My primary school, St Chad’s, South Hill in Whittle-le-Woods was tiny. There were about 60 or 70 pupils when I was there, and just eight in my year group in the final year. The pupils were a cross section of society, although all the pupils were Catholic. Contrary to what you might expect, I didn’t really know anything about religion then, since I was never taught about or mixed with any other faiths. For me at that time, religion was binary: you were either Catholic or non-Catholic. We never differentiated between Protestant, Methodist, Jewish, Sikh or Muslim, although I doubt that there were any of the latter two in Whittle-le-Woods in the 1960s. My abiding memory of that time was simply that Catholics had to go to church at least every week and the other faiths didn’t, which I felt was very unfair.
In any population sample, there will be a few bright students, a few who struggle, and the majority will be of average intellect. At my school in the 1960s, it was noticeable that if you struggled academically, there was very little additional help. For the pupils who engaged with the teaching staff, the education was probably fine, but if you were struggling or fell just a bit behind the majority, perhaps due to sickness, there would be little or no incentive to catch up – such children would just be left to flounder, and this probably harmed their future potential. Those pupils might have left school at the earliest point and taken up a job labouring or other low-paid occupation. They might well see out their lives in relative poverty never reaching their potential.
I’m not singling out St Chad’s for this weakness – I guess most schools at the time were the same. If you were average, you got by, if you were gifted, you were helped, if you struggled, you were left to sink. Maybe gifted isn’t the right word. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you were supported more if your parents looked out for you. I was lucky in that my parents were enthusiastic readers and whilst not academic, they were keen that their children got a good start in life. I came from a stable household with high behavioural standards. Books were always available to read at home and Mum & Dad were interested in my progress.
Of my parents, I think my mum was the one with more aspiration for her children. Dad, I believe, simply wanted us to be sufficiently educated to get jobs and be content. He was keen on vocational training and often told me to ‘get yourself a trade’ which he saw as a passport to ongoing well-paid employment. He left school himself at fourteen being able to read, write and perform mathematics to an appropriate level. He never had a trade or any specific recognised skill (playing and singing music and gardening didn’t count) and so I think his main aspiration for me was to have more opportunities that he did.
Mum, on the other hand, had two brothers whom she considered were higher up the social ladder and I suspect that she wanted the same for her children. She was the one who encouraged me to try hard at primary school and to pass my eleven-plus exam which she may have seen as my passport to upward social mobility (and I’m sure that it was). However, this was never effectively explained to me, and it was many years later before I fully grasped the true value of this single exam. I’m sure Mum encouraged all her children to strive for this, although not being around at the time, this is only an assumption. I believe that all my siblings had the ability to pass this exam (which is essentially just an IQ test), but the way the system was set up was that only the top few percent were deemed to have passed each year. So if you weren’t towards the top of your year group, you were destined for what became termed a ‘secondary modern’ education, a system which focussed on developing vocational skills more than academic ones to be found in grammar schools. In theory, this sounds fine, but the system allowed many children to believe that they were failures at just eleven years old. Many may have taken this to heart and gave up trying after that, despite the fact that they represented the vast majority of the population.
Another huge problem with the eleven-plus exam was that you could practice to improve your chances of passing. Parents who knew this gave their offspring test papers beforehand to familiarise themselves with the type of questions that would appear. I don’t believe that there was any incentive for teachers to provide extra tuition since the school probably had a limit on how many students they could send to grammar school and so only the top ones would be given a pass however well other pupils performed in the test.
That said, I do remember three pupils at my school (and I was one of them) being given many practice papers before the eleven-plus exam: these were certainly not given to the whole class. The two girls given this additional support were daughters of teachers who were friendly with my school’s head teacher. Perhaps I was included in that exclusive cohort because my parents both worked at the school (Mum as a dinner lady, Dad as the caretaker). I don’t know whether my Mum was aware of this additional tuition, but I suspect that she was. I remember once commenting that I wasn’t bothered about passing the exam since I knew that if I passed, I would be sent to a different school to my mates. Mum got very angry at this which I how I deduced that she understood the value of passing. At least she understood this when I was going through the system, although she may not have appreciated the importance when my older brothers and sisters were at the same stage in their lives. The practice papers I sat must have worked, however, because I passed, unlike any of my siblings.
This single exam awarded me a scholarship to St Mary’s College, a very good boys’ grammar school in Blackburn.
The scholarship paid for all school fees and travel passes to and from the school which was about eight miles away. The journey involved a 10-minute walk, 25 minute bus ride then either another bus ride, or a 35 minute walk. None of my friends from St Chad’s went with me so I made new friends amongst the boys I travelled with on the bus. This wasn’t a problem and I soon settled into the new routine. The school wasn’t like Tom Brown’s Schooldays, but it was probably closer to that than Grange Hill. It took me some time to get used to being in a class of 32 boys, being called Kellett rather than Bernard, and having the threat of being caned if I misbehaved, but everyone was treated the same. There were about 100 boys in each year’s intake at age eleven, with a few more joining at age 14. I’ve only today realised something. I had always thought that there were about 400 boys in the school, but at 100 per year group, this would indicate over 500 pupils, plus sixth form which would add maybe another 100. But however many there were, it seemed very big from my perspective.
What was particularly noticeable to me, even then, was that many other boys came from much wealthier families than mine. At primary school, there were some families in the school who were richer, but not by much. Mainly, the kids there were the offspring of builders, mechanics, farmers, decorators etc. At St Mary’s I was mixing with lads whose dads were solicitors, accountants and doctors since it was a fee-paying school as well as taking us scholarship plebs. There were still many children there from backgrounds like mine, but the range of social backgrounds was much wider, and I was always aware that I was from a different social stratum. I remember in 1971 being very impressed by one boy whose dad came to pick him up after school in a brand-new Range Rover. This was the first time any of us had seen such a remarkable car since it had only just been launched. I now know that then it cost over £2,000, more than twice the cost of a typical family saloon such as a Ford Cortina.
In many ways, I found it useful to have feasted on books written about kids who went to boarding school, because through those stories I could better understand the lives that some of my schoolmates led. Obviously, none of them actually went to boarding school, but I sensed that their lifestyles were much closer to it than mine. Generally, the differences in social class made no difference to me, but I soon felt that my friends from primary school began to see me as someone who’d changed. We gradually developed different outlooks which I struggled to assimilate, and I suppose from that time I began to drift away from their friendship. By the time I was thirteen or so, I was no longer seeing any of my old friends from primary school even though they lived very close by.
Neither of my parents encouraged me to aim for tertiary education, however high their earlier aspirations for me may have been. I’m not sure why they never provided such encouragement since I’m sure that they must have thought I was capable. It wouldn’t have helped that I disliked school, and I certainly wasn’t pushing to stay on to do A‑levels. At the time, my own ambitions were very limited, focused mainly on becoming a car mechanic like my brother. At 14, I expressed a desire to become a cartographer, but a careers officer told me that I’d have to move to Southampton to pursue that path which quite put me off. I was very naïve (or perhaps I was simply young) but all I could see was that I’d have to leave home and travel 250 miles away from my parents. A five-minute chat with virtually anyone would have put me right about the reality of the situation and that may have offered an entirely different life for me. Not pursuing that option may have been the biggest sliding door moment of my life, and I often ponder the path not taken.
I’m aware that I never made the best use of my time at secondary school. I’ve given considerable thought about why this is the case without reaching any conclusions. I suspect that it may have been due to a combination of factors listed below:
- School was two-bus-rides away from home which meant that I never felt able to stay behind for after-school activities. I was very timid and the thought of catching a later bus home alone was a daunting prospect. (This seems astonishing now, but it was true)
- I was a loner, and I never tried to get in with any other groups that weren’t the friends who caught the same bus as me. So, even though there were several clubs and societies I could have joined, I never took advantage.
- I was very conscious that my family didn’t have much money and since many activities (school trips or other events) had a cost associated with them, I always said no to everything that I felt we couldn’t afford.
I took part in any music events that were offered, and the only overnight trip I ever made with school was to a joint musical weekend at our sister school in Hull. I expect that my parents would have encouraged me with this. We travelled by coach from Blackburn and when I was dropped off in Hull, the boy I was staying with, Robert Suret, met me and took me to meet his parents who then whisked me away in a large car to their beautiful home in Beverley, a market town about ten miles away. I remember staying in Robert’s room (I’m not sure where he slept, but it was elsewhere) and I noticed when I turned out the bedroom light, that the ceiling was covered with luminescent dots, which I suppose represented star clusters. I was extremely impressed! Another strong memory I have of that weekend is playing the Hornpipe from Fantasia on British Sea Songs at a concert. It was clear that our sister school had been practising this piece for some time, but we hadn’t, and we had to sight read. We must have sounded awful. I still shudder when I hear that tune, especially when it gets progressively faster and faster.
After two years at school (age 13) we could choose options for the subjects we wished to continue studying. I elected for Geometrical & Engineering Drawing (GED) and German and planned on dropping Biology and Latin. I did enjoy Latin; I suppose I appreciated the logical and methodical way it’s structured which would have suited my character. There would have been other options, but I can’t remember what they were. The options I chose were mainly influenced by my brother Frank. I’d often stated that my career aim was to become a car mechanic, mainly since I liked cars (but what 13-year-old boy didn’t?) and Frank sensibly said that drawing would be a useful skill when pursuing an engineering career. German was a less obvious choice especially since I was very poor at French (which everyone did throughout the five years at school) although I was pretty good at Latin, the only other language I studied. Frank’s reasoning was that many of the top car manufacturers were German, so speaking that language would be beneficial. This was a very tenuous link, but without seeing the options open to me now, I can’t comment on the validity of that line of reasoning. In the end, I studied German for just twelve months before dropping it in the fourth year.
Just before the summer break, my Latin teacher, Mr Neild, told me that the GED course was full and that I should continue to study Latin. Of course, he had a vested interest in this decision (possibly he needed the numbers to ensure his Latin class was full) but I was sanguine about it. I really liked Mr Neild, and I was good at the subject and so being an obedient boy, I accepted his decision and went home to tell my mum. I don’t remember the actual discussion, but I do recollect that this was a rare occasion when Mum stood up to authority and she told the school that this wasn’t acceptable and I needed to be on the GED course. This must have been at a parents’ evening since I remember Mr Neild listing all the reasons that Latin would be a better option for me. He didn’t win and I started the engineering drawing course the following September. This was perhaps an even earlier sliding doors occasion. If I’d continued to study Latin, a classical education might have opened up for me, effectively closing the door on an engineering career. I guess Mr Neild could foresee me in the medical or legal professions with my Latin O-level acting as a springboard. Who knows what might have happened had I pursued this path? As things turned out, GED was my top subject at O‑level and clearly proved useful in my eventual career, but who can say where my career might have gone if I had followed a different course 52 years ago?
An aside. When I went for an apprenticeship interview at age 15 one of the men on the board was slightly mocking me for my rather artistic O-levels (they included art and music) and he made me feel inadequate because I didn’t have metalwork or woodwork which all my contemporaries possessed. I still got the job.
I have no regrets in my life, by which I mean that I don’t feel sorry for anything that I’ve done. I feel some slight regret for things I didn’t do, and one of them is not taking full advantage of the opportunities offered to me at school. The opportunities were certainly there, but I didn’t see them. I can now hypothesize about what might have ensued if I’d taken a different path at age 13 or 14, but whether these are actual regrets or just reflections, I don’t know. I am fully satisfied with how my life has unfolded, and I’ve reached an educational level that I’m content with, even though it took me a bit longer than most. And of course, I’ll never know what hurdles I might have encountered if I’d gone to university nor whether I would have overcome them.
I suspect that amongst other things, going to university would have taught me how to cook. That’s not to say that I can’t cook now, but I can only do so very slowly and with a recipe book by my side. I’m unable to just throw a few ingredients into a pot and produce an acceptable meal. Many of my peers appear to chop and fry an onion, brown off some mince, add a few chilli beans and some spices and then a delicious meal emerges without ever having to get out the scales. Such alchemy never works with me. I need to study a recipe, buy all the ingredients, weigh them out and then carefully follow the recipe instructions to the letter. I guess it’s just practice that I’m lacking, but having a wife who has always cooked and resents sharing her kitchen means that practice is difficult. Thank goodness for recipe books. And pre-prepared frozen meals.
One thing for which I’m very grateful to the school is my love of the outdoors. Each year, the school held a sponsored walk when many of us tackled the Three Peaks of Yorkshire. I had previously been on walks with the school locally and also in the Langdales and had developed a liking for hill-walking. I entered the walk each year from 1973 until I left. I even went back in 1976 to walk with my former school pals and teachers. Another outdoor activity that the school supported was the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award scheme. I was quite late in starting this scheme in summer 1973 and that’s probably the reason I only managed to achieve bronze level. Although I started the silver before I left school, I only attended one of the practice hikes and didn’t finish any of the additional activities which were also necessary. Even so, I have always appreciated the map-reading, camping and field-craft skills that I picked up in doing those activities. I never had the opportunity to join Scouts, so this filled a useful gap in my personal growth and engendered in me an enduring love of the countryside.
