TnT Unleashed 1pic4twenty Blog

 

I turned 6 toward the middle of my first year at “big school” in 1975 in East London. Back in those days grade 1 was called Sub A.

I spent that year at Vincent Park Primary in Western Avenue, in Vincent, before the school moved premises in 1976 to where Hudson Park Primary is now.

My parents, brother and I also lived in Western Ave at the time. In fact, my parents moved from Western Avenue only a few years ago.

My brother was in standard 9 (grade 11) at Cambridge High School.

I remember trying on my school uniform for the first time a few days before school started. I was terribly excited to be going to “big school” for the first time, and very proud of my maroon uniform and my black school shoes. I stood proudly for the photo my mother took of me on the morning of my first day at school.

Although excited, I wasn’t so excited that I didn’t think about missing my mother while at school, and after she had walked me to school and taken me to my classroom, I ran back along the fence kissing her through it every few steps.

So now it was no more crèche and familiar faces, and I had new friends to make. On day one a girl called Moira offered me a piece of chewing gum and that was cool! What was not so cool on day one was that the teacher was calling children up to mime or imitate a musical instrument that she whispered in your ear. I felt blood rushing to my head and felt quite dizzy and stupid standing there trying to think what a trumpet was, and felt worse when the teacher said something along the lines of “Come on, it’s easy!” I felt like crying. I enjoyed what I thought were great first efforts at reading and writing. I enjoyed being a monkey and an athlete and a tomboy but I wasn’t interested in music!

I enjoyed those reading cards and having to stand next to the teacher to read them after having studied them for homework the day before. I was one of the first to easily recognize and learn “elephant” and “aeroplane” but Julia was good at reading too…

Our principal was a friendly kind man by the name of Mr Ted Allen. He got right into the pool for grade 1 swimming lessons and I remember how he would support me in the water by grabbing a handful of Speedo straps at my back, even when I still had arm bands on, and I felt safe and secure.

Although I never went on to be a great swimmer at all, as ran my heart out instead, and enjoyed running so much more, I still reminded Mr Ted Allen of how he had helped me feel secure in a swimming pool, during lessons in grade 1, and thanked him, at a Vincent Park Primary reunion I went to when I was about 35. Ted Allen, a remarkable man, passed away just a few years later.

1975 was the year I enjoyed choosing between tomato sauce, smoked beef, and salt and vinegar Simba chips for 8c at the school tuck shop;

It was the year that postage stamps cost 5c;

It was the year where it was exciting to go to a birthday party and give the birthday girl or boy a R1 coin in an envelope as a gift and feel happy they were surprised it was a new R1 coin instead of the 50c piece they had expected;

It was the year I was so proud of having saved 100 1c pieces which totalled a whole R1 – enough for 12 packets of chips with 4c over for about 16 “pick and mix” sweets at the corner store!

It was the year I remember enjoying sugus fruity toffees that came in a flat box with fruity little characters all over the box, and the inside slid out like a little tray;

It was the year, that after school, kids would line up at Granny Hart’s house to buy toffee apples and hard sticky homemade suckers;

It was the year of every morning and break time at school playing “England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Eire, Do-pla-cee!” on the school steps;

It was the year I marvelled at the already-tall-and-oh-so-grown-up grade 7 boys walking with stilts they’d made in woodwork class;

It was the year my cat Ginger was born, who from soon after spent every night sleeping in my arms, until I left home to move in with a boyfriend at the age of 19. Ginger lived for 17 years, dying when I was 23 (and living with the next boyfriend!);

It was the year my then 17-year-old brother could have died if the chain for walking the dog didn’t have rubber at the top part of it. The dog, Ricky, stepped into a puddle on the sidewalk, on a wet day, next to a faulty telephone pole that had a wire hanging in the puddle, and was electrocuted to death;

It was the year I was still small enough to sit high above the world on top of my dad’s shoulders while we went “window shopping” at night, safely, in the middle of town and Oxford Street. Dad would walk so fast and it was the next best thing to a ride at the fair!

There were some ups and downs, but my first year at school in East London, in 1975, was a good year.

© Teresa Schultz 2009