Albion, Art, Trickster

Happy Days?…

***

Perhaps the memory struggles… With seventy-seven… Because it was at the time… Bound up with… The whole Yorkshire Ripper thing… Which started around… Seventy-five… And ran to… Eighty… Even at that tender age… The cops appeared… To be spectacularly incompetent… When the bugger was eventually… Almost accidentally… Apprehended… But the throwaway… They must know what they’re doing… Was a ‘go to’ phrase… Or better, buffer… Capable of covering… The most appalling atrocities… Few suspected high level machinations… Which is what the whole sorry saga… Now smacks of!

***

Seventy-seven would have straddled… Years one and two… At Beacon High… Built on what used to be… A beacon hill… But now sporting the ubiquitous… Chunky water-tower… A representation of the beacon… In red and yellow… Lovingly sown onto… Which is not to say… Emblazoning… The top pocket… Of our black blazers… Very striking!… More social experimentation… About which… We knew… Very little… If nothing… Realistically… Our only other options… Would have been… Furlong High… The old Grammar School… By which it was still reverentially known… And girls… Girls… Girls.

***

Soon to be… Women!… By all accounts… Perhaps it was best… To hole up… With the guys… For a time… All those hormones… Would only have distracted… From the serious business… Of learning… Well, not quite… State propaganda… At that point… But not too far off it… When all is done… And dusted… And looked at in the cool light… Of day… Corporal punishment… Was still rife… And took the delightful form… Of caning… And in some cases… Rubber sole-ing… And the occasional… Blackboard-duster… Hurled at break-neck velocity with the intention of breaking… Anything it happened to strike.

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