Post by Les on Aug 18, 2017 18:53:11 GMT
Peter Capon
I still remember my mother helping me dress for my very first day at St Francis School. I cannot though remember my first day in school, maybe that sums it up. I do nevertheless remember some of the things we trained in at that preparatory class, if we were very good they allowed us to take our work to the next upper class and show off to the older ones.
They sent me to the upper classroom so that the older kids could laugh at me. The reason because my mother made me wear long trousers and not the uniform short ones. It is a strange thing that these memories come back to you but it was so important to the teacher that she referred the matter to the headmaster (the ultimate adjudicator). They relented because shortly after many more skinny white legged kids appeared in long grey trousers.
goo.gl/photos/VhCWmUZSJzPifSrv7
This was Miss Lenten’s class and it is not me making cakes.
Happy days it would be another full year and a new class until the teacher smashed my head on the desk time after time because I struggled to read. I got there in the end and I still remember this particular vicious teacher telling my mother that it was obviously a mental block that needed to be cleared.
My days at St Francis school do not bring back happy memories, not the fault of the teachers, more that I always wanted to be doing something else (whatever it was). Nothing changes there.
When we reached the age of ten we sat the 11 plus, still of no consequence to me as I was clearly not bright enough.
To continue our education we went St. Francis secondary school, which in those days consisted of three nissan huts in vinters park. One hut sectioned into four classrooms, one was the school hall and gym facility and the other was the kitchens and living accommodation of our caretaker.
I remember the cold of the classroom in the winter as the site was so exposed, the caretaker would come into the classroom periodically and throw coal onto the stove and generally try to encourage it to give out more heat.
I also remember the caretaker having an enormous Alsatian dog that he kept promising to set on us if we misbehaved. We nevertheless took little notice and still never had to fight of the vicious hound.
My hard luck story is that I left St. Francis at the age of fourteen, but only because I was going on to further education at Maidstone Technical College.
I still remember my mother helping me dress for my very first day at St Francis School. I cannot though remember my first day in school, maybe that sums it up. I do nevertheless remember some of the things we trained in at that preparatory class, if we were very good they allowed us to take our work to the next upper class and show off to the older ones.
They sent me to the upper classroom so that the older kids could laugh at me. The reason because my mother made me wear long trousers and not the uniform short ones. It is a strange thing that these memories come back to you but it was so important to the teacher that she referred the matter to the headmaster (the ultimate adjudicator). They relented because shortly after many more skinny white legged kids appeared in long grey trousers.
goo.gl/photos/VhCWmUZSJzPifSrv7
This was Miss Lenten’s class and it is not me making cakes.
Happy days it would be another full year and a new class until the teacher smashed my head on the desk time after time because I struggled to read. I got there in the end and I still remember this particular vicious teacher telling my mother that it was obviously a mental block that needed to be cleared.
My days at St Francis school do not bring back happy memories, not the fault of the teachers, more that I always wanted to be doing something else (whatever it was). Nothing changes there.
When we reached the age of ten we sat the 11 plus, still of no consequence to me as I was clearly not bright enough.
To continue our education we went St. Francis secondary school, which in those days consisted of three nissan huts in vinters park. One hut sectioned into four classrooms, one was the school hall and gym facility and the other was the kitchens and living accommodation of our caretaker.
I remember the cold of the classroom in the winter as the site was so exposed, the caretaker would come into the classroom periodically and throw coal onto the stove and generally try to encourage it to give out more heat.
I also remember the caretaker having an enormous Alsatian dog that he kept promising to set on us if we misbehaved. We nevertheless took little notice and still never had to fight of the vicious hound.
My hard luck story is that I left St. Francis at the age of fourteen, but only because I was going on to further education at Maidstone Technical College.