TASHY DID - A LIFE
1962
The end of this year was the beginning of a weird experience in my life but more of that later. The year started with mother now making all her own bread
once a week and never joining us for a cake when we went out. Eating out for a meal was even more of a problem as , if memory serves, she could eat gravy made
with an Oxo cube but not made from Bisto. Chefs and waiters had to be questioned before she ordered. Her diary says she wrote a long letter to father’s first
wife in late May but I really have no idea what was going on there. Of course, I had no idea he had a first wife. Having said that, some time around here, my
cousin did say to me that she knew something about my dad that I didn’t. She never told me more and I never pushed her but, it would seem, someone had let her
in on the secret.
Easter of that year brought a big disaster as my hero, Stirling Moss, was badly injured in a race at Goodwood. I had kept a scrapbook with newspaper
cuttings about his victories and now stories about his crash and his slow recovery joined these. Ironically, at about the same time, the gear wheel broke on
my bike and was never replaced. I gave up my career as a round-the-garden racing driver.
In June of that year, 18 and 19 to be precise, I sat the entrance exam to UCS. For some reason, which had something to do with my birthday being in July
and something connected to my return to London, it was decided I would sit this exam while still in the fifth form of my prep school. When I passed I became
the centre of attention because no one had ever done this before. However it would mean that, when I started at UCS in September, I would not have any friends
or classmates. So began a problem.
A week after taking the exam we had another holiday in Weston-super-Mare. This time we hired a car and drove down. I honestly don’t remember much else
except that I returned in time for sports day but had missed the qualification races and so could only compete in the hurdles, where I finished fourth and
the 440 yards, where I finished fourth. Podiums, who needs podiums. Later father played in the father’s cricket match which made me very proud although mother
told him he was a silly old fool and would have a heart attack. He wasn’t and didn’t.
During the summer holidays, possibly influenced by the BBC series Compact, my sister and I produced a family newspaper. I wrote the news, sport and motoring
pages, she contributed fashion, cookery and music. If you have ever seen her, tasted her cooking or heard her sing, you might be thinking this would be like
Henry VIII writing on the role of a faithful husband. However, the fact is that, since then, we have both, in different ways, become published writers. Out of
little acorns……..as mother would have said
In September, I started at UCS. On the day I started mother entered hospital for a minor operation. It would appear that, after my first day, I typed her a
letter telling her my news. Okay, so I had no correction fluid but I am not impressed. At school, everything was so new. Instead of sitting in one classroom
with one teacher, we would move classes for each lesson. Instead of going one stop on the tube and starting at 9am and finishing at 3pm, I would go five
stops and finish at 4.05pm. Instead of an occasional game of football or cricket sometimes in the playground, there was games for the whole of every
Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, probably over 2 miles from the school. Your books, which your parents would have to buy, were kept in a locker in the
crypt and you had to take the right ones to your lessons. This involved three lessons in the mornings before break; two lessons between break and lunch
and then three in the afternoon. Each lesson was 40 minutes, except gym which was 30, allowing you five minutes to change at the start and five at the end
to change back.
I had an awful lot of days off sick and I may not have been that sick. The little shy boy was finding it very difficult to cope. On 19 November,
I refused to go to school and didn’t return that term. My parents reacted differently. Mother decided I was a naughty boy and it was embarrassing for her
that I didn’t go; father tried to find out why I couldn’t face things. Matters, for me, came to a head next year and, as a matter of fact, the Head also came
to me, twice.
During the summer holidays, possibly influenced by the BBC series Compact, my sister and I produced a family newspaper. I wrote the news, sport and motoring
pages, she contributed fashion, cookery and music. If you have ever seen her, tasted her cooking or heard her sing, you might be thinking this would be like
Henry VIII writing on the role of a faithful husband. However, the fact is that, since then, we have both, in different ways, become published writers. Out of
little acorns……..as mother would have said
In September, I started at UCS. On the day I started mother entered hospital for a minor operation. It would appear that, after my first day, I typed her a
letter telling her my news. Okay, so I had no correction fluid but I am not impressed. At school, everything was so new. Instead of sitting in one classroom
with one teacher, we would move classes for each lesson. Instead of going one stop on the tube and starting at 9am and finishing at 3pm, I would go five
stops and finish at 4.05pm. Instead of an occasional game of football or cricket sometimes in the playground, there was games for the whole of every
Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, probably over 2 miles from the school. Your books, which your parents would have to buy, were kept in a locker in the
crypt and you had to take the right ones to your lessons. This involved three lessons in the mornings before break; two lessons between break and lunch
and then three in the afternoon. Each lesson was 40 minutes, except gym which was 30, allowing you five minutes to change at the start and five at the end
to change back.
I had an awful lot of days off sick and I may not have been that sick. The little shy boy was finding it very difficult to cope. On 19 November,
I refused to go to school and didn’t return that term. My parents reacted differently. Mother decided I was a naughty boy and it was embarrassing for her
that I didn’t go; father tried to find out why I couldn’t face things. Matters, for me, came to a head next year and, as a matter of fact, the Head also came
to me, twice.
Back to the top
