Biography, Autobiography, Old Steve of Scarborough, North Yorkshire, United Kingdom

1. Towards the end of my grammar school days the opportunity to go to school in France came up. My mother jumped at it, as the snob value of that was incredible and none of the other cousins had done it, so the money was found from somewhere. That was the happiest time of my school life and I loved every minute of it. On arrival I was housed with a wonderful family and at first struggled like a fool to communicate. What I had learned at school being virtually useless unless the verb 'to be' could be somehow worked into it. But eventually I got there and despite the fact that it was very close to the end of the war and there was still some evidence and strong memories of it all around and many still muttered that they preferred the German occupation to that of the British and American who's overall behaviour was not exactly what it might have been and certainly not what we, the British, had been led to believe it was, I got on well with them all. I wonder if those feelings still persist today and have some bearing on the current French/British political attitudes?

2. However, despite everything they were wonderful to me and I think that had it been possible I would have asked to stay, because for the first time in my life I felt genuine affection from people and a family that wanted nothing in return. They took me all over the countryside, travelling many, many miles and we spent a full three weeks in Paris and, I think, covered just about everything there. But as with everything my mother had to spoilt it. When their son came back home with me, to spend an equal length of time with us, my mother treated him like shit, my father ignored him or took the piss out of him behind his back and between them did very little for him and so, I feel that because of all that, all contact was lost. I deeply regret that and feel somewhat ashamed that I never did anything about it or tried to make up for it later, but then life goes on and for me with just one more regret.

3. I saved hard when an opportunity to go, on a school trip, to the 'Festival of Britain' cropped up. That was a good experience and one I have long remembered, particularly sleeping in part of the Clapham Underground that had been used as an air-raid shelter during the war and was then some sort of hostel. Most of the money raised, as was much of that needed to finance all my schemes, was by selling my Dinner Tickets and volunteering for anything where there might be a few coppers in it for me. I also worked at one of the local shops during the short holidays and it was from there that I was sacked for the one and only time in my entire working carer. I was given mainly menial jobs that might include stacking firewood, opening boxes, stamping bags and other 'useful' jobs. Now in those days dried fruit was a popular commodity and on one occasion I was instructed to open a large box of Prunes from which 'they' proceeded to weigh them out and bag them up between serving customers. A woman purchased a bag and later returned it claiming it was underweight. The bloke, who owned the shop, weighed it and agreed and proceeded to replace it, but not satisfied the woman ranted on about what else he was going to do about it. He turned to me and told me to put my coat on; as that was the last time I would bag up prunes. There was no wrongful dismissal in those days and even if there had been I was only a schoolboy and casual employee. But there was no apology either and very shortly after he told my mother that I would not be welcome in his shop again. She went mad because she believed I was guilty. Always getting the blame for so much in my school days I didn't bother to explain and a few years later got my own back on him through his daughter, who was not only a very accommodating girl and one of the village bikes, but who we encouraged to steal his cigarettes and give them to us.

4. When the time finally arrived for me to leave school, sixteen for Grammar School pupils, fifteen for all the others at the time, there was a shambles of an examination called a School Leaving Certificate, which it was essential to have in order to move into the Upper Sixth, in preparation for University, but not so important for those who were just leaving and 'moving on.' Having been to Grammar School was considered enough of a qualification for them. Well at the same time they were considering introducing 'O' Levels, but nobody quite knew what they were all about but they never the less decided they would put up our results against this proposed scheme and see how we would have got on. Remember, I got my School Leaving Certificate and with it could have gone on towards University, but of course there was no chance of that, I was a potential earner and that was where I was headed, after having been 'kept' all those years. But they still compared my results and came up with an Ordinary Pass in French, Geography and Woodwork. So much for the wonderful Grammar School education and of a student heading towards University armed with the equivalent of an 'O' Level in Woodwork. But don't knock it, because the Grammar Schools kicked up such a fuss that the following year it was adjusted so that the low to average student came away with between eight and ten passes. I think it was then adjusted several times after that and I think it still is, according to government and political interference and the supply and demand for University places and please don't knock my achievements in Woodwork as that is the direction in which I initially went. It was not my first choice; I wanted to be a draughtsman and my mother wanted me to be a doctor and my father wanted me to 'just work.' I don't know where the draughtsman came from but that's what I wanted to be, and in those days there were no career advisers, only teachers that didn't give a damn unless you wanted to join them and become a teacher, then advise and assistance was unlimited. So your career was down to you and any backing came from parents. My father said he would get me a job in the mill, my mother was appalled and said no and I was not impressed. Anyhow after some little discussion and probably some argument, my father somehow got an appointment with one of the large engineering firms in Bradford and off we went. Because I met my father, as he came out of work at the end of his shift and was covered in grime, from his then job, the appointment, which we had to travel to, was well outside normal working hours. When we got there the guy was unimpressed and asked very little and was obviously just not interested and suggested I looked for less demanding work and where the earnings would be more satisfactory to my immediate requirements. My father was completely put off once this guy pointed out that the money, for a draughtsman was good, but would not become available until I was at least twenty-six. The interviewer then offered to get me an immediate interview with the night shift foreman so that I could start almost immediately, on a production line, working nights and earning 'good money.' I said no and my father, disgusted, walked out. He never arranged anything else or did anything to help me after that. He had done his bit and done as I had asked, and that was it. So it was then down to me and I ended up in Woodwork. But before we get on to that, towards the end of my school career something cropped up at home and I snapped and said to my father that one day I would be big enough and then there would be a day of reckoning. Incidentally there never was, but at the time he replied that if that was all he had to look forward to then he had better get his in first and that was the second and last time he hit me and I hated him for it. I also learnt from it that you don't threaten, you either do it or you back off.

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