April 1968

In the news… 5p and 10p coins were introduced to the British public, this first step to decimalisation would familiarise us with the coins before the February 1971 changeover. In the meantime we’d use them as a shilling and a two bob bit.

On the telly…

Spain won the Eurovision Song Contest with a catchy number called La La La. Cliff Richard came second with Congratulations.

At school…

Clive Perry had settled well since his arrival at Upbury in January. He’d grown in confidence and made a friend of Matthew Hewison, a sandy haired kid with freckles. As good mates do they sat together and talked a lot, even when they weren't supposed to.

Mister Hedges was explaining something in our English lesson when he broke off in mid sentence.

‘Hewison!’ he shouted.

All eyes turned to Matthew on the back row.

‘What were we talking about?’ asked Mister Hedges.

Matthew was speechless.

‘Stand up, Hewison. What were we talking about?’

Matthew stood up.

‘Come on boy, what have we just been talking about?

Matthew squirmed. Clearly, he hadn’t been paying attention.

‘Well? I’m waiting.’

The tension rose as the seconds ticked by. Then, with sudden and inexplicable confidence Matthew replied ‘Dogs, Sir!’

The class roared with laughter.

‘Dogs… dogs?!’ exclaimed Mister Hedges. ‘Have you gone completely mad boy?’

The class were in hysterics.

When the laughter died down, Mister Hedges took pity on Matthew. A mischievous prompt from Clive Perry had gone unnoticed by me and many others, but it hadn’t escaped the attention of the astute Mister Hedges.

‘You thought Perry was your friend, didn’t you Hewison?’ he said.

‘Yes Sir’ said a chastened Matthew.

‘Sit down Hewison.’

That was the end of the matter. The lesson resumed with everyone paying attention. No ranting, no histrionics, just calm control. Such was the style of Mister Hedges.

Also in school…

On a beautiful spring day I was sitting near the back of the classroom. In front of me, Jennifer Sanders, like a lot of kids that day, had discarded her jumper and in bright sunlight, her white shirt had become semi-transparent. Entranced, I gazed at her bra straps.

‘Bloody hell, Jennifer’s got tits.’

A sly look around the room revealed more surprises. Most of our girls were at an advanced stage of physical development. Blimey, and I hadn’t even noticed. Not until then, anyway.

At home… mirrors were handy for making sure I'd wiped a tide mark off my neck before being allowed back downstairs, or for admiring an outbreak of measles. Other than that, I had little use for them. Likewise, reflections in shop windows were useful for doing Harry Worths and nothing else. At thirteen I had no vanity but I was growing up and curious enough to look at my face in the bathroom mirror; I saw not a handsome kid, nor an ugly one. I only saw an unknowing kid.

At home... I went for a ride on the old bike I shared with my brothers. I’d seen older kids ride one handed, no handed and even arms folded, and now it was my turn. So it came to pass that I pedalled up Crundale Road, untroubled that the back brake was worn and useless. Braking wasn’t a problem if the front brake wasn’t applied too sharply.

After turning right onto Minster Road, I tentatively took my left hand from the handlebars and rested it on my lap, just like the big kids did. Yes! For the next few seconds I was Cool Hand Luke with his head in the clouds, immersed in the achievement and concentrating only on getting the pose right. I didn’t see the back end of a parked milk float until the last second. Instinctively, I grabbed the brakes. Sure enough, the front wheel locked and I shot over the handlebars, landing inches short of the milk float. Lying in the street with scraped hands is not cool, but it was a stinging sensation in the trouser department that bothered me most. I picked myself up and pedalled home as fast as I could, fearing terrible damage from the handlebars. With great anxiety I ran to the bathroom and dropped my pants…

Of all the places to get a blood blister… Ouch!