Moving on

My next Christmas memory occurred shortly after my 11th birthday when, still in thrall to short trousers, I moved on from the primary shool to the High School.

My success at the 11+ exam was entirely due to the efforts of the redoubtable Miss Bailey, seen here on the right with her class of young ruffians, including myself, kneeling at  front left. A close inspection of the group shows by the body language of the boys, that they were well disciplined – several of them standing to attention – all due to the controlling influence of Miss Bailey who knew when and how to apply the rod. I have a lasting regard for her as a teacher who really cared for her pupils and was anxious for them all to succeed.

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Miss Bailey, aided by my mother helped me to deal with arithmetical problems including the question of the time taken to fill a bath given etc etc…

The High School at South Shields was,  a magnificent building which included a fine gymnasium, a large assembly hall capable of seating 550 with a stage and organ, physics and chemistry laboratories, a woodwork room where the master was less than impressed with my early mortice and tenon joints,  and a metalwork room where hammers were wielded and welding apparatus used to produce wrought metal objects.  The school also had a library where I quickly discovered Richmal Crompton’s “William” books, along with”Peter the Whaler” , author now unknown,which had a connection with the River Tyne from which whaleboats departed to northern waters to hunt and marked by the bits of whalebone to be found on allotments etc.There was also an active music room where I soon found myself in a class of 6, each having been provided with a violin and case, and at the outset having difficulty with some very elementary pieces.

This was a new school. It opened to pupils on my very first day and dazzled me with the facilities and the general sense of purpose which prevailed. That such a magnificent school should be built in the 1930s is a tribute to the liberal generosity and far sightedness of the local businessmen, civic officials and dignitaries.

At that first Christmas it was decided that there should be a school ball and we were asked to invite a partner who it would be our duty to escort to supper and to look after during the course of the evening.  Dancing classes were held in the gym where we learned to waltz, to palais glide and other dances long lost to posterity.

My partner was young lady called Audrey Weldon who I must have known from primary school days.  We, the escorts were lined up, knees scrubbed and shoes polished, at the main entrance at the appointed hour and we stepped forward as our partner in her best party dress and carrying a small evening handbag (Was there a card to record dance partners? I don’t remember),arrived in a taxi. The rest of the evening has drifted into obscurity – I hope I looked after Audrey – where is she now? A grandmother at least who could be living  just a stones throw away? And what are her memories of that Christmas Ball in 1936?

Just a few weeks after the ball, my world was turned upside down when, on father’s promotion at work, we moved from South Shields to the relatively prosperous country town of Morpeth.

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