We moved from the quiet suburbs of Camberwell to the noisy mayhem that was Upper Clapton Road in 1952. I was 9 years old and I joined in the middle of the term. I was put into Miss Freedman’s class of around 45 kids. I have specific memories of that period that I’d like to share with you all.
Can’t remember everyone’s n
ame, but I do remember Sandra Vishnick, Carole Shaw (she had a very throaty voice that was quite attractive) and there was a girl with the last name Freedman. Oh and there were boys too. Jerome Rudash, Michael Skry and David Hart are some of the names that I remember. Then there were the “others”. Those who graduated from Northwold Road and matriculated straight into Borstal. I specifically remember Terry Powell and Micky Ryder as being the 2 most likely.
There was a ruffian by the name of Tommy or Norman Adams, who insisted on fighting with me even though he and I were in one of Smelly Langston’s dance routines.
I remember Chitty’s preoccupation with the war and a specific group of parachutists. She was always making announcements about them and I think one of them turned up at school one day.
Does anyone remember the total solar eclipse that occurred on June 30, 1954? I remember watching it through black film at our year end sports day.
I remember being in the choir and being asked not to sing. Can you imagine that happening today? If a teacher said that to a student today they’d be put on Admin Leave. Now we have politically correct children who can barely read, can’t do math and certainly can’t do cursive handwriting. The school system abandoned rote learning in favour of new math and abandoned grammar in favour of …. What? Now we have a generation of kids who can’t make change and can’t write a coherent sentence. Progress?????
Anyway, I digress. One of the funniest moments happened after we took the 11+. I was in 4B with Mi
ss Jones. We were in the middle of learning that welsh rabbit was neither Welsh nor rabbit when the classroom door opened and in walks the teacher from 4A. He had an important announcement for us.
He was here to inform us that if we wished we could apply for entrance to the very prestigious Quintin Hogg School in St. John’s Wood. He had trouble finishing the announcement because of the name Hogg, he got the giggles and almost collapsed from laughing. Of course, we were all laughing hysterically as well.
The Nutters of Northwold Road Primary School
Sometime in the mid 60’s I was driving for a Mini-Cab company in the evenings and I got a call to pick-up a fare in the West End. On that day I was driving the owner’s big souped-up Fiat 1500. I was warned by the owner that the car was really fast, but because of the souped-up carburettor, had a tendency to stall at the lights unless I kept my foot on the accelerator. Shouldn’t be too difficult, I thought.
I found the customer and he got into the back seat. I asked where we were going. “Drive to Finsbury Park”, he instructed, slurring his words as he spoke, and off we went.
Being a good driver, I regularly checked traffic in my rear mirror and to make sure my customer was not about to vomit. I noticed something familiar about him. Suddenly I knew where I’d seen him before. “Did you used to go to Northwold Road?” I asked as I pulled up at a set of lights. “Yeah”, he replied, “’ow d’yer know”? “Are you Micky Ryder?”, I continued. “Yeah, that’s right. ‘ho are you?”. I told him who I was and of course he had no memory of me. Suddenly the car stalled. During the trip down memory lane I had forgotten to keep the engine revved up. Bugger! Now what?
Micky volunteered to get out and give me a push start. I barely weighed 7 stone, I couldn’t have moved the car. Micky got out and with no effort pushed the car until it started. He climbed back in and off we went.
“Do you remember Terry Powell?”, I asked. “Yeah,” he answered, “that’s ‘ho we’re gonna meet.” Where abouts in Finsbury Park are we going to meet him?”, I enquired. “In the Park”, he said. “In the Park? What’s he doing in the Park at this time of night.”, “’e’s meetin’ ‘is girl”, he answered, dropping his “h’s” all over the place. “Meetin’ ‘is girl?”, I asked, now I’m dropping my “h’s and n’s”. “Funny place to meet his girl, ain’t it”, now I’m getting into my role of East End Cabbie. “Nah, she’s on the game” he explained and the car stalled again. Out he gets and pushes the car until it starts. He’s now almost sober. I’ll be lucky to get my fare money, never mind a tip, I thought.
We did get to the Park and meet up with Terry. Micky paid the fare and gave me a nice tip. So, all’s well that ends well.
Never saw either of them again.
I moved to Toronto in 1970 and around 1972 I started working for a tapes and record store. One day a really cute girl walks in, buys a tape and I’m at the cash desk. She said something to me and I immediately thought of Carol Shaw. It was the same throaty, sexy voice. “Are you from London?”, I eagerly asked. “No, why”, she asked. “’cause you sound like one of my school friends by the name of Carol Shaw”. “Well Carol Shaw is my name, but I never lived in London”. I saw her a few times after in the store and that was that. Another amazing coincidence.
2 Comments
Yes I remember Mrs Chitty and yes she was obsessed with Arnhem and the injured parachutists. I remember the crate of apples we received every year from Arnprior Ontario and the pen pals we had from that town. I remember mayday and dancing round the maypole and having to do a Scottish sword dance. Sandra vishnicks father was my father’s tailor and he also make a suit for my husband when we first got married.
Thanks for commenting. Were we there at the same time?