SCHOOL

back at the old grey school
i don't like mondays was my theme tune
it was high in the charts the day i started there
and in my head until the day i left
seeing how there were precious few other days i enjoyed there either
the old grey school was one endless round of things to be endured
it all started inauspiciously on the very first day
when we were seated in rows by Zoony our form teacher
for some unknown reason
we all had to sit in alphabetical order according to surname
so guess who was stuck on his own at the back
in the corner by the door
isolated from the other students by an aisle
which didn't do much for my shy disposition
and meant that i was always the last to receive things
like the dinner tickets that always mysteriously seemed to run out
before they got to 'W'
one of many indignities
the teachers who called you by your surname
and usually pronounced it wrong
or confused you with somebody else...
the ordeal started first thing in the morning
driven to school by a neighbour
who i never knew how to make a conversation with
solemn dreary assemblies
led by masters in grey robes
dull prayers and hymns
readings by nervous kids up on stage
(a recurring nightmare was that one day somebody would ask me to do it but of course nobody ever did)
the 'latecomers' trooping in after their non-christian services
why were the asian kids always late?
thinking back there were so many of these unexplained little mysteries
the dread set in some time early on sunday evening
the thought of the week ahead
first period monday morning was the subject i most loathed
english with poisonous old Frankie Gadd
who would screech at and publicly humiliate
any boy who had the temerity to sniff during one of his lessons
eyes streaming in the chemistry lab
another connection i never made
stress headaches that came on gradually during the morning
and attacked viciously during the afternoon
at the time the public school pretensions didn't register
the oddly named rooms
with acronyms like JCR
(junior common room)
out on the windswept playing fields
no football
only rugby
ruled mercilessly by the bigger kids
who seemed to have matured prenaturally
covered with body hair by the age of 12
skinny little kids like me just distanced ourselves from the action
hoping we would never accidentally receive the wretched misshaped ball
and then be flattened by a hairy oncoming steam train
fingers and toes turning purple
in the freezing cold swimming pool
finally at the end of all the misery
the long walk home
(the bus routes were not too helpful)
along a dead-straight featureless road by the reservoir
the long road
back from the old grey school