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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Childhood / Youth
- Published: 04/07/2022
BACK from the FUTURE II !
Born 1948, M, from Kent - garden of England, United Kingdom.jpeg)
Back from the future II !
This is how I once again met an old lost school friend.
Roy and I had been friends at our secondary school on the outskirts of London. The school that we met at, on the first day of a new school year, was one of the very first new ‘Comprehensive’ schools built in the late 1950’s in order to provide a wide educational curriculum for us baby boomers born immediately after WW2. The aim of the government of the day was to once again build up Britains industry with well educated young people to replace the generation before, many of whom had perished in the war - there was a great shortage of well educated men at the time and Britain was suffering because of this.
The school itself was an interesting building, as it had been designed and built for a double purpose.
This was the time of the dropping of The Iron Curtain, around the Russian states, with its ongoing threat of nuclear war at any time. Indeed, in the UK we were constantly aware of the ‘Four Minute Warning’ of an imminent nuclear attack.
With this situation in mind, the architects had been commissioned to build a structure which could be efficiently used as a school in peacetime, but which could be rapidly converted to a large and secure hospital in time of war.
Therefore the building was formed into the letter ‘H’ when viewed from the air, and its thick walls were built from special engineering bricks, with deep buttresses between the large windows. The idea here was that in case of the need to transmute into a hospital, the windows could be easily bricked up quickly between the buttresses, giving a secure though windowless building, secure against all but direct attack. Inside the rooms had been designed for conversion to hospital wards if need be, and the staircases were built so that the centre section of the stair treads could be easily removed to provide stretcher runs for sliding stretchers up the incline between the remaining steps at each side. The building was of only two floors, a ground floor and an upper floor to resist the pressure of the blast of air from explosions, and the boiler rooms and power facilities were doubled up, with some below ground under the building and a second facility some way away at ground level.
The roof above the school science block was flat and clear to be used as an helicopter landing space, and what was used as a geography teaching room, would, in war become a secure reception and triage unit adjacent to the helipad.
The science block itself contained several self contained apartments with kitchens and bathrooms, and the whole interior of the bock could be isolated from the rest of the building for use as an administration area and dormitory’s.
It was rumoured, by those who lived around the site whilst the building of the school took place, that there was a large and deep multi floor basement. This was believed to be for use as an RSG or regional seat of government. Other facilities of this type of RSG were dotted around the whole country, often being around six or seven floors below the surface of the ground, and completely self sufficient for as long as three years, stocks of food etc being in place to ensure this.
Should you be interested in this, do look up British Cold War RSG on the net.
Roy and I were part of an early intake to the school just after it opened, there were around two thousand pupils at the time, both boys and girls. Classes were integrated and out teachers were mainly young, looking back I suspect that a few of the teaching staff were maybe only five years older than the kids that they taught.
The two of us were thrown together on the first day, when I was selected to be a companion to Roy, who suffered from poor eyesight and was timid and shy. Most of the pupils at the school were well behaved and conscious of the chance that they were being given of receiving a better education than most children at that time. Our subjects to study were wide ranging, from English and Latin as well as most other European languages, through maths, literature and philosophy and onto light engineering and woodwork. As sexist as it seems today, the girls were taught housecraft, cooking and sewing as well as having special rooms set aside where they could study the skills of becoming a housewife or shorthand typist.
Personally I was a bit of a misfit at school. I had been an early reader, being able to enjoy quite sophisticated books from about five years old, whereas others were still on ‘easy readers’. From the books that I read, I gained a personal education of my own, and my interests seemed to be much wider than most of our young teachers could cope with, although some of them will stay in my heart forever.
As Roy had a little trouble seeing the board clearly, we were both moved to the front of the class, sitting together and becoming good friends, we stayed this way until the last day of school, and after that we slowly drifted apart, Roy working for the Post office telephone service as an engineer, and myself finding my way into the arts in various guises.
When I retired from ‘Work’ ( don’t you believe it, what I did for work was more like a lifetime of hobbies, for which I got well paid for!), we decided to move from London, down into Kent.
Now, I am a Kentish lad, born and brought up in the country, so I not only love the place, but know it very well and feel comfortable there - despite the underlying slightly right wing feel of much of the incoming population.
So what, I am ME and I can be as leftish or even bordering on anarchist as I like, just don’t mess with me!
We chose to live in a small and historic mid Kent village, a place which has over a thousand years of history and to this day has an high street which has not changed much for around four hundred years. We bought a house which was a wreck, and I have worked on it continually ever since. It is the first house we have owned where I know where every pipe or cable runs, what is under the floorboards and who owned it before us in its long history.
About a quarter of a mile from our house is the village railway station (why do so many Brits now call them train stations? Must be all of those Hollywood films influencing real English, as it should be spoken!), another lovely old Victorian edifice of red brick and peg tiles and built about the same time as our house.
The station is one of the hubs of the village. It is very well kept, tidy and litter free. The waiting room features proper leather armchairs and a sofa, as well as pot plants and a free library of books, it is also the place to get a newspaper or to hear the village news, verbatim, from the friendly stationmaster.
I had been using the station and railway for around three years, and was very friendly with the stationmaster, who coincidently was also named Roy. This Roy is a bit of a tough guy, scuba diving, fast cars and good watches are his hobbies, and he keeps the station very neat and tidy, so much so that above the ticket booth there is a nice collection of awards which have been given to the station over the years.
Best station, best station, best station, etc, etc.
He had made the place like home to the villagers, although he lived, and still lives in one of the nearby towns along the line. From five thirty in the morning to around three in the afternoon he was in his domain, HIS station.
Over the three years, I had many conversations with the stationmaster, a friendly bloke of about my age and with similar interests, as I have done a bit of diving myself, also drive a fast sports car and am into fast boats too. So we got along well, normally seeing each other when I took the dog for a walk and called in there for the daily paper.
It was on one of these visits that Roy was in the process of putting up yet another award for Best Kept Station, when I noted that his full name was also included on the wooden plaque, nicely displayed in silver letters. I had only know him as Roy up until that time. What a coincidence, I thought, as I walked home with the dog.
The next day I saw him again, but this time asked him what school he had attended, and yes you are right, it was the very same Roy that I had sat alongside in school for several years around sixty years ago!
How could we have not recognised each other?
Since then we have renewed our friendship, although we do not see each other as often as we once did.
Roy retired from the railway several years ago, but hand picked his replacement, a nice chap who is doing his best to carry on the great traditions which Roy introduced.
Roy now, like me, spends his time playing with his car, taking scuba holidays in exotic places and enjoying his garden and home.
So there you have it - one never knows when the past might suddenly appear in your life again, and renew old times, memories and past friendships.
And If you are out there somewhere, I would love to be once more in touch with my old cycling and model railway loving friend, Les Whyatt, who moved to Perth in Australia in the early seventies to work on a steam railway as a driver.
Les, if you, or somebody who knows you, in OZ or over here reads this, please do get in touch - I still have all of the stuff, (including the thing your father gave me) and all that which you left with me, still ready to be once again reunited with you, after fifty years of careful care.
Ken.
Copyright Ken DaSilva-Hill 2022
All intellectual rights reserved.
BACK from the FUTURE II !(Ken DaSilva-Hill)
Back from the future II !
This is how I once again met an old lost school friend.
Roy and I had been friends at our secondary school on the outskirts of London. The school that we met at, on the first day of a new school year, was one of the very first new ‘Comprehensive’ schools built in the late 1950’s in order to provide a wide educational curriculum for us baby boomers born immediately after WW2. The aim of the government of the day was to once again build up Britains industry with well educated young people to replace the generation before, many of whom had perished in the war - there was a great shortage of well educated men at the time and Britain was suffering because of this.
The school itself was an interesting building, as it had been designed and built for a double purpose.
This was the time of the dropping of The Iron Curtain, around the Russian states, with its ongoing threat of nuclear war at any time. Indeed, in the UK we were constantly aware of the ‘Four Minute Warning’ of an imminent nuclear attack.
With this situation in mind, the architects had been commissioned to build a structure which could be efficiently used as a school in peacetime, but which could be rapidly converted to a large and secure hospital in time of war.
Therefore the building was formed into the letter ‘H’ when viewed from the air, and its thick walls were built from special engineering bricks, with deep buttresses between the large windows. The idea here was that in case of the need to transmute into a hospital, the windows could be easily bricked up quickly between the buttresses, giving a secure though windowless building, secure against all but direct attack. Inside the rooms had been designed for conversion to hospital wards if need be, and the staircases were built so that the centre section of the stair treads could be easily removed to provide stretcher runs for sliding stretchers up the incline between the remaining steps at each side. The building was of only two floors, a ground floor and an upper floor to resist the pressure of the blast of air from explosions, and the boiler rooms and power facilities were doubled up, with some below ground under the building and a second facility some way away at ground level.
The roof above the school science block was flat and clear to be used as an helicopter landing space, and what was used as a geography teaching room, would, in war become a secure reception and triage unit adjacent to the helipad.
The science block itself contained several self contained apartments with kitchens and bathrooms, and the whole interior of the bock could be isolated from the rest of the building for use as an administration area and dormitory’s.
It was rumoured, by those who lived around the site whilst the building of the school took place, that there was a large and deep multi floor basement. This was believed to be for use as an RSG or regional seat of government. Other facilities of this type of RSG were dotted around the whole country, often being around six or seven floors below the surface of the ground, and completely self sufficient for as long as three years, stocks of food etc being in place to ensure this.
Should you be interested in this, do look up British Cold War RSG on the net.
Roy and I were part of an early intake to the school just after it opened, there were around two thousand pupils at the time, both boys and girls. Classes were integrated and out teachers were mainly young, looking back I suspect that a few of the teaching staff were maybe only five years older than the kids that they taught.
The two of us were thrown together on the first day, when I was selected to be a companion to Roy, who suffered from poor eyesight and was timid and shy. Most of the pupils at the school were well behaved and conscious of the chance that they were being given of receiving a better education than most children at that time. Our subjects to study were wide ranging, from English and Latin as well as most other European languages, through maths, literature and philosophy and onto light engineering and woodwork. As sexist as it seems today, the girls were taught housecraft, cooking and sewing as well as having special rooms set aside where they could study the skills of becoming a housewife or shorthand typist.
Personally I was a bit of a misfit at school. I had been an early reader, being able to enjoy quite sophisticated books from about five years old, whereas others were still on ‘easy readers’. From the books that I read, I gained a personal education of my own, and my interests seemed to be much wider than most of our young teachers could cope with, although some of them will stay in my heart forever.
As Roy had a little trouble seeing the board clearly, we were both moved to the front of the class, sitting together and becoming good friends, we stayed this way until the last day of school, and after that we slowly drifted apart, Roy working for the Post office telephone service as an engineer, and myself finding my way into the arts in various guises.
When I retired from ‘Work’ ( don’t you believe it, what I did for work was more like a lifetime of hobbies, for which I got well paid for!), we decided to move from London, down into Kent.
Now, I am a Kentish lad, born and brought up in the country, so I not only love the place, but know it very well and feel comfortable there - despite the underlying slightly right wing feel of much of the incoming population.
So what, I am ME and I can be as leftish or even bordering on anarchist as I like, just don’t mess with me!
We chose to live in a small and historic mid Kent village, a place which has over a thousand years of history and to this day has an high street which has not changed much for around four hundred years. We bought a house which was a wreck, and I have worked on it continually ever since. It is the first house we have owned where I know where every pipe or cable runs, what is under the floorboards and who owned it before us in its long history.
About a quarter of a mile from our house is the village railway station (why do so many Brits now call them train stations? Must be all of those Hollywood films influencing real English, as it should be spoken!), another lovely old Victorian edifice of red brick and peg tiles and built about the same time as our house.
The station is one of the hubs of the village. It is very well kept, tidy and litter free. The waiting room features proper leather armchairs and a sofa, as well as pot plants and a free library of books, it is also the place to get a newspaper or to hear the village news, verbatim, from the friendly stationmaster.
I had been using the station and railway for around three years, and was very friendly with the stationmaster, who coincidently was also named Roy. This Roy is a bit of a tough guy, scuba diving, fast cars and good watches are his hobbies, and he keeps the station very neat and tidy, so much so that above the ticket booth there is a nice collection of awards which have been given to the station over the years.
Best station, best station, best station, etc, etc.
He had made the place like home to the villagers, although he lived, and still lives in one of the nearby towns along the line. From five thirty in the morning to around three in the afternoon he was in his domain, HIS station.
Over the three years, I had many conversations with the stationmaster, a friendly bloke of about my age and with similar interests, as I have done a bit of diving myself, also drive a fast sports car and am into fast boats too. So we got along well, normally seeing each other when I took the dog for a walk and called in there for the daily paper.
It was on one of these visits that Roy was in the process of putting up yet another award for Best Kept Station, when I noted that his full name was also included on the wooden plaque, nicely displayed in silver letters. I had only know him as Roy up until that time. What a coincidence, I thought, as I walked home with the dog.
The next day I saw him again, but this time asked him what school he had attended, and yes you are right, it was the very same Roy that I had sat alongside in school for several years around sixty years ago!
How could we have not recognised each other?
Since then we have renewed our friendship, although we do not see each other as often as we once did.
Roy retired from the railway several years ago, but hand picked his replacement, a nice chap who is doing his best to carry on the great traditions which Roy introduced.
Roy now, like me, spends his time playing with his car, taking scuba holidays in exotic places and enjoying his garden and home.
So there you have it - one never knows when the past might suddenly appear in your life again, and renew old times, memories and past friendships.
And If you are out there somewhere, I would love to be once more in touch with my old cycling and model railway loving friend, Les Whyatt, who moved to Perth in Australia in the early seventies to work on a steam railway as a driver.
Les, if you, or somebody who knows you, in OZ or over here reads this, please do get in touch - I still have all of the stuff, (including the thing your father gave me) and all that which you left with me, still ready to be once again reunited with you, after fifty years of careful care.
Ken.
Copyright Ken DaSilva-Hill 2022
All intellectual rights reserved.
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