The Old Ride

A Memory of Bradford-On-Avon.

I was a day boy between 1966 and 1970. I was always in trouble and spent most of my meals on the punishment table. The ruling was tyranical, you had to eat everything on your plate and couldn't leave the table until you had done so; classical music was played during the main course at lunch time and talking was not allowed. The teachers were either eccentric or old fogeys found on the scrap heap. Plug, the head, ruled the place with a rod of iron, and after staff meeting on a Monday lunch time, on return to the school-room, he would see a line of boys against the window that had been pulled out by the equally tyranical head boy. He would stand there bolt upright, arms down by his side, one index finger rigid pointing, rapidly nodding his head as he scanned the row of boys, and getting redder and redder until he exploded - not a pretty sight. Snoop - he was so short sighted that when he put the plusses - he rarely gave them - and minuses - frequently awarded - on the board he slid his glasses on to the top of his head and then had his nose less then an inch away from the paper and wrote them down.