saving the bus fare
money. You’d been doing it for some time already. I remember the walk took in
the dreaded Cornwallis Avenue,
a street of houses lived in by a band of cut throats, with rusting cars in the
street and rusting washing machines in their gardens.
Not forgetting some very intimidating dogs, the scariest being a Great
Dane the size of a bleeding horse. Oddly enough, it seemed quite placid but
that didn’t stop my bum twitching when it was lolloping about on the loose.
Don’t know if it was as bad as we thought – I certainly never came to
any harm. I remember it was possible to bypass Cornwallis Avenue by going over the golf
course. I remember Clive pretending he was an English Tommy, diving for cover
in a sand pit.
Cutting
across the golf course came about after we tried an alternative route home (late
in the first year) that brought us out higher up Woodlands Road. It was fun for a while
till an encounter with some angry golfers put an end to it.
When I caught the bus to school I caught it outside Kevin’s home (on Waltham Road) so I could sit
with the fifth form girls. Can’t remember if that was before or after you
taught me to walk it.
School assembly – first years facing everybody else, sitting on the
steps at the front of the stage.
A
privilege given to the top three first year classes.
I had a verucca that used to regularly give me pain at 0910 on the dot.
[That
verucca was famous]
Reading competition. Standard introduction… I am reading [insert book
title] by [insert author] chapter [insert chapter number] page [insert page
number.] Proceed to read. Remember someone reading Winnie the Pooh or
something.
I
have no memory of this.
Shame you don’t remember the UM reading competition. I think the ‘final’ was held in front of a
selected panel of local dignitaries. It was serious stuff, maybe a prize for
the winner. It was very well organised but by who, I don’t know. You chose a
piece to read and before reading it out you had to announce which book you were
reading, by whom, which chapter and which page. I heard tales of Brian Lack
standing on stage and saying “I am reading Winnie the Pooh by AA Milne, chapter
2, pages 11 to 13.” He didn’t win though. You must remember?
I
wish I did, if only to know the truth of this amazing revelation.
Here’s an obscure memory that’s always stuck in my mind. It would, I
think, have been in 1967 when the school received a visit from Jennie Lee MP. I
remember she had white hair and the teachers made a big fuss about her. Anyway,
I’ve since discovered she was married to Aneurin Bevan, not that that would
have impressed us at the time, didn’t even know who she was! She later went on
to set up the Open University.
I remember
it well. 1A1 were having a Drama lesson in the hall when she walked in with her
entourage. They showed a brief clip of it on the (local) television news that
evening.
I remember one drama class where the teacher made us lay on the floor
and relax. Why she wanted to do this I don’t know, but to test that we were
relaxed she went round lifting our wrists and dropping them to the floor. If
your hand dropped immediately back to the floor you were deemed to be
‘relaxed.’ She made a great point of bringing it to everyone’s attention that I
was not relaxed. This almost certainly had something to do with me not wishing
to break my wrist as it flopped back on the floor. It also contributed to me
thinking I was not a naturally relaxed person.
RE: I remember a debate, of sorts, when we were discussing Jesus and the
miracles. [Sounds
like a 60s pop group] I recall volunteering the theory
that Jesus was a scientist from the future who had gone back in time to amaze
everybody with his 20th century knowledge and machines. Needless to
say it received scant attention from the more cerebral in the debate, including
the teacher.
Metalwork: I recall making a hexagonal shaped ash tray and knurled knob
for my record player. And a paper knife was a joint venture – woodwork and
metalwork.
Woodwork: Do you remember your collapsible bookshelf?
I do. It stopped short of collapsing but it was wonky enough to swish
thirty degrees either side.
I made a fruit bowl out of stuck together wood only for it to shatter on
the lathe as I was finishing it off. It flew across the room – how it didn’t
hurt someone I don’t know! Do you remember those bowls? They were made by
sticking different pieces of wood together and clamping the whole thing tight
for a week or so. You had to make sure that the bottom was level because that’s
where you screwed on the metal plate that went in the lathe. You had to make
sure this was positioned accurately and centrally or it wobbled in the lathe.
Once on the lathe you used a chisel to shape it. Once complete you varnished
it, the different wood colours came out and it looked all pleasant and
nice.
Well, I had finished shaping mine and was preparing to remove it from
the lathe when I noticed it needed a little more shaving inside the bottom of
the bowl. So I turned the lathe back on and got the chisel out, positioned it
very carefully touched the bottom of the bowl when wham, whoosh, something
flashed over my head and I heard shouts from the rest the room. I looked down
at the lathe and noticed the bowl didn’t look quite right. I turned the lathe
off and as it slowed down, I saw half a bowl spinning in the lathe. The other
half was on the other side of the room. How anybody didn’t get hurt is a miracle.
As for the bowl there was nothing that could be done. Pity really, because I
wouldn’t mind betting I’d have had the bowl to this day if I hadn’t been so
particular. And you know Gerard, I was particularly proud of that bowl as it
was the only thing I made with any degree of craftsmanship about it. The only thing I got out of there in one
piece was a fish which my parents had on the wall for ages.
I
remember those wooden fish. My brothers made them and brought them home at the
same time. ‘Very good,’ said Dad, of Dave’s nicely shaped fish. Then he took
hold of Mike’s effort (which was a bit on the skinny side.) ‘Hmm, he said. ‘I
think I’ll use this one as a paint stirrer.’
Another Upbury memory. Do you remember the Queen visiting Gillingham?
No
[But I’ve since learned she visited Brompton Barracks in March 1968]
For some reason the school didn’t arrange for us to see her. However, I
remember I was in one of the second floor classrooms that faced down Marlborough Road
towards the High Street. I remember just being able to make out the royal car. That’s
the nearest I’ve ever got to the Queen, not that I’m bothered.
Do you remember Trevor Hickson? Earlier this week I had a sudden memory
of him kissing a girl in a most remarkably adult manner! He angled the girl’s
head by exerting a slight upward pressure on her chin with his index finger
before brushing the girl’s lips with his own. The circumstances I can’t recall
and though it was rather naff, it impressed this little chap. I never used the
technique though.
Another memory. First day back at Upbury Manor after a summer holiday. A
wasp landed on my eye and somebody (Martyn Hooper?) told me to brush it off.
Instead I hit it and it stung me somewhere around the eye. The eye swelled up
and closed and I was off school for some time. The playground has really got me
going here. I remember being in that same playground singing ‘I am the Walrus’
with Clive Ward. Some of Clive’s ditties. ‘Shakespeare was a man of wit and on
his shirt he had some… shirt buttons.’ He also came up with book titles and
their authors, such as All About Noses by Lester Pickett (Piggot). Oh happy,
innocent days.
Seeing that exercise book again was marvellous. Light grey covers with
the pale blue binding and the council logo on the back. Did you keep all your
books then? (Just
one, from Cyril’s maths class that proved to be an invaluable help when
swatting for the dockyard exam) I didn’t. I think mum
might have some of my old school reports, I’ll check.
Sopwith Camel. Yes, I still use it occasionally. More to myself than
aloud. How wonderful that you remember!
[I’d
reminded Paul of his habit of calling someone a Sopwith Camel – a throwback to
his model making days – as a mild insult. The sound of it tickled him and he
frequently used it as a substitute for fool or idiot.]
I think Mr Sharp taught maths. He was the one who turned me from a bad
mathematician into a worse one! Well Mr Sharp, I’m now the proud owner of a GCE
in maths!
Satchels. Large and made of brown leather with a strap that went over
your shoulder. Eventually the strap broke but it was ‘groovy’ to tuck the
broken strap away and carry your satchel under your arm. Open the flap on the
satchel and you’d find lots of early days’ graffiti like “I love Kay Higgins,”
etc.
The end of the school day was at 10 to 4.
Kingy – how could I have forgotten Kingy? We had a real passion for that
(playground) game for a while, didn’t we? I of course remember, was very
good (everybody says this I know), I was always a good dodger and can remember
arching my back to avoid a ball flying past. I was wondering how the person
‘on’ would get his first victim. I don’t know about then but now I’d
concentrate on someone slow and go after him.
John Bull Printing Outfits – remember? Rubber letters that you picked
out with tweezers and composed words – that’s if the letters didn’t ping out of
the tweezers and get lost forever. I’m sure the early Gillingham
programmes were composed using a John Bull Printing Outfit!
I saw my first Gillingham match on the
23rd February 1966. It was a night game, 7:30pm kick off, lost to Hull City
0-3. I remember the floodlights and the smell of cigarette smoke. Other Gillingham memories. The Gillingham
v Arsenal league cup replay. Gillingham had
drawn 1-1 at Highbury and drew again at Priestfield. Charlie Rackstraw scored a
penalty. We were thumped 0-5 in the second replay. Not sure you were with me
but I remember going to the ground straight from school and still having
trouble getting in – they squeezed a lot of people in that day. Another memory
I have is of some old guy accidentally projecting his dentures from the back of
the Rainham End almost onto the pitch. Do you remember that, were you there?
No. Regular
attendance at Gillingham matches, with you,
came later. I remember strolling up Chicago
Avenue with the upbeat Everlasting Love blasting
out on the tannoy, fuelling our optimism.
What a great memory of strolling up Chicago Avenue and hearing
Everlasting Love blasting out on the tannoy.
They must have played that record in the pre-match build up for about
two years; I don’t think they had that many records. When they wore it out they
replaced it with United We Stand by Brotherhood of Man, a mournful song that
did nothing to dispel the gloom of watching yet another relegation battle.
I hope you don’t mind me extending what is already a fine story [The Geoff Bray story] but I’ve contacted the Oxford Mail newspaper and asked them
if they have any pictures of Geoff Bray scoring that goal. They responded the
very next day and right now two photographs are winging there way to my house. One
of Geoff Bray scoring the goal, the other, a head shot. I will post them on but
scan them and email me electronic copies, OK?
I remember walking behind Geoff Bray once. He was walking up Marlborough Road.
This brought to mind the first of a series of alleyways, at least two. Am I
right?
Yes
If so they would have formed part
of our walk to and from school.
Correct
Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly:
What a classy publication! You and I absolutely loved this magazine and, as
we leafed through it, we used to dream of what had become a reality – replica
shirts! Didn’t exist in those days although you could buy hand woven badges to
sew on your shirts. I owned an October 1967 copy with Jimmy Greaves on the
front for ages!
Benham’s. OK, I’ve got its position now. This, I am sure, is the scene
of the cider drinking and the chipped tooth episode after a Gillingham
night match.
Almost.
We bought a bottle of cider at Benham’s and took it into the ground for the
match. We were at the back of the Gordon
Road terrace, near the Rainham End, when I smacked
the bottom of the bottle as you were taking a swig. Sorry.
This picture from Kes reminds me of how two elected captains took it in
turns to pick players. Not surprisingly the really rubbish ones got left till
the end. It would always have been the same boys, I imagine, but I can’t
remember who they were, can you?
I
could name a few, but in any class in any school there were always a few hopeless
cases that couldn’t kick a ball properly; the ones that had no interest in
football, usually.
We’d all stand in line till the captain said “I’ll have Parker” or “I’ll
have Lynch.”
That’s
right. Stan made me his first pick, once. Dead proud I was, and it was only for
a break time kick-about. I remember Kevin soaring up the picking order too,
when he reinvented himself as a goalkeeper (a bloody good one) in the third
year.
Stan was a good footballer but do you remember how he always laughed
when running? I tell you he was always laughing, I’m sure of it.
Correct, he couldn’t help himself, such was his delight when he dribbled
past someone. If he beat two or three, or more, he’d be falling over with
laughter.
Another memory of him. Legs that had little form to them, straighter than
normal so his football socks had no purchase and wouldn’t stay up. Also, dry
skin, again on legs. Probably rubbish but it might jog a memory in Bolton.
I agree. Stan had legs like a pair of sausages.
I do wonder what became of him. I have nothing but fond memories of
Stan, not many, it’s true, but they are good. I remember him as a loveable
scoundrel, a rogue, slightly boisterous but someone who wouldn’t harm anyone.
I’m struggling though, to see him in class at UM. Was he an A1/A2 boy, or what?
Stan
was in your A2 class throughout Upbury, as per your flint stones memory.
As soon as you said you remember me in a red shirt, white shorts and
white socks, I saw it too. That is a definite memory and not imagination.
Another memory is the smell of duffle bags. However, this memory is more to do
with that fact that my boys have recreated it and I can tell you they have
remained faithful to the recipe of muddy boots, socks, shirt and shorts.
However, you forgot the swimming trunks wrapped in a wet towel which was
forgotten about till needed again.
Horrible
little buggers, weren’t we?
I vaguely remember playing football with a tennis ball that sometimes
went into the swimming pool.
I have more vivid memories of games in the other (upper school) playground.
[This mock up recreates a goal Paul scored in the upper school
playground. There was a lot of slush and ice around that day but
in typical style, he busted a gut to get to a tennis ball rebounding from the
wall and score on the half volley.]
The majority of us played together for AC Medway.
Your dad was watching when I scored my first goal for the team, a bullet
from outside the area, at the Langton’s. ‘Well done Gerard’ he shouted, as we
walked back for the restart. Though pleasing to hear, I took his follow up
comment ‘that’s the best goal I’ve ever seen!’ with a pinch of salt. This,
after all, was the man who called Pele Peely.
I remember that goal celebration of yours. You simply turned around, put
one arm in the air and began walking back to our half with little or no
expression on your face. That didn’t stop us mobbing you though but the
expression on your face never changed.
Shock,
probably. You hit a thumping shot against the bar in the same game. I think the
ball’s still rising.
What a team, eh? Played in all white. From there I went on to Eastcourt
United Colts. Wonder if they’re still around. I played football in Lowestoft for Ashley Boys, Post Office Telephones and the
works team Beccles Caxton FC, where I was nominated player of the year 1975/76.
One local player who made good was a chap called Terry Butcher and I’ve waltzed
past him a number of times I can tell you.
The Terry Butcher? There must be a
story.
It was in the Sunday league that we (Post Office Telephones FC) played a
team a team that featured Terry Butcher although of course in those days he
wasn’t THE Terry Butcher. He was good but not so good that you’d think he’d go
on and play for England.
It was a surprise to all the Lowestoft players when he turned up playing for Ipswich.
School football kit: Shirt was red and grey quarters with cuffs and
collar in the days when modern football shirts had round collars.
[Paul in his Upbury kit, first year]
White shorts (of course) and red and grey hooped hose with no feet, just
a piece of elastic.
The idea was that you wore these over your own socks. Wore the same kit
for rugby. Now that reminds me of something. A very, very big boy in A1, I
think. Massive. We used to run away from him when he had the ball.
Richard Pascall, a rampaging rhino on the rugby field. I don’t think I
ran when he was bearing down on me, I just dived in a safe direction.
[Richard
Pascall] also
remembered for being good at sports events such as javelin, putt-shot and
discus. I remember being shown the correct way to hold and throw each missile
but it never did any good. I don’t think I threw anything more than five yards
from where I was standing.
We once went on a school trip to see England Boys v Wales Boys at Twickenham.
Wales
won. Do you remember that? Did you go?
Yes, I
still have the programme.
Do you remember the only person capable of taking conversion kicks in
rugby? Brian Lack comes to mind. His success ratio was about 60%, the rest of
us would have got about 10% and only if we’d been right under the posts. I
remember Charlesworth had a piece of advice that he put in a phrase. “Tackle
too high, get poked in the eye.” The theory of wrapping your arms around
someone’s lower legs and keeping your head behind their knees was fine but not
so in practice, especially with Richard Pascall. Do you remember how easy it
was to make the effort to charge down the opposition’s conversion kick? I say
‘easy’ because we all knew we had no chance whatsoever of getting to the kicker
in time but at least it gave us the opportunity to impress with our
determination and effort.
Swimming: Do you remember the annual swimming gala? Well, I used to do
all I could to get out of that because, wait for it, I couldn’t swim! Still
can’t though I can just about breast stroke a width. That memory has led me to
the Strand! Remember that massive Olympic
sized swimming pool? I remember Kevin liking it down there, I think he was
quite a good swimmer – I remember him announcing that he’d learned to float.
For me it’s famous as the place where I probably caught my verucca!
The infamous hop, skip and trump. How the hell did you remember it was
Ian Patterson?
Apart
from it being one of the funniest things I saw, he was my table leader one
year.
[Ian
Patterson, an older boy summoned to demonstrate the hop, skip and jump for us first
years, disgraced himself when he hopped, skipped and let off an enormous fart.
While he lay face down in the sand pit trying to hide his embarrassment, a
class of twelve years old rolled about on the grass, hysterical with laughter.]
Cross Country: hated it, always seemed to be cold, lots of mud. We ran
it in our football boots. That said, I never cheated and as long as I could
hang on I could usually use my speed at the end to make up a few places and
finish a respectable 10th, 11th, 12th or so.
Athletics: They marked out a
running track on the top field one summer and in one PE lesson we did the 880
yards (twice around the track). This I remember very well. My running successes
till then had been in the sorter events, but during this race I was pleased to
be in a winning position as I came to the last bend with plenty of puff left.
Then, disaster! A dog appeared from nowhere, leapt at me, bit me on the hip and
felled me. I remember to this day everybody else in the race running past me.
Thankfully, the spectators amongst you ran to my defence and assistance.
Another hospital visit for a jab of some kind – tetanus, probably.
Evening Post: I remember my delight when around Christmas time customers
opened their doors and gave me a Christmas box, sometimes as big as 2/6d!
My
biggest tip was a shilling, courtesy of Mrs Stewart in Elham Close. Do you remember ‘Shall I cheer you up?’
I also worked on a baker’s round (Betabake?) and a milk round. Bourne
and something or something and Bourne? (Bourne and Hillier) The local tradesmen – I remember the Betabake man would come to the
door with a wicker basket full of, well, bread I suppose. There was even a man
who came to collect empty egg boxes for which he gave us money. There’s a rag
and bone man floating around in my memory as well.
Evening Post: Ah yes, ‘Shall I cheer you up – collecting tonight.’
[Something
we said in jest, every Friday, before the weekly slog of knocking at every door
for the week’s paper money, a task that kept us out twice as long.]
Yes, I remember the man who gave the papers out and his wife. Both
smoked heavily, I think. If I remember rightly their house was in the corner
near an alley. I had a beast of a round! My round started at the top of Sturry Way and
covered a large part of the area around Hawthorne Avenue and the top road. A
couple of memories have been stirred by this subject. I once met Miss Rusted-usted
on the corner of Preston Way
and Romany Road.
She seemed pleased to see me and spoke to me for quite a while, seeming
genuinely pleased with my progress.
I’m not so proud of the second memory. I can recall using my Evening
Post bag as vehicle for stolen sweets. There was a pub with an off licence, I
think, on the corner of Begonia
Avenue. (The Dewdrop) I used to go in
there with somebody and hide sweets in my bag. That doesn’t sound quite right
but something like that happened. You’ll be pleased to know that I have Clive
Ward and not you as my accomplice.
Let me guess; standing to one side of the off sales door you waited
patiently for somebody to go in, knowing the door chime would bring a barmaid
from the lounge or public bar. When the customer left, you made your move,
catching the door on the exit chime as the barmaid returned to duties
elsewhere. Thus you gained access to plunder, not sweets and chocolates, which
were kept behind glass on the counter, but lollies and ice cream from an open
topped fridge. When the deed was done you coolly opened and shut the door to
set off the chime and bring the barmaid, whereupon you made a small purchase,
and left.
The Remarkable Case of The Dewdrop Robbery – someone showed me how to
use my Evening Post bag to steal sweets (could have been choc-ices). And now I
come to think of it, it did involve waiting for a customer to come out, leaving
you with the off-licence to yourself. Gerard, I do remember being in there with
a friend and empty Evening Post bags on a mission to steal something. I would
say the prosecutor’s case against you is getting stronger.
Objection
Your Honour. I’ll freely confess to knocking off a carton of choc ices from the
unattended fridge in an operation conceived, planned and executed by myself
alone. I’ll stress too that it was an isolated incident. (Having made myself
ill on the bloody things I had no wish to repeat the exercise). Almost
certainly I’d have told you about it, but I accept no responsibility for the
nefarious activities of yourself and persons unknown. If Clive took over my
round when I jacked it in to start work, as you have previously intimated, then
I suggest he was your accomplice.
Science lessons: Oh yes I clearly remember dissecting pigs eyes and
cutting open frogs.
Mr. Carroll used to stand at the Rainham End watching Gillingham
matches. We
had him for sex education. One thing I remember, he told us to hold our meat
and two veg when we entered a hot hot bath and gave us a graphic demonstration
from behind his desk. Boys only so maybe
we were joined by the boys of A1.
Not that I can recall. The only sex education I received was in the lower
school playground, primarily from Gary Winters.
I picked up snippets over a period of twelve to eighteen months. Just
not enough to get the W and the F word the right way round.
I
made that same mistake.
And I’m sure it was Kevin Garlick who said he liked watching the Black
and White Minstrel Show because it made his willy go hard!
Another memory of Mr Carroll is of bizarre experiment that took place on
the staircase outside his laboratory. We all took turns to charge down the
stairs with somebody at the bottom recording our times. I had the best time
which Mr. Carroll put down to me having a low centre of gravity – which I think
came from me being slightly below average height and having a big arse!
By the way did you like your name back then? I hated Parker. Nosey
Parker and Lady Penelope’s butler didn’t help. I liked Paul though (because of
Paul McCartney of course.) As to Harold well, only my inner circle of friend
knew that. I noticed my wife made the same mistake that a lot of people made
back then – Gerald and not Gerard!
I’ve always been comfortable with my surname, but as a young boy I
sometimes wished I’d been called Billy or Tommy, or Johnny or something, like
every kid in every western I ever saw. They never had a Gerard. As for Gerald, if only I had a pound…
Now, here’s a strange thing. I’m now the proud owner of a Spanish algebra
book by A Baldor. I do actually like Algebra – it’s a lot like puzzle solving. I
noticed at the end of the examples there was a big capital R – just like those of Mr Rye! I asked my (Peruvian) wife about this and she said her maths teacher used it and
it means ‘Revisado’ which in English means ‘looked over’ or ‘gone through.’ It
comes from a Latin word of some kind which begins to put a new light on Mr Rye,
doesn’t it? We thought it meant ‘Rye’ or ‘Right’ but I wouldn’t mind betting it
comes from an old school, traditional way of doing things with it’s roots in
Latin. What do you think of that?
It’s the likeliest explanation yet.
A big thank you for a wonderful birthday present…
[Two audio tapes I put together, a collection of tunes and other memory
joggers from childhood. At the end I spoke a few words.]
I had to be up early next morning to go to business meetings in Coventry and Leicester, so I decided to listen to them in
the car on my way up to the Midlands.
I set off at around 6:15 and put the first cassette in the cassette
player. Over the next three hours so many memories came out of he car speakers.
Where do I start? I didn’t remember or realise that Fireball’s Robert the Robot
sounded so thick, Morecambe and Wise and the ‘boom hoo yatta ta ta’ song,
snippets from film such as The Vikings and Zulu. I remember you and Kevin loved
that film. The World Cup Willie song and Everlasting Love had to be there, of
course.
My habit on long distance driving trips is to wear comfortable clothes and
change into my suit and tie, somewhere near the appointment, which I did, on a
social club car park, just outside Coventry.
I restarted the cassette just as you started speaking of ‘The Skyscraper Song.’
We’ll come to it in a minute but I found your commentary so hilarious that I
was soon laughing like a hyena, coughing and spluttering whilst thumping the
steering wheel as I gasped for breath. Anyone looking at the car at that point
might have thought I was a madman. I was till laughing as I pulled up in the
car park of the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors, no less. Even worse, I
was still giggling as I sat in that renowned institution’s reception area and
noticed the person I was meeting approaching me with a rather dubious look on
his face. I had to explain that I’d just heard someone on the car radio that
had amused me.
[The skyscraper song – a daft ditty made up by Paul whilst walking home
from school one day.]
“I once fell off a
skyscraper, landed on a naked lady
had a fiddle, went
for a piddle, landed on a naked lady.”
It was alright, but a bit flat, I thought. I suggested it might sound
better if sung with a rising finish.
“I once fell off a
skyscraper, landed on a naked lady
had a fiddle, went
for a piddle, landed on a naked lay-aydy.”
As soon as you started singing I remembered it. I saw you and I as kids,
creating that ridiculous song. Who would have thought that years after its
creation I’d be listening to it again in a car park in Coventry! I very well remember your
contribution. I thought it was a superb end and, as you know, quickly adopted
it, You said it wasn’t quite Lennon & McCartney but our joint contribution
to ‘The Skyscraper’ song is exactly how they wrote their songs. One would write
most of the song but would need that additional ‘something’ from the other. In
the writing of ‘The Skyscraper Song’ I suppose you to me were what Lennon was
to McCartney. We simply must sing this as a duet when we get together, agreed?
The song needs to be sung with a little more gusto and you’ll excuse me when I
say I think it needs the southern twang but, if I may, I will demonstrate on
the day.
Do you like The Beatles? Serious question that needs a serious answer. I
know you said you weren’t as much into them as I was but I need to know if you
do indeed like The Beatles.
They’re alright, I can listen to them, but I was never a fan like you.
[Paul could sing his way through the entire Beatle song book.]
Back to a favourite subject of mine, the shortcomings of our education.
Can you remember being introduced to Shakespeare? I don’t and almost certainly
wouldn’t have enjoyed it as a kid, but as an adult it has left me with a gaping
hole of ignorance on the subject. That said I do have a memory of obtaining a
copy of Much Ado about Nothing and giving up on it after page one.
My experience of Shakespeare started and ended with class readings of
The Merchant of Venice in 3A1, and a school trip to see it performed at Regent’s
Park.
Something else you mentioned was table leaders. I feel I should remember
but don’t. Were they always older than us and what were they for? Explanation
please.
Table leaders were senior pupils, usually prefects, who sat at the head
of each dinner table, delegating daily servers and dishing out the grub.
Incidentally, when I returned to Upbury Manor for my fifth year I was
fully expected to be named as a prefect. Prefects you may remember were
announced at the beginning of each school year, in assembly. Well, I wasn’t
made a prefect, something that has obviously bothered me this last thirty three
years.
Off to see Paul McCartney on Friday. My last chance to see anything by
The Beatles in concert. He’s only singing Beatles songs which will do me
nicely, thank you very much. You probably realise the Beatles had a big
influence on me, particularly in the sixties. There’s a lot of cotton wool like
memories surrounding some of their songs. The nearest I’ve ever got to a
Beatles concert was a look-alike band at Disney World in Florida. Even that brought a lump to my
throat!
Some kids had buses supplied for them? What do you mean? I don’t
remember that. Should I be getting upset about this?
The kids of Wigmore, Hempstead and
Rainham travelled to and from school in courtesy buses. Pity them, for they
never knew the joys of walking it and blowing their bus money on goodies,
unlike us urchins from Twydall.
You did The Merchant of Venice in 3A1? Well, I’m certain we didn’t.
Gerard, what’s with all these trips? Something is stirring that has Clive Ward
and me talking to a girl that fancied me in some kind of Country Park.
No idea what it’s about though.
Thanks for the descriptions of the alleyways. It might have been by the
vicarage wall that one autumn morning I was deliberately treading on fallen
yellowish-brown leaves when I trod on some yellowish-brown dog faeces. Strange
the things that stick in your memory eh?
Not
as strange as the things that stick to your pants when a mate does a daft thing
like that. You didn’t just tread on it; you stamped on it, and splattered it
all over our pants. Yes, it was alongside the vicarage wall.
Absolutely brilliant that you remembered the leaf story. I’m now
encouraged to search my memory for every last stupid thing, no matter how
insignificant it might be.
Thanks for enlightening me on those (no doubt free) buses. We’ll leave
it at that. I’ll only get upset. Meanwhile, as you said, the Twydall kids had
to use the local bus service. I think we’ve previously mentioned they were run
by Maidstone & District. I’ve been trying to think of what bus number we
used to get. A1 comes to mind but I don’t think that’s it. It’s too much like
your class at Upbury Manor.
Well Mr Memory Man – you’ve done it again haven’t you? How did you
remember the bus numbers? But of course you’re right. The 1A and 1B look like
they’d have been handy for me as one or both of them stopped at the bottom of
Wingham Close. The number 1 I’d have caught outside Kevin’s house when we were
‘chatting up’ the fifth form girls.
I’m getting a memory of a female Geography teacher we called Blinkers,
because she blinked a lot when she spoke. She wasn’t strict but she had our
respect, somehow. Do you remember Blinkers?
[This
meant nothing to me but I was able to find out from another former pupil that
‘Blinkers’ was Miss McDonald.]
I cannot disguise the immense feeling of satisfaction I got from the Miss
McDonald/Blinking result. The memory of her blinking and us calling her
‘Blinkers’ came to me in a flash and it’s wonderful to have the memory
confirmed from another source. So maybe I do have a few more memories locked
away inside me.
So, the teachers are involved now. Fantastic that they’re reading your
stories! See, I told you that you were good. We knew about Mr Potts’ first name
– Maxwell – didn’t we? I’m not sure though. The Beatle’s song – Maxwell’s
Silver Hammer – was out at the time.
I’ve got another memory of hearing about someone in A1 standing up and
mispronouncing Copernicus as ‘Copper Knickers.’
[Phillip
Spice when reading a passage from a text book]
You might remember the details but I remember stifling my laughter in
case I was asked who Copernicus was. I had no idea and felt a bit peeved that
A1 were being taught something we weren’t – a bit like the Shakespeare thing.
The Paul McCartney concert was brilliant! He came on singing ‘Hello
Goodbye’ and then ‘All My Loving,’ two of my favourites. The Beatles have meant
so much to Paul Parker that I had no choice but to go and I’m glad I did. But
it’s a funny thing. Now that I have seen a ‘Beatles’ concert I think I can draw
a line under the whole Beatles thing and not be too concerned about them.
They’re a memory now, done and dusted, put it away as nothing more than a fond
memory. Does that make sense?
Paul’s
letters became shorter and less frequent as his memories ran dry. But we did
speak on the phone and we did meet up – twice. On the first occasion, a weekend
trip to the North West
gave Mister & Mrs Parker the opportunity to join us for Sunday dinner. Of
course it was brilliant to meet up with him again, and I was touched when his
wife thanked me for giving him back his childhood. It was a nice thing to say
but really, I’d just helped him to blow away the cobwebs. An enjoyable
afternoon was had by all but the highlight, for me, was the half hour or so Paul
and I spent sitting on the garden bench while the womenfolk took care of
kitchen duties. We talked about so much yet we covered so little. If only it
hadn’t passed so quickly.
The
two of us met up again in Manchester
one evening while he was there on business. It was nice to buy each other a
first pint, at last, in a city centre pub and spend a whole evening reminiscing.
And yes, we sang The Skyscraper Song.
I
didn’t hear from Paul for a while after that. Nor was I surprised. It wasn’t
just that he was busy man with a busy schedule, home and abroad, there was
something else; Paul was never able to catch up with the Beatles, but when he
caught up with Paul McCartney, he reached a state of fulfilment. Similarly,
Paul never caught up with his group of old friends but through me, I think he’d
been able to embrace his past and in doing so, I believe he found that same
kind of fulfilment.
When
I launched Upbury Manor Days on the internet, the first comments I received
came from Paul. When his comments tapered off, I wasn’t too concerned. Same old
Paul; busy; he’d catch up sooner or later, the way he always did but no, this
time was different. He was seriously ill. Paul passed away in hospital on 25th
February 2014.
In Memory of Paul Harold Parker
1955 – 2014
Friend, Classmate &
Composer
Remembered with a smile
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