Friday 21 March 1975
‘Continued to go over exams, read in some. After lunch, I left flute at the Women’s Institute. Use School Flute for lesson, have double lesson. Play Tri-tactics in the library. Miss games. Plays do make-up and play flute and feast song. Have a late supper, I’ve to tidy up and set out breakfast, get two penguins, go to bed straight away, very tired, plays good.’
The day was a mixture of academic review, music, and leisure—structured yet with enough variation to avoid monotony. Looking back, certain moments stand out more clearly than others, each carrying its significance.
Exam Review
The whole process felt pointless. The exams were done for me, so what was the purpose of endlessly going over them? I can see now how convenient it was for the school to keep us occupied, maintaining the conveyor belt of routine. But it was frustrating—like taking a finished car and putting it back on the production line. I should have been allowed to do something more meaningful, like exploring the woods, sketching, reading, or playing music. Anything would have been more valuable than this mindless repetition.
Flute at the Women’s Institute
This detail surprises me even now. I don’t recall playing the flute as part of the school play, yet clearly, I was there, alongside a couple of others, with a teacher at the piano. Was it a last-minute addition? A background accompaniment? The memory is elusive, but it must have happened.
Tri-tactics
This was the craze for a time. We played whenever we could with whoever was available. It was easy to pick up and quick to play, ideal for filling those in-between moments. Perhaps there was a strategy, but I suspect it was mainly about the thrill of competition and the camaraderie of shared enthusiasm. Looking back, it was one of those small rituals that helped pass the days, a microcosm of schoolboy obsession.
Plays and Music
I enjoyed the creative aspects of school life. There was a play—something adapted by a teacher, loosely based on The Toad of Toad Hall. I remember a scene with a shop selling peculiar items, run by a shopkeeper who was a goat—a bizarre, whimsical detail. It seems fitting that such an odd, dreamlike moment would be embedded in my school experience.
Late-night Duties
This was unusual. It wasn’t part of the routine. Having stayed up late, I was left with something to eat in the kitchen and was asked to tidy up and set out breakfast, which meant seeing the school in a different light—literally and figuratively. There’s something about walking through a place after hours when the usual structures of the day have fallen away. It revealed a different rhythm, one usually hidden from the students. It felt like stepping behind the curtain of a well-rehearsed performance, seeing the machinery that kept it all running. Did it make me feel more connected to the school or reinforce my role as another cog in the system? I’m not sure.
Boarding School vs. Home
For all its frustrations and restrictions, boarding school at least provided structure. A full day was packed with activity, engagement, and movement. In contrast, home could feel empty—there was less to do and nobody to do it with. That stark contrast, I now realise, shaped how I approached time and productivity in later life—the need to be busy and engaged in something to avoid stagnation started here.
Looking back, this was just another typical day. Yet, with time, even the most ordinary days can reveal insights about the person I was becoming.
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