House on the Hill.

Chapter 23 St Gregory's

No matter who you are, what you do, how old you get, your memories from school will always remain among your prized memories. Your days at school - the times when you and your friends sat on the last bench and ate your tiffin during class; the times when your best friend 'helped' you with the answers to a test and all you had to do in return was buy him an ice cream; the detentions that gave you some of your best friends; the first taste of rebellion you got from bunking a class; the first crushes; the first heartbreaks; the most wonderful memories from the best time of your life. Well this is my story of my time at St. Gregory's.
It was August 1969, I remember my first school day well. I was late getting up as usual and the only reason I got up was when I heard my dad's angry voice telling me to get up now, or I was going to get a thick ear.
I quickly put on my school uniform for my new school for the first time. Green jumper, long black pants with a white shirt and green and white tie, as usual I struggled fixing my tie. My palms were sweaty, my legs were sore, and my arms were heavy. Fear started taking over. The thought of going to a new school petrified me. I was afraid how I would do.
My mum tried her best to calm me down she walked me up Derwent Road and left me at the shops. I watched her as she waved me goodbye. I was on my own now. I started to walk down Highfield Road and in the distance, I could see St Gregory's school. I took a deep breath and headed for the school entrance. I nearly peed in my pants when I saw a group of lads who were much older and bigger then me running towards me. I was caught and pushed head first into a school bin. This was an initiation test for all newcomers. This carried on for a few days I was getting scared and came to the point where I didn't want to go to school any more. That decision would soon be taken out of my hands. Matters got worst on my third day at school. A lad in the third year approached me. He was much bigger and looked stronger than me. He tried to put me in the school bin. I don't know if it was because I was nervous or afraid but I hit him in the face and knocked him over the school bin. He ran off crying and ran to a school teacher. It was Mr Eckersley, the deputy head of the school who become my adversary in time. He grabbed my ear and dragged me into his office which would become like my second home. I got a good telling off. He wouldn't listen to me, such was his arrogance. I was told I was staying behind on detention for thirty minutes to do 500 lines. This punishment usually increased the more you got into trouble. He threatened if it happened again, he would write a letter to my parents, which sent a shiver down my spine, knowing it would result in to another good hiding from my dad. After I finished my lines, I knocked on Eckersley's door and was told to come in.
I handed him the sheet and then with a smirk on his face he told me, "See you soon." As I was walking out of the school gates I was approached by the lad I had hit earlier, but this time he wasn't on his own. He had four older lads with him, for back up. My first intention was to run but they all attacked me like a pack of animals. I was punched to the ground and kicked all over my body. I crawled into a ball to protect my face. I was screaming out and begging them to stop. It was only the intervention of an old lady shouting at them if they didn't stop she would call the police. That stopped me getting a severe beating. I thanked the old lady and staggered away. I was a mess. My face was covered in blood I was aching all over after the punishment I had received. My brand-new school jumper was ripped and as I got closer to my house reality then sunk in. I wasn't just late home from school but I had been fighting at school. I knew my dad would be angry with me. After all it was my first week in my school. Even if I was innocent I would still feel his wrath. Luckily for me my dad wasn't in.
My mum answered the door took me straight up stairs and washed all the blood off my face. She didn't say much. I just told her I was being picked on. I made sure I ate my tea upstairs to avoid my dad. I didn't see him until the morning when I was having my breakfast. He saw my face and he angrily hit me across my face and called me a coward for not standing up to them. It was obvious my mum had told him. But he never listened to reason if I didn't get a black eye at school, I would get one from him whenever it suited him to do so.
I decided enough was enough. I was sick of getting bullied by my dad and at school. I started to skip off school on a regular basis in my first year. I would hide in the building on Derwent Road all day. I went into Bolton and walked round the shops. I even hid in the coal bunker now and again; anything to skip school.
This went on for months, then ganger, Mr Greenhalgh, the headmaster, wrote a letter to my mum and dad about the absenteeism from school and if it carried on I could be expelled from school.
After a good lecture from my mum and the usual beating from my dad, I thought it would be wiser to go back school. School meals were always free for me as my dad wasn't working and there wasn't much money coming into our household. I was stigmatised in my class for it and I was always being called a peasant and laughed at in class.
The first year soon passed. I was still rebellious and getting in to mischief.
I was now in the second year and getting used to all the teachers. I always got a clip round my head, for being cheeky to him, from Mr Eckersley who was a pain in the backside.
My class teacher was Mr Southern. I got on pretty well with him, until one day in one of our science/physics lessons I recall blowing up a Liebig's condenser in style. There must have been a tiny flaw in the Pyrex because it shattered all over the room and part of it catapulted right across the lab.
We had very little opportunity to 'play' with Bunsen burners in our Science classes, as they mainly revolved around Physics. The only time I recall using the Bunsen Burner was when we were studying the Coefficient of Linear Expansion of Metals. However, one experiment I performed in my own time was an attempt to make wine. I'd collected a load of blackberries and stuffed them into a pint-sized pop bottle with the old screw-in solid stopper. Along with the blackberries I'd also put some sugar and a little water too then hid the concoction behind a radiator in the classroom.
During the following term, it would have been January or February, when the school heating was in full flow the bottle burst during one of our lessons and it sent a bright purple plume up the classroom wall and onto the ceiling. For weeks afterwards, there was a heady smell of wine in that room - and they never did discover who the culprit was! But they did have their suspicions. I would have owned up but the headmaster, and some of the teachers, gave me the impression that they took exception to innovative people.
Mr Walsh was my favourite teacher. He was always helpful in class. I got on really well with him, plus the fact history was my favourite subject. I always got top grades. He did catch me once with a few others jumping off the bus on our school sports day after cheating in one of our mini marathons. A few others and I had to apologise to the whole school in our school assembly in the main hall.
It was only the year before I was in the main hall collecting a school prize, a book called Treasure Island by Robert Stevenson. That was for not having a day off in my second year and that was only because the school bus took me to school after my first-year escapades of skipping school.
Mr Taylor was my maths teacher. I didn't get on to well with him as I hated maths. I couldn't reckon up for toffee. If I interrupted the class I would face his wrath. Now and again he would throw the board duster at me, which hurt I can tell thee.
My English teacher was Mrs Briggs. I liked her as a person and that's probably the only reason why I liked English lessons even though I couldn't read or spell very well. She was always very helpful in class.
My brother Mark and I became the school joke because of our haircuts. They used to call us the Beatles because we had the same haircuts. My mum used to cut our hair by putting a pudding basin on our head and cutting round it - thanks mum.
My sister Pat got on very well in school and was much loved. All the boys used to fancy her. My youngest brother Stephen also came to the school but I had already left.
The first few years seemed to pass very quickly. The bullying had come to an end as I had started to fight back. I lost count of the number of fights I had on the school yard or on Dixon Green. I lost a few but some I won. I started to gain respect from the school lads. I still had trouble with the infamous Mr Eckersley. I was fighting on the school yard when Eckersley came over. He hit me so hard across the face that the impact knocked me flying over the bin. I remember running to the toilet where I locked myself in one of the toilet cubicles sobbing. My face was badly swollen and I carried on crying in the class-room.
Because of his actions, my mum and dad came into school the following day to see him and apparently, my dad knocked him over his school desk. He never hit me again
after that. We still crossed paths and I lost count the number of time I received the strap and the cane from him. He used to save me till the very last, until he had dealt with all the other offenders and he always had a big grin on his face when I got punished by him. I was never away from his office. I didn't need to knock on his door. He would say, "Come in Ian I have been expecting you." I did get my little revenges on him. I used to put drawing pins on his chair. On one occasion, I threw a stink-bomb through his office window and called him a wanker, as I ran off. When I did eventually meet up with him, he hit me so hard with the cane on my bottom, I couldn't sit down for days such was the pain but it was well worth it.
Eckersley used to have his own trade-mark; he used to have studs on his shoes. You could hear him a mile off walking down the school corridors. Everybody used to stand to his attention when he walked past but I never did, to his annoyance.
I still wasn't settled at home. I was still being beaten by my father. I started to struggle in classes and my school reports were suffering. As a result, the headmaster wrote a letter to my mother stating his concerns. I was starting to be more rebellious and I was getting into more fights and generally causing mischief.
I didn't bother too much with the girls. I did have a few cuddles now and again behind the bike sheds. But it was getting into fights which was more fun. We started to fight other schools like Harper Green and George Toms. They were never any match for us, such was the hardcore of lads we had at our school.
Our main rivals on this front were St James, just up the road from our school. Now and again they would be brave and meet us outside the school gates without any warning. They would ambush us all, walking out in small groups. I had a one-to-one with one of them. He was one of the cocks of his year. I totally embarrassed him in the middle of the road, completely oblivious to the fact that we both stopped the traffic.
St James got the better of us at the beginning but we soon put that to bed. All the years from our school decided to teach St James a lesson that they would never forget. There were a good 150 lads from our school all armed to the teeth with sticks and all kinds of weapons. We all walked up to St James and waited on the top of the road where they all had to walk. Then we all charged down the hill and chased them back into school a few ran through the estates. They all ran for their lives. Quite a few of them did get a serious kicking and there were rumours that a couple of teachers were caught in the melee. We heard the police sirens and it was time to flee. I got chased through Newbury for what seemed like hours but I got away. Some didn't and were punished accordingly the following day, with the strap.
I used to dread my reports and taking them home as I knew my dad would be angry. He always told me I was thick as a barge-poll followed by a crack round my head.
The latter years at school were more enjoyable. In the fourth year, we had our own new building separate from the rest for the fourth and fifth formers. We had our own restaurant and we had our own smoke room for the smokers.
There used to be a pub called the Grapes near Dixon Green. Now and again, we would go for a couple of beers in the school dinner-time. It wouldn't take much for me to get drunk; two beers and I was well gone. I fell asleep on the bowling green. I was so drunk that I missed all the afternoon lessons. Every Christmas the school had a party it was strictly no alcohol, but we used to smuggle drinks in and spike some of the girls' drinks which came in handy at the end of the night when it was time for our Christmas kisses as they were slightly intoxicated. I was drunk out of my mind and had to be carried home. I was really out of it. I couldn't remember if my dad beat me or not which was a good thing.
I still skipped school now and again. On one occasion, me and a couple others decided to go to Melon's bakery in Farnworth. Every morning they would leave trays of cream cakes and bread outside for the wagons to load up. We used to raid it and sell the cakes at school. We made a small fortune which we used to spend in the pub. It soon came to an end as they were waiting for us. I hadn't realised that some of us got caught.
I was inside one of their wagons helping myself to bread and cakes. When the wagon doors shut suddenly on me. The wagon set of with me inside and after about twenty minutes it stopped. The doors opened and I saw an unhappy driver. He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out of his wagon. He was angry and he told me if I ever come back to Melons again he would inform the police and then he told me to fuck off. I didn't know where I was. The bastard dropped me off in the middle of Darwin, which was miles away from Bolton. It taught me a lesson. I never went back there again.
I started to get more and more into mischief at school. The more beatings I got at home from my dad, the more rebellious I would be come. I was uninterested in doing school work. I just wanted to have fun.
Bonfire day was just the excuse I needed. A couple of others and I (I won't mention their names for obvious reasons) took the day off school and we raided the paper
shop to nick as many bangers and rockets as we could. We nicked a few bottles of milk and used the bottles as fire works launches for our rockets. We then headed for Harper Green school and we hid on the field so nobody could see us. When the school kids came out on the playground, we set the rockets off and aimed them just over the heads and when we ran out of rockets we threw bangers at them. The noises made them scatter in all directions. We rolled about laughing on the grass andwhen the teachers came out we just scarpered.
I failed my exams miserably I even tried to cheat a little by going to the toilet and writing the answers on my arms. I wasn't the only one practising this as the toilet was full of people doing the same.
Before I left school, I did get my little revenge on Mr Eckersley on my last day by letting down all his tyres on his car. I put a little letter on his windscreen with the words, from your number one hated pupil and signed with a few kisses.
I left school forever in April 1974. I walked through the school gates for the final time with some good memories, a few bad ones and an uncertain future. I went to the Grapes pub with a few friends, got drunk and made my way home.
I started work a few days later at William Walkers in Bolton. I was a young, boyish- looking sixteen-year-old; very immature with a rebellious nature. It would be the start of a new beginning for me it would be my first independence and money. It was the start of what would be a new chapter in my life .