Fifty-Years Ago: Sunday, 4th July 1976
(Sedbergh School, Age 14.9)
The term was almost over. Lessons and revision for exams still existed, but Everyone’s thoughts were already turning towards home.
I revised German nouns and attended Second Band practice.
Chapel
I was told that Mum wouldn’t be over before 12.30. She had phoned my Housemaster, who passed the message on.
I saw Kojak, a boy from the year below at Mowden. He was a swimmer and a chorister. He must have come up for a visit. I had done something similar a couple of years before. If so, he would be starting next term.
I tried to revise.
With Mum’s arrival I packed my tuck box and books into her car. It felt like putting out the rubbish – getting rid of something. A dead weight. One less thing to carry home on the coach at the end of term.
Later we went down to the River Lune for a swim. Some of the boys from the house were heading in the same direction on foot. The Rawthey had shrunk to little more than a trickle in places, but there was still some water in the Lune.
Afterwards I changed into home clothes.
That change always felt significant. More than changing clothes, it was an entire skin and identity realignment. Out went Sedbergh. Out went the uniform, the tie, the expectations and the conformity. On went my bellbottom jeans, a denim jacket and a shirt from Marcus Price in Newcastle, very West End and very much of its moment, covered in polka dots with a rounded collar. Looking back, I can see that I was dressing not just differently from school, but differently from that person.
We ended up at the Barbon Inn for supper. I noticed the Head of House sitting with a couple of girls from Casterton.
I clocked every detail. The clothes they wore. Their body language. The way they sat together. The ease or awkwardness of the conversation. Girls remained a mystery at fourteen. older boys were morecomfortable in their company. They possessed a knowledge that the rest of us had not yet acquired.
I remember thinking that one day that would be me.
I had a scallops, a steak tartare and a pint of ale.
I was often trying adult food by and generally discovering that I liked it. There was something satisfying about moving beyond a Childs menu and ordering what the adults were having. Scallops felt faintly sophisticated. Ale even more so.
The day carried the unmistakable feeling of transition. The books were packed away. The river had been swum. Home clothes had replaced the school uniform. The term was still officially in progress, but in my mind, I was already halfway home.
Leave a Reply