Part 1
As one of the
first intake
to Augustine’s in 1965, as a second year student, I thought
perhaps something
should be said, first of all, about that year in limbo that many of us
spent as
‘first years’, at what became known as St Gregory’s
Annexe. (I shall get on to
life at Sharston Mount later on).
It is
interesting to see
that the chronology of our school history year by year, uses not only
memorable
news events to give us a sense of context, but also the music we were
listening
to in those years.
For myself,
nothing else
serves as a better reminder or memory jogger than hearing a particular
piece of
music and as I suspect this is true for many people I have used them
liberally
in the following recollections.
St
Augustine’s came about
because of the need to provide extra school places for the post war
baby boom.
For us baby boomers who had taken our eleven plus exam’ early in
1964 and
passed for a Grammar/Technical place, there was an acute shortage of
Grammar
school places. The new schools being built to overcome this shortage
(St
Augutine’s and St Ambrose’s) would not be available for
another year. St Bede’s
and Xavarian college took their pick of the best, so I guess we were
the
leftovers!
St
Gregory’s Ardwick Green
was a Technical School (in between Secondary Modern and Grammar) and so
it fell
to it to take the overflow until the new schools were ready. In fact St
Augustine’s was originally classed as a Grammar/Technical, though
this was
later changed to just Grammar (much to Spike’s satisfaction I
would think).
It was September
1964, The
Beatle’s film and album of ‘A Hard Days Night’ had
been released during that
summer and they dominated the national newspapers and television. This
included
our own local programmes like Granada’s ‘Scene at Six
Thirty’, on which we had
followed their progress from their early days of fame in Liverpool.
Exciting
times for an eleven year old!
In any event
many of us
found ourselves during that first year of secondary education at St
Greg’s
Annexe, Plymouth Grove. Some were familiar faces from St
Anthony’s my old
Primary school in Wythenshawe ( David Bloor, Paul Murphy, John McKeown,
Tex
Flinders, Michael Boczeck and the infamous Connolly twins Peter and
Paul etc.).
Some were from St Peter and Paul’s Wythenshawe, which
incidentally was only
across the road from where we lived and to which my two sisters and
youngest
brother went. These would also become new friends and acquaintances in
the
ensuing years – John Taylor, Chris Fewtrell, David Jamieson, Hugh
O’Donoghue. A
number would eventually go to St Gregory’s main school and St
Ambrose’s (I
think) but the majority of us would be future Augustinians.
The old Annexe
building was
quite a contrast to the brand new Augustine’s that we would all
come to know
and love the following year. The main part of the school was one of
those
typical three storey school buildings, probably built around the early
part of
that century, complete with separate entrances marked
‘Girls’ and ‘Boys’. There
were some other prefab buildings in a section of playground separated
from the
main area by a large brick wall with a single arched entrance. A
typical
Manchester inner city school environment I suppose.
Together with
the top floor
of the main building, these comprised our classrooms and playground
area. The
whole of this school complex sat amongst houses and shops etc. that had
been
there as long, if not longer, than the school itself. Add to this the
sometimes
wet, grey, smoggy weather of a pre-smokeless zone Manchester and you
will
probably get the sense of how it felt to a young kid used to the green
fields
and open spaces of Wythenshawe (remember the M56 didn’t exist yet
and Ringway
was still a small airport with only four foot wire fences between you
and the
aircraft).
We shared the
main building
with the local junior school, our classrooms being on the top floor.
There was
a science lab’ with the novelty of gas taps (for Bunsen burners),
which were
abused at every unsupervised opportunity. As is the wont of young boys
everywhere, experiments with matches and gas jets usually resulted in
skin or
uniform getting singed, but amazingly nothing more serious happened.
Although I
do remember one incident in there, when we were left to our own devices
and
various objects were being thrown at one another. Someone got hit on
the
forehead by (I think) one of those rubber bungs used in the lab and a
huge bump
appeared immediately on his forehead – just like in a cartoon.
First time I had
seen that happen and it caused great amusement to the class despite the
obvious
discomfort of the recipient.
As the new
school year
progressed The Beatles were at number one in the charts with ‘I
Feel Fine’ and
Roy Orbison’s ‘Pretty Woman’ figured heavily in the
musical backdrop of our
lives. I have to admit that during that winter of 64/65 St Greg’s
could be
quite a depressing place (or was it just the often foggy, rainy, grey
Manchester weather). Whenever I hear Petula Clarke’s song
‘Downtown’ I am
immediately taken back to that winter and those same feelings.
But it
wasn’t all doom and
gloom. Sometimes we would use our MCTD school bus passes to go in to
the town
centre after school. This was not our ‘official’ route
home, so part of the fun
was seeing if you could manage to convince the bus conductor it was OK.
Occasionally you would get chucked off the bus and have to try another
one, but
most of the time the conductor gave the pass a cursory glance and you
were
safe. Manchester town centre was not that far anyway, so there was time
to have
a mooch around the shops. Lewis’s or Woolworth’s toy
departments were favourite
haunts – train sets, toy soldiers, Scalextric and giant Meccanno
sets. Plenty
for young schoolboys to drool over and hope that Santa would be good to
you.
For our games
periods we had
to make the journey to Hough End Playing Fields on Princess Road and
for some
of us at least this was back in the right direction for home. The
school
journey from Wythenshawe meant two busses, the 102 then the 85 from
Wilbraham
Road where it crossed Princess Road. The 85 took us past the BBC TV
studios on
Dickenson Road where of course a little bit of pop music history was
being made
with the weekly recording of Top of the Pops. I always remember that
journey
for the time someone had a transistor radio on the top deck of the bus
and it
was playing Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons singing ‘Big Girls
Don’t Cry’
(remembered probably because the lyric and its delivery was so
distinctive on
first hearing).
Secondary
education took a
lot of getting used to in those grim and grimy surroundings especially
after
the leafy suburbs of Wythenshawe. There was homework for a start and
new
teachers to get used to. I cannot remember all their names but there
was Mr
Machin who was the ‘head’ I suppose, Mr Connor and one we
just called ‘Lurch’. He
was extremely tall, very thin and completely bald and carried his
leather strap
slipped across his shoulder and under his suit jacket. It was he who
strapped
the whole of our year after some wags shouted something derogatory at
him from
the top floor one dinnertime (probably his nickname). He was down in
the
playground and so had no chance of catching the culprits. As no one
would grass
on them, the punishment was administered to us all as we lined up in
the
playground, the spectacle of which only added to our enjoyment of the
episode.
Woodwork was
experienced for
the first time, learning the joys of mortice and tennon and trying to
make a
dovetail joint (Beatles lyric creeping in there). Wearing our white
aprons and
listening to the grumpy old woodwork teacher, we also learnt not to
lean on the
bench unless you enjoyed having your knuckles rapped by his ruler!
There always
seemed to be
crates and crates of free school milk (remember those third of a pint
bottles?), stacked outside the prefab classrooms. I don’t ever
remember it
being officially distributed, you just helped yourself. As quite a few
boys
never seemed to bother, this also meant you could drink as much as you
liked
all day. In the winter it was gloriously cold (the best way to drink
it!), but
come the summer you had to get it early on in the day before it went
off.
Collection of the empties and the unused was a bit erratic so you had
to be
careful what day’s milk you were about to quaff! You
couldn’t imagine this kind
of thing happening at St Augustine’s, Spike would have had
palpitations at the
laissez faire attitude of the Annexe teaching staff. Perhaps our (and
their)
remoteness from the main school, together with the one year only nature
of the
situation, encouraged it.
At break time
the lads I
hung about with mostly played football, usually with a tennis ball,
which did
wonders for your ball control. I cannot remember there being a school
canteen
as we usually went round the corner to the chippy on Stockport Rd. As
this was
the first time I was making my own choice as to what to eat, I always
remember
the guilty feeling of getting steak pie, chips and gravy on a Friday
(always
fish on Friday in Catholic schools). Anyway we seemed to survive the
devine
retribution which surely should have fallen on us (especially as it was
never
owned up to in confession).
We were mostly
unsupervised
at break times, so occasionally things would deteriorate into water
bomb (crisp
bag + water) fights over the prefab rooftops or sometimes, due to the
above mentioned
milk excess, milk bomb fights.
Although the
Manchester
winter was as depressing as ever, come the spring and warmer weather
the place
didn’t seem as forbidding as it had first appeared. Maybe we had
just got used
to it and adapted to our surroundings (as you do eventually with most
things in
life) or perhaps it was that our reprieve was in sight (demob happy as
the
forces call it). Man Utd were the Football League champions, the
Rolling Stones
had a number one with the ‘The Last Time’ and the Beatles
had followed likewise
with ‘Ticket To Ride’.
Reports that St
Augustine’s
was nearing completion were always welcome. The thought of it being on
the
doorstep and only a short bus ride on the 102 also added to the
expectancy. We
would be back to the leafy suburbs and the green fields of South
Manchester and
away from the dark urban confines of Plymouth Grove. There was mention
of a new
school uniform, which would be an added expense and worry to my mum and
dad,
who always struggled to make ends meet with five kids to support. But
what a
uniform it would be – but more of that later.
My final
memories of the
summer term at the Annexe, are of the group of us that always went to
the
chippy at dinner time, for no apparent reason getting mobbed by the
junior school
girls (and boys occasionally!?) every time we returned from the chippy.
It was
like a scene from ‘A Hard Days Night’ and of course therein
lies the
explanation. Some of the girls had probably taken a shine to one or two
of us
and emulated the way their contemporaries reacted to the Beatles in the
film –
screaming and running after us! Paul Murphy was nicknamed ‘Long
Legs’ by the
girls and had to make good use of them to avoid his admirers in hot
pursuit
behind him. This was also great sport to us, as we had to devise
different ways
of getting back into school without being chased by the screaming girls
and the
rest of the juniors who wanted to join in the fun of the mob.
The summer
holidays of ’65
were soon upon us and so we said a fond farewell to the Annexe and
Plymouth
Grove. Well if the truth be told, we legged it out of the gates, caught
the
first bus we could get and never gave the place another thought! And so
just as
Pope Gregory had sent St Augustine on a mission to instruct the English
all those
years ago (thanks George), St Gregory’s now sent forth from its
temporary care,
this bunch of schoolboys on a mission to be instructed at St
Augustine’s, where
they would try the patience of that saint (or any schoolmaster for that
matter).
The Beatles were
releasing
their new LP ‘Help’ as well as the film of the same name
and the Byrds had
their single of the Bob Dylan song ‘Mister Tambourine’ man
at the top of
charts. During the holidays I went to see ’Help’ at the
Odeon on Oxford Road in
the centre of Manchester with my two sisters and our friend Sheila. I
can still
remember my embarrassment at my elder sister Trisha (me aged almost 13
she aged
14) when she began screaming and crying every time George appeared on
screen.
But apart from this social embarrassment it was great to see our idols
on the
big screen once again and this time in colour.
Anyway as the
holidays
progressed and September drew ever closer it was time to pay a visit to
Nevilles on John Dalton Street and get kitted out with the new uniform.
The
word magenta entered into our lives. The blazer took a little getting
used to,
but Trisha went to Loreto Convent School and so stripes didn’t
seem too bad.
The colour was striking but seemed to hint at something a bit superior
and
certainly not run of the mill. We were obviously going to put the
school on the
map when those colours were seen in numbers, especially in Wythenshawe.
It was like a red (magenta?)
rag to a bull at times and definitely made us stand out from our
contemporaries
at the other local schools (and let’s face it many of them hardly
had a uniform
apart from the tie or jumper). Luckily the most it attracted (in my own
experience) was name calling (pyjamas) and I think gradually the
novelty wore
off and we became part of the South Manchester wallpaper (albeit
decorated by a
sixties version of Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen). Thank god though that we
changed
to a plain navy blue blazer in the sixth form – but more of that
later. In the
next installment we enter the hallowed portals of Augustine’s and
meet our
nemesis.
To be continued…..