Category Archives: Childhood

81. A horse isn’t a flower, Sidney.

I thought that she was in the outdoor area working with Miss Sugarsprinkles.  Miss Sugarsprinkles thought she was in the classroom, working with me.  So, we instituted a search.  Not in the toilets.  Not in the Welfare Room.  Not in the Office.

At last I found her; huddled in the corner of the small resources room: headphones in ears, gum in mouth, mobile in hand.

She shrugged.   “Those f*cking kids are doing me ‘ead in.”

“Then perhaps,” I suggested, “a career in education is not for you.  I’ll ring your tutor.”

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80. Something sensational to read on the train.

Jan 1st   Had party at home. Went to Grandad’s. 

Jan 2nd   LittleSis lost piece of spirograph.  No. 42 ring.  Made bed.  Payed Coal Bill. Went to Town.

Jan 3rd  Found ring 42.  Lost magnet pencil of International Spy.

London at the height of the Swinging Sixties.  Still whistling World Cup Willie, we hunker down for the winter before the Summer of Love.  It’s all there in the heady entries of my 1967 Letts School-girls Diary; unearthed this morning from the loft as we haul up yet more of YoungLochinvar’s goods and chattels.

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74. One more for the road…

It’s a quarter to three.  There’s no-one in the place except ActorLaddie and me.  And Willow.  ActorLaddie is curled up peacefully; dreaming, I expect, of livery companies.  Don’t ask.  Really, don’t ask.  Willow, at a guess, is investigating the strange oval shape which has recently appeared on the lawn.  I am lying on my back, hoping for a car to drive past and counting my blessings.  One – ActorLaddie.

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41. Deep in my heart, I do believe…

“Anyone want to choose the next song?  …  Anyone?”

YoungLochinvar and I look round the circle of Elfins and are met by slightly bemused stares.  We have been asked by FellowKnitter to help out with a session singing campfire songs, leading up to the Whitsun camp in Epping Forest.  Elfins are the youngest in our local Woodcraft Folk group – ages up to about 7 – and we are looking at a dozen or so of them.  They’re a tough audience to get going, that’s for sure.   I’m jolly grateful that YoungL has come along with his guitar, as  otherwise you’d only be able to hear FellowKnitter and I laying our burdens down and refusing to study war (whatever Mr Gove may say).

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