Crackers at Christmas

Photo: Cheslyn Hay Rec', January 2008
It was the week before Christmas 1971, and the upstairs windows of the Number Seventeen were opaque with condensation. The snow shower had taken us all by surprise, as we'd headed through the bike sheds, down the cinder path, past the tax offices and across the concrete to the blue cement bus shelter.

"Mairte. Ah'm sweatin' like a turkey in this blairzer"

Said Kev, swinging his Thacker's army surplus rucksack onto the front seat.

"I reckon we'm in fer an 'arsh winter, Kev. An' the miners'm on about gooin' on strike an' all"...

In the two-minute hiatus, while the bus station clock jolted towards 3.45, we had a brief discussion of national sporting events of the autumn term.

"Kev. Is they summat strairnge about Princess Anne gettin' voted Sportwoman o' the Year? An' Ted Heath winnin' that Admiral's Cup?"

My companion scratched his sideburns.

The Gardiner diesel rocked to life one floor below, and at the rear.

A youth in bottletop black-rimmed safety specs and a donkey jacket marked "NCB" slid in front of the bus as the driver prepared to engage first gear.

From our vantage point, we heard "not him again; he's crackers" uttered from beneath our feet, then the reluctant, opening hydraulic sigh of the sliding door.

We knew, of course, that it was Joe...

He slung his snap-bag on the seat behind us, and six discs spilled out across the vinyl seat...

Who was Joe? What was his link with Cannock Grammar School, Noddy Holder and us, the Fifth Form 1zaacs? How did we manage to wangle his entire collection of number one singles from him that Christmas?

Stay tuned 1zaacs for a winter story of discos, discontent, pear-shaped parties, powerplays and power cuts... (Strewth. Ed)

Happy Christmas 1zaacs.

Click on any of Joe's Cracker collection for the Number Ones of our 'O'-level year first term...

Whaam! Where?

Here at 1zaac we were contacted last week by The Phantom Zedder, who asked:

Does anyone recall where this picture was displayed at Cannock Grammar School?

Answers via the usual channels. Click on pic for more info.

Library Lobotomy

A Friday in October 1971. The Cannock Grammar School library is a symphony in oak: herringbone parquet floors; monolithic bookshelves; broad study tables.
"Mairte. If this school wuz a body, the lib'ry'd be..."
Kev pauses, and scratches his sideburns.
"...The BRAIRN. Are. The brairn."
We should be racing to complete an essay: "Discuss the rôle of libraries in local communities". But the view of The Wrekin, of Bloxwich flats, the silent-movie of the staff-room smokers, twenty yards away through two single-glazed aluminium frames in the building opposite, a farting contest between three of the 5B lads in the far corner, and this week's editions of Punch, Paris Match and Hi-Fi Weekly conspire to distract...
Photo courtesy CGSFPA website. For a flurry of fifties photos, from our more senior 1zaac'affilates click HERE.

...A Tuesday in October 1961. Low Street, Cheslyn Hay. Grandad Jack is walking down the steps out of the shining, oak-green livery. Gold letters proclaim Staffordshire County Council Mobile Library Service. The last word seems to glow more brightly than the others. He has two "Cowbye Books" under his arm. He walks over towards me, and the Bedford diesel engine rumbles into life...

...A Saturday in October 1967. The new Village Library, which the planners have placed in the prime community location at the top of Queen Street is resplendent with its flat roof, green carpet and panoramic windows. From their vantage point at the top of the village, the sentinel picture-windows look out, like curious oblong eyes, to Castle Ring, on the horizon seven miles distant. I am savouring the quiet, breathing in the scent of Pledge furniture polish and paper. I should be doing my French homework, but the Observer's Book of Aircraft will have to be read first. The Number 17 arrives, and performs its hourly turnaround on the triangle of tarmac in front of The Collier's Arms. The driver and conductor saunter into the Smoke Room.
A teaspoon tinkles in the library kitchen.

...It is a 1981 spring October Thursday evening in Perth. From the third floor of The Alexander Library, I look to the sun. It is setting, laconically and from right to left, over the University campus and out towards City Beach. The air-con whispers, and recirculates a faint scent of chilled city-centre eucalyptus.
The busker in the square below sings impromptu lines about repentance. There is one other person in the reference section. It is Barry Humphries.

...October 1991. Saturday morning in Sainte-Cécile. I stamp a Tintin book for one of the littlies whose mum is browsing the local history section. The leaves of the village-centre limetrees are just beginning to turn to gold. Ferdinand, the council clerk, puts on the coffee percolator. His fonctionnaire bladder being programmed always to empty during work-time, and before he departs from the Mairie at midday, he enters the non-sound-proofed WC which is just next to my desk. So, ignoring the "Silence svp" sign, I turn up the volume on the France Inter news bulletin.

...October 2001. Domingo. I am reading today's edition of La Rioja. El Mundo lies with its headline staring at the ancient ceiling timber trusses of La Biblioteca de Logroño. The 2 pm readers are contemplating tapas in the Calle del Laurel. Olive oil and garlic drift from the heart of the city through the open window. As the exodus gets underway, the floors creak loudly in a Spanish attempt at Silencio.

...October 2011. Monday morning. Cheslyn Hay. "The library will soon be moving to the village hall. We do not yet know the date" says the sign. Under the flat roof, the staff are measuring shelves, whispering something about Christmas. I sit, for the last time, in the sparkling picture window warmth on the south side. The kindly librarian pulls the curtain so that I can see the monitor to type this.

I look across the room and along the neat, dustless bookshelves. To the north, in the middle of the urban swathe, sit the square buildings three miles away which were, until the late seventies, Cannock Grammar School. The school's library windows in B-Block are distinct, even from here. And empty. A dark pinetree line on the horizon is Castle Ring. Pye Green Tower is an inverted exclamation mark against the single white cloud from Rugeley power station. A Dublin to Birmingham Ryanair Boeing 737 throttles back both engines and curves slowly into its approach in the perfect blue.
My gaze returns to the immediate outside world. The sign outside the Collier's Arms invites to: "Enter as strangers; leave as friends". Someone has over-written in chalk "Pie-Eyed" on the last two words.
A gathering of lunch-time patrons is smoking in an inward-looking circle in front of the entrance. A framed certificate behind the bar proclaims the establishment's status as a "Community Pub"...
I find two books in the local history section. Through the mobile 'phone headset of the chap behind, a just-perceptible Joni Mitchell sings ...

Click on record sleeve to play...

The computer screen reports the 75th anniversary of the first lobotomy. Kev's 1971 analogy, and his pronunciation of the word "brairn" echo across the years.

A teaspoon tinkles...

Dawn and French

On Tuesdays in summer term of '71, Nick Hill would smuggle a transistor radio into room D3 at Cannock Grammar School. He would plug the single ivory-coloured ear-piece into its socket, and an avid group of lunchtime Pop Pickers would listen to his real-time recital of the Radio One charts.

Rose-tinted ear-pieces notwithstanding, we members of class 4E were not impressed with the Number One's on offer, in between T Rex's "Hot Love" and "Get it On" during May and June of that year.

Forty years on, we pause for thought for our classmate Nick, who left us too early.

And just to show that it's never too late to do your French homework, click on Dawn.

(No lads, Dawn is not the one in the crochet hot pants. But if you clicked on that one first, you probably need to have a lie down before you do your French).

Finally, a belated thank-you our good friends at MFP photography studio. [So that's what Music For pleasure was supposed to be. I clicked on the hot pants anyway. Phew. Ed]

Cheslyn and Che: A Railway Trailer

It was June 1971, and although we lived just fifteen miles north-west of it, I had been to central Birmingham only on rare occasions.

The first time must have been before 1963, because I travelled with my mother and little sister by steam from Station Street. Dr Beeching's axe was poised to prune our railway branch-line, and Flanders & Swann had not yet sung "Slow Train". (To hear Cheslyn Hay in the song, and for a free nostalgia
trip, Click HERE)

Click on Che for 1zaac'irony, courtesy of Newsbiscuit

That '63 trip had not been a happy day for a nervous six-year-old, who was terrified by the disappearing aluminium comb-prongs of an escalator which disgorged us from New Street Station into the newly-hardened concrete confines of The Bull Ring. And who then walked into a plate glass door and was rendered unconscious...

Fast forward to Birmingham city centre June '71. There we were, the members of the nearly-triumphant Cannock Grammar School Pan-Midlands French Quiz Team, standing two rides from home, conspicuously green-garbed in grey Digbeth, abandoned in 5 pm rush-hour midsummer exhaust haze, waiting for the Walsall Bus.

Merilyn Llewellyn, Elizabeth Myers, Christopher Crawford and me.

How had we arrived here, and who had sat in the front of the Triumph Vitesse? Who had pipped us to first place in the quiz? Did the pretty girl from the all-vanquishing posh, private Brummy school team slip me her 'phone number as we left the stage? What did all this have to do with Paul McCartney, Che Guevara, Spaghetti Junction and Miss Andrews? Had the teacher who abandoned us completed a risk assessment pro-forma?

Stay tuned, 1zaacs, for Zedders and Zombies.

Almost all will be revealed.

PG. Tops.

Here at 1zaac we were pleased to hear last week from a high-flying fellow Zeddeur, who, it appears, goes these days by the call-sign of "PG".


Regular readers will be familiar with past performances of our former classmate Peter Gethin: viz his pancake-tossing/eating prowess from 1968, his melodic '69 renditions of Simon & Garfunkel, and his early talents at attracting members of the fairer gender.

Pete informs us that he has taken time from his busy retirement schedule to update his Friends Reunited profile.

We hope that he finds this photo to his liking.

We remember his ambition to fly for a living, as expressed during a Grammar School recruitment visit by a BOAC pilot in 1971. Forty years on, we are impressed to learn that, after his successful career in business, he is now a fully-fledged flying instructor. His FR profile also informs us, inter alia that the aircraft he owns enables him to travel more easily between Norfolk, London and his Alpine winter residence.

Welcome on board, PG. You will of course be travelling first class on our Mystery Tour.

Click on pic for a seventies "through the keyhole" airline ad...

C'est Fou, le Fafa

1zaac'abbreviation spotters/nerds will enjoy working out the code from this sign, seen outside a Rennes restaurant by our friend Anne de Bretagne last week.
How quickly did you work it out?
First prize is a free French lesson, and second prize is another free, funny French "Fou du Fafa" lesson if you click on the pic.
Look out for our 1971 Cannock Grammar School adventures in Lyon, coming soon.
Merci beaucoup Brett & Jemaine pour la contribution des Conchords.

Adieu, Ash

We were sad to learn this week of the death of our dear friend Ash, our senior 1zaac'affiliate.

Ash passed away peacefully last Saturday at the age of 97.

A veteran of the ill-fated "Bridge Too Far" Arnhem campaign of September 1944, Ash was a platoon commander with The Airborne Regiment. His rakish and razor-witted recollections of being aero-towed with his men into battle in a "Wooden Horsa" glider will be posted here in due course.

He knew our Cannock Grammar catchment area well, having worked there after the war. Fellow 1zaacs will remember his spell-binding rendition of a poem called "Grumble Corner" during a get-together at Cheslyn Hay village hall two years ago. "I learned it off by heart when I was four or five" he confided, in his gentle West-country lilt.

His poem is the message 1zaac's may like to recall on Thursday 16th, when Ash's funeral will take place near his home in Claverley.

Click on Ash's picture for Grumble Corner.

In Memoriam Cyril "Ash" Ashley

May 1st 1914-June 4th 2011

AB

Nuts About Brazil

There was a southern hemisphere vibe to our geography lessons in class 4E in 1971.

After Australia, we ventured to South America.

Miss Keith's lessons on Brazil, though, were never quite like this.

Click on the rainforest for a seventies surprise.

Arthurs, Elles and Beau's

At Cannock Grammar School in 1971 there was a kindly and well-respected teacher of French with the most un-Gallic moniker of Monsieur Baskerville.

Our penpals from Lyon had no problem with the pronunciation of his name, because they were all studying "Les romans de Sherlock Holmes" during their English lessons back home with charmeur/beau Disque-Bleu-smoking Monsieur Roux.

Although they experienced difficulty in enunciating his name, female members of our class 4E would sit for minutes on end, gazing ga-ga at Monsieur Roux during his annual visits.

1zaac'avago language exercise:

R- as in gaRgle

OU - as in "oo you are awful"

X - silent, like the "P" in "pfart"...

1zaac'info: A later blogpost will set out to expose Jane Birkin's seventies oral efforts to differentiate "cou" (neck) and "cul" (arse), efforts which may or may not have been faked, and which were conceivably the breathy inspiration for Serge Gainsbourg's contemporaneous "Je t'Aime, Moi Non Plus". [Not him again. Ed]

Anyway, look out for parochialism, xenophobia and violence from a lurking Wyrley Gang in an up-coming DARK TALE, with a hat-tip to our friend Julian BARNES.

JB was in the Cannock/Great Wyrley/Cheslyn Hay area circa 2004 doing detective work for his award-winning novel, Arthur & George. Click on the Baskervilles for more.

Histories, Geographies, Light and Dark...

Last day of term, April, 1971.

"Mairte, look what I've just worked out"

Whispered Kev in the middle of second lesson.

It was Geography, and Miss Keith was talking in the darkened room and in appropriately dry, gravelly tones about Australia and artesian wells.

"What?", I whispered back.

"Yoe ay gunner believe this. There was FOURTEEN Number one hits last year"

"So?"

"An' we was all FOURTEEN YEARS OLD"

Kev was whispering under his breath, checking his facts as only a scientist could...I was still trying to figure out how his calculation related to the subject matter of our geography lesson.

It was slightly worrying when his list came out in verse:

Edison, Lee, Simon and G

Dana, Norm & World Cup

Christie, Mungo, Elvis Presley,

Smokey, Freda...

"Shut Up"

Suggested Miss Keith.

Who then switched on the epidiascope.

This contraption was a powerful projector which cast onto the wall of room G2 a dim image of any text book page which was held open under its powerful arc lamp. The text book then had to be removed whilst still only superficially scorched.

An unintended consequence when switching it on was that the entire class would be exposed to leaking light waves of sufficient intensity to cause temporary blindness.

It was like being seven years early for Close Encounters of the Third Kind, as the horizontal blades of light cut through eyeballs, skin and green blazers.

"An' they call that thing a visual aid, mairte"

Said Kev, chuckling as he tried to make up a verse rhyming Matthew's Southern, Jimi and Dave...

Half an hour later, the bell rang, and we emerged from room G2, suitably briefed on antipodean sheep-rearing, blinking into the shadows of the corridor. Barry "Tosher" Tyler bumped into us, and started talking to us about T.REX...

Kev butted in: "Mairte, what's happened to your FAIRCE?".

I paused to peer into the darkened safety-glass panel of G1's door, and saw that my Irish great-grandmother's inherited complexion was even more crimson than usual.

"Bit o' arc-lamp sunburn, Kev. Doe worry; it'll wear off after a wick or so"...

The turbines at Rugeley B power station sighed with relief as Miss Keith pulled the plug on the epidiascope behind us. She smiled and overtook us on her way to the staff room and coffee with our lean and likeable mild-mannered form teacher, Mr Fleet.

Three or four of our classymate girls went into a huddle behind us, and started whispering things about romance. We guessed from Karen's eye-roll and from the smile on Carolyne's face that the gals knew something we didn't about our form teacher...

On that last day of term, there had been light, and rather too much of it, during the morning.

That evening there was to be a darker episode which almost changed the course of my own history.

It involved The Rec', Visiting Vandals, a dissimulated cracked rib and the first of two 1971 Clockwork Orange assaults...

Stay tuned 1zaacs for the roller-coaster Fourth Form Finale.

Now click on the epidiascope to go back to April 1971...Happy T.Rex twitching. (That's one for Barry T.) AB

Old Flames and Fireball XL5

We thought we'd make a temporary diversion from 1971, and back to 1963, because here at 1zaac we received an email from a former classmate calling himself "The Phantom Zedder" this week:

"I've just been to visit the Cheslyn Haydays website. Thanks for the timeandspace travel experience.

When I was at primary school, Fireball XL5 was part of my weekly routine. Run home from school, wait for the TV to warm up, then half an hour in the aroma of Bisto gravy with Steve, Venus, Robert the Robot, and the others out in Space Sector 25 or environs...

We'd act out the episodes "down the Rec" on Saturdays, perfecting our faux-American accents. I think I'm still madly in love with Venus. Keep on blogging. Great stuff."

Thank-you Phantom. We've found an XL5 clip that you might like.

Click on pic for a bit of dialogue Gerry Anderson didn't count on...

Oh, and for any 1zaacs who haven't been there yet, Cheslyn Haydays are HERE

1zaac Eye Test

April 1971.

"Look at this, Mairte"

Said Kev, as he put his bus pass into his recently-acquired war surplus knapsack, on the first morning back at school for spring term.

He held up the diagram he had drawn in his Rough Book.

"Car mek it out, Kev"...

"Try pullin' yer eyes like a Jap, Mairte. Yoe already look the part in that jungle hat from Thacker's, anyroad."

So I did.

As we alighted from the Number 17 that morning, our army green knapsacks almost perfectly colour-coded to our blazers, Kev's transistor radio announced that T. Rex were no longer Number One.

"It's that reggae song, Mairte. Double Barrel or summat o'that. Doe like the sound on it meself. Them skinheads look like they'm tekkin' over..."

Stay tuned 1zaacs, for a spring of surprises...
(Thank-you 1zaacVic for this one)

Cor Bl'1zaac

Here at 1zaac we received a recent photo of the two crafty cockneys who showed some of our hot-panted classmates a few tricks in 1971...

Click on the pic for their latest linguistic larkabout...

London Calling

In April 1971, form 4E won The Tidy For Room Competition.

We were awarded A Day in London. More about this, and the two Cockney chappies who were almost lured by the blue Lurex hotpants of certain ladies of our contingent, anon.

Click on pic for a Tour of La Tour "pas comme les autres"...

Thank-you to 1zaac'Di(mini)Cooper " for this one...

Back to the f-UTE-ure...

Click HERE to see our Anzac'1zaac affiliate Ralph HIBBLE, from Western Australia. Well, you only get a glimpse of him, because he is taking his new car for its first road test...
Not just any car, dear readers. Ralph built it himself. It's a solar electric Citroën 2CV ute. He uses the solar panels on his house to charge the 48 batteries under the rear tray, and hopes to have the design approved for (legal) road use this week.
"Shouldn't be a problem provided we can tone down the acceleration a bit." Ralph confided to us here at 1zaac this morning.
Watch the clip and you'll see what we mean...

1971 Prediction Revealed

Newsbikkie is on the 1zaac vibe...

Click on Pic for revelation...

Photo Newsbiscuit

T.Rex on the 'Rec...

Click HERE to view our growing affiliated website called "Cheslyn Haydays".

Thank-you to Kev for supplying the map, from memory. It's all there: the Rec'; the village bobby; the mortuary; the pit mounds... More about this soon.

Thanks also to our 1zaac'affiliate Bryan WOODLAND (who, as far as we know, had no involvement in the T.REX flipside, despite an apparent credit on the sleeve...Ed) for his contribution of Cannockian tales which will complement our collective memoir shortly as our 1971 adventures continue...

Yes, Hot Love peaked, prophetically for some of us, for 6 weeks in March and April of that year.

Was it just a coincidence that the French kids from Lyon would be returning that summer?

Click on the record for a glamrock classic while we await the twists, turns and surprises of spring and summer of seventy-one.

Anne's Threepenny Bits

Here at 1zaac, we received an email from Anne in Brittany.

"Hello 1zaacs. I am very enjoy the story about ice and socks, and spending your last shillings. When I am in England in 1971, I take my threepeny bits from year previous but I can not spend them. My penfriend have tell me you change to decimal coins. So I find this picture.

Tara Rabbit. Anne"

Well thank-you Anne.

1zaacs can click on the coins if they'd like a trip to decimalization & the universe of British Public Information/J. Arthur Rank films from the National Archives...

Solar Ice and Soggy Socks

"Hoar frost, Mairte. That's what they call it."
It is a Saturday morning in January 1971.

I am whistling "My Sweet Lord", and Kev is throwing rocks of increasing size on to the frozen ribbon of the disused Wyrley and Essington canal.
photo Ant 'zac
For some reason, fathomable only to those conversant with chaos theory, the debris makes a circular pattern. This allows Kev to embark upon a brief and illustrated explanation of chaos and the solar system. [don't tell us: Brian Cox a generation early? Ed]

Theory expounded, he quips; "Ah bet we can walk across thee'er on th'ice"

I go first, treading gingerly between Uranus and the asteroid belt.

"It'll be thinner in the middle, Mairte. Over thee-er by Neptune." He explains in a flat, physics undergraduate tone.

"Ah tode yer Mr Griffiths's physics lessons'd come in handy. Remember the frozen river in 2E?"... [Click HERE to go back to it. Ed.]

We have set the day aside for a foray to Thacker's Army Surplus Emporium, and could not resist the call of the cut on such a bright winter day.

Kev negotiates the crossing, pausing briefly on the thinnest ice to make a minor exposé about Idi Amin, The Angry Brigade and the upcoming Apollo 14 mission.

"They woe be no more problems like on the last 'un yer know. Them NASA blokes know what they'm doin' "...

He says this with the confidence of a scientist. A confidence which is not even diminished by the sound of creaking ice.

So when we arrive at Thackers half an hour later, Kev has to wring out his socks before he can try on the size thirteen army boots...

"Them'll have the wenchiz well impressed" says Kev, walking up and down the converted mortuary with his soggy trouser-legs rolled up to just below the knee.

I was not too sure, so just kept humming George Harrison's allegedly plagiarized Number One.

Stay tuned, 1zaacs, to learn how we, the Cheslyn charmeurs, spent our last pre-decimal shillings on our winter war surplus wardrobe...

...and how, in the light of what would happen during the 4E Clockwork Orange summer, our spending turned out to be a sound investment...

In the meantime, click on the Granny Smith to recall where you were in the depths of the winter of '71.

White Black Country Christmas

Click on Cheslyn Hay terraces for a seasonal story, and a Black Country dialectical diversion...

Grandads and Glitter

This post is dedicated to Dads & Grandads, wherever they may be.

On the day before we finished school for Christmas in 1970, just like the previous year, we missed the 3.45 Number 17 home to Cheslyn Hay.

We had dallied next to the bike sheds, where three lasses from our class were in deep conversation, and studiously attempting to appear as if they were not waiting for anyone...

"Come on, Mairte, we'm gunner miss the buzz" urged Kev.

"Ho'd on a bit, Kev. Let's see who them wenches am wairtin' for".

We did not have to linger for long. Three tall chaps from the Sixth Form appeared on the steps of A-block, and walked towards our classy mates. The six of them sauntered down the cinder path, past the rugby posts towards the tax offices and the town centre.

"So that's wheer them wenches 'ave been since September" said Kev..."Mark my words, they'll be some bumpy landin's next term"

Five minutes later we were in Woolworths, keeping warm by looking at the LP's. Kev remarked on the value to be had by investing in the "MFP" selection.

"Music fer pleasure, Mairte. Ten bob each. Bargain if yer like that sort o' thing. Mind yoe, yer can get a jacket an' a pair o' boots at Thacker's Army Surplus fer that."

"I get me 'pairper money Sat'day, Kev. Eight bob. Christmas boxes an'all from me regulars. Fancy meetin' up Monday down Thacker's ter buy some winter kit?"

"Con do, Mairte"...

So the winter seeds were sown for our Dad's Army spring wardrobe. It would be our last major purchase in shillings.

We pushed through the stiffly-sprung glass doors, and emerged in Market Square. The Grammar School band was playing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" on the roof of the air-raid shelter toilets under the town clock. The trees around the bowling green were leafless, and, despite the daylight-saving experiment, it was almost dark. We made a joke about "Jerry Mental Men", and sang two carols.

In an anachronistic move, one which would, forty years on, become known as "flash-mobbing" the band then sprang a surprise on the crowd of Cannock shoppers: they performed The Liberty Bell March; the theme tune from the BBC's new cult series.

Kev & I walked to the bus station, carrying our brief-cases for what would prove to be the last but one time, like this: (click on silly walk for the march. Monty Python had moved to BBC1 by the end of 1970...)

From the radio in the Caff, the oompah of a tuba competed with the school band, and the strains of "Grandad" quivered across to the hot dog stand and the Number One bus stop.

"Clive Dunn, Mairte. He's brilliant in Dad's Army. Bet he meks it ter Number One", said Kev, climbing into the smoke haze of the upper deck.

I thought this

unlikely, and said so as we travelled along the A34.

"Kev, did yer see that T.Rex bloke on Top o' The Pops last wik. Marc summat his nairme was. Had GLITTER on his fairce. Plays guitar wi' Dairvid Bowie I read somewheer. Likes readin' an'all. Tosher Tyler in 4C's already got the record".

"Glitter an mek up. On a bloke? Never ketch on."

As we crossed the traffic lights on the A5, I had a feeling that Kev, for once, might be wrong.

So I said "Not in Thackers, anyroad"...

Kev was still laughing when he alighted outside The Salem.

"See yer temorrer, Mairte. Last day."

As the Number Seventeen juddered towards The Colliers Arms, I had just enough time to sneak a look at the Christmas card I'd found in my desk that morning.

My name was written in a girl's script. I opened the envelope, and a shower of glitter fell onto the blue vinyl seat.

Perhaps life at school, after the interminable autumn term poker games, was about to take on a new twist. [Poker? Twist? Strewth. Ed]

My cheeks were burning as the bus reached the terminus...My dad's Post Office bike was leaning against the red 'phone box next to the library, and he was emptying the post box. When I looked back from the top of Queen Street, he was already on his way to meet the Royal Mail van at the war memorial. I stood and watched the crimson dot of his bike lamp fade into the middle distance.

Spring term would indeed bring more than one surprise. Events far stranger even than our horse-race tipster classmate Nigel could have predicted...Metamorphosed brief-cases and more manipulation of school uniform rules would be just the start.

Now click on Grandad, White Swan and the two Bowies for a seasonal treat.

Happy Christmas 1zaacs. Carpe Diem. AB.

Less is More

Less is more when you navigate our site in a 2CV

Click on the Deux-Chevaux to be transported to simplified chapter access.

Unruly Elements

Episode 4 Chapter 6

From October 1968 until October 1971 the UK government experimented with time.

"We woe be gooin ter school in the dark next year, Mairte"

Said Kev on 3rd December 1970 as we alighted from the Number 17 and stepped over a pool of engine oil in the frost-covered concrete of the bus station.

"Why's that Kev?"

"Parlyment Mairte. Ted Heath's lot've just voted ter put the clocks back next October."

I looked towards the A34 Stafford road. Two of the lads from Cheslyn Hay, clad in miners' donkey jackets marked "NCB" were walking towards Littleton Colliery in Huntington.

"Could be an intrestin' winter next year then" I said.

"Yer might be right thee'er. Come on, let's goo an' borrer some magnesium ribbon from the science lab afore th' others arrive..."

That morning, we had our own winter solstice festival of light in room D3, taking full advantage of the availability of matches from the growing contingent of smokers, the reactivity of magnesium, and the absence of our form prefect, Big Bill, who was otherwise engaged.

This absence, we found out just before Christmas, had something to do with the mystery of our disappearing girls...

For more chemical capers, click on the periodic table.

Présidente's Report

Here's what our 1zaac Président d'Honneur Sandie has been up to lately.

Click on banner for full report.

Termorrer Last Wik

Episode 4 Chapter 5

"Did yoe see Termorrer's World last wik, Kev?"

"Are, I did Mairte"

A November Monday in 1970, upstairs on the Number 17.

Kev is playing with his six-inch slide rule, as the morning drizzle slowly evaporates from our green blazers into the Woodbine fumes of our fellow passengers.

"Jairmes Burke. Clever bloke. That Rairmond Baxters orright an'all. Used ter be a Spitfire pilot yer know. I want one o' them Parker pens like his'un" I add.

Then we go quiet for a bit.

This is because we have spent part of the week-end experimenting with a post ginger-beer "Geordie Bitter" home brew kit with my cousin Les. We had been saving "paper money" (paradoxically in the form of coins, being remuneration for newspaper delivery) since the start of the school year. Our investment had been transformed into a can of syrup, a bag of hops, a sachet of yeast, three weeks' Weetabix-scented bubble & fizz and three headaches.


"There was a waterproof telly. Kev. Remember that time last year when they showed yer how ter mek COLOUR on yer telly? D'yoe reckon all that stuff they goo on about wi' computers'll come ter much?"

"Bound to, Mairte. Like they said on Blue Peter last wik: one o' these days we'll all 'ave our own computer at wum"...

Click on the wet TV for washed-out colour...

Then we go quiet again, and the bus disgorges the Woodbiners outside Lucas's factory.

Through the haze of our hangover, crossing Bridgtown and turning on to the A34, budding physicist Kev expounds a 5-minute theory about the nature of time.
"It might not goo in a strairt line, yer know Mairte. Like, frinstance, if yoe goo into a black 'ole next wik, yer might pass yerself cummin out again the wik afore".

Click on the book for John Dankworth's TW theme tune.

The Geordie bitter has clearly affected Kev's thought processes. So I don't butt in, and start thinking instead that we need to invent a couple of Midstaffordian words starting with Goo or Wik for eventual future use.

On the way past the tax offices, we bump into Nige and Dave Perrett, then discuss the merits and demerits of American popular music.

"Odds on fer a British Number One at Christmas." Prognosticates Nige.

" Might even be a Welsh bloke" adds Southwalian import Dave.

We all laugh at the unlikelihood of this occurrence.

Somewhere in the ether James Burke's prediction that the future would be more different than any of us could imagine came into or went out of existence. Or did it?


"Ho'd on" Said Nige, looking towards the crooked concrete gate-post next to the rugby pitch.

"I reckon ah've found out what them wenches 'ave bin up to all term..."

Click on astronaut James to remember the cross-your fingers Apollo 13 re-entry...







James Burke in 2010. Click on pic to see what he's doing these days.

Cuisses Cuisinées

There is going to be even more French flavour to our Cannock Grammar School story in 1971.

Here is a taster while you are waiting.

Many thanks to West Australian 1zaac d'honneur Shayne for this one.

Click on the cuisses de grenouilles for this story and other surprises culinaires.

[The Pastis bottle takes you there too. Ed]