Friends

My late start to the new term had come at a cost; getting stuck next to Helen Gales in the 2A1 classroom was not to my liking, or hers, but as neither of us had a say in the arrangement we could only make the best of it. We were civil when we had to be, and when we needed to share a textbook, we complied. Between times though, we barely exchanged a word.

Où achète-t-je le pain? 

A simple question posed by Miss Lake, asking where she could buy some bread. Everyone knew the French words for butcher, baker, chemist etc, but explaining where she could ashtray some bread, in coherent French, was tricky. Step forward Helen, who suddenly came alive. I looked on in astonishment as she engaged in a long, mesmerising tête-à-tête with Miss Lake. ‘Comme ci, comme ça’ said Helen as the conversation strayed goodness knows where. An expression of indifference I presumed, by the look on her face. In reply, Miss Lake said something about Sacha Distel and didn’t that put a twinkle in my partner’s eye. Helen responded with the biggest chunk of unbroken French I’d ever heard. Heaven knows what she said, but she didn’t half spill her hormones. I’d never seen anything like it.

Whilst basking in the afterglow of Helen’s glory, I saw her in a different light. Sitting next to her perhaps wasn’t so bad after all, I decided. Indeed, I was a happy little basker.

Sacha Distel - a smarmy French git

I came out of school with Burty one afternoon, and opted to stroll down Marlborough Road with him, just for a change, and catch the bus from the High Street.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ he said. Delving into his duffle bag, he produced the Alf Garnett book I knew he’d intended to buy. ‘Here, you have it.’

‘Have you read it?’

‘Yes, course I have. Take it and keep it.’

Good old Burty. He’d said he’d buy it and he did. Just as he’d said I could read it after him. He was as good as his word, but I didn’t expect him to give it to me. What a mate.

Upbury Manor hosted another big athletics meeting after school. I stayed behind to give Paul a cheer and watch Upbury compete against schools from all over the area. The highlight of the event was seeing Billy Hollands and Nigel Robinson again – old friends who'd been classmates of ours at Twydall Juniors. When the meeting ended we all walked home together, two boys in Upbury uniform and two boys in the uniform of Rainham boys, classmates once more as we relived the four years we’d shared at Twydall. Walking home prolonged our reunion till we reached Crundale Road, where Paul turned down the alley to Wingham Close. Then it was my turn to say goodbye, but not before I’d nipped into our house to get the latest edition of Football Monthly, which I lent it to Billy.

‘I’ll give it you back when I’ve read it,’ he said.

(And when I saw him again, five years later, he did.)

Il était une bergère (a song Miss Lake taught us in French)