I met up with some old schoolfriends last night for dinner and ten pin bowling (another thing ticked off my 101 Things list! And yes – I am as rubbish as I remembered being), and it was really funny to be sitting there as “adults”, nearly ten years after leaving Sixth Form – especially since I really didn’t notice any difference in any of us.
We chattered away merrily about the Good Old Days, and I laughed till I cried as we reminded each other of school incidents.
One of my own personal favourites involves a charity fundraising event held in the school assembly hall one lunch time. I went to an all girls school, but the boys’ school shared the same name and was right next door. The Sixth Form was mixed, possibly to introduce us to members of the opposite sex before we went out into the real world having never spoken to a boy, but for the first five years it was something of a novelty to be in the same room as (gasp) boys. The fundraising event was therefore very well attended, since members of both schools were allowed to go.
The assembly hall was packed full of giggling girls and gangly boys as the pupil-run production of Blind Date began. The headmistress, incidentally, was strictly anti-boy, and presumably not happy about the event to start with – she watched from the sidelines with a less than genuine smile on her face. It started off fairly innocently, with cute, scripted answers getting lots of laughs… but then one of the jokers on the stage decided to leave the script behind in favour of bigger laughs. “I play the fiddle,” said Sexy J, the “chooser”, “do you play any musical instruments?”. “Well,” said contestant number one, “I don’t play anything, myself… but I’d love to have a fiddle with your instrument!”.
Well. To an audience on the TV show, this would probably have been mildly amusing. To an audience of teenagers thus far deprived of the company of the opposite sex, it was absolutely hilarious. To the deeply religious, anti-male, spinster, some-might-say-prudish headmistress, it was a catastrophe on a par with some sort of natural disaster hitting the school and killing everyone on the spot.
Hoots and whistles and howls of laughter filled the air, and the Head rushed immediately up on to the stage, clutching her swirling skirts as she rustled up the steps and demanded the microphone. “Girls! GIRLS!” she cried out of habit, following it with an uncertain “Erm… and boys! This is utterly disgraceful, and I am ashamed of you. Stop this at once!”
The unfortunate thing for the Head was that the microphone had had something done to it in order to disguise the voices of the Blind Date contestants. This resulted in her strict admonishment (already something of a high-pitched shriek) flooding the hall in a voice not dissimilar from those of Alvin and the Chipmunks. I don’t know how she ever restored order in that assembly hall. Everyone was practically on the floor, and the angrier she became, the funnier the high-pitched voice was. It was the end of joint school productions, sadly… but it was worth it.
Ah, the memories.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I remember that day too Hayley and it still makes me laugh out loud just thinking about it. Something I think I’ll never forget!
Adria – I think it is a major chapter of Cambridge House history now!
I remember the oul doll telling me off for hanging around the girls’ lockers (this would be when I was, oh, 14). Then again when I used to skip school by charging up and out the girls school entrance. (Most ages)
She may have (I say may, note) have caught me in um, congress with a young lady in an empty classroom, as well.
Happy times.
How could you have avoided speaking to the boys? We spent most of our time trying to talk to the girls.
The only place to talk to boys was at the swinging doors separating the schools, and there was always quite a large crowd gathered there at break and lunch times. Because of space limitations, only the coolest, most confident, and most attractive girls would be found there. Not only was there not room for the rest of us, but we would have been too shy anyway!
I used to look at the little Door Gatherings and wonder what on earth they talked about and why they’d choose to spend all their free time there. Nowadays, I think maybe I was just sad that I didn’t have a clue what to say to a boy!
Plus, I was a really, really good girl at school. I wouldn’t have done anything that might have resulted in a telling-off. And we Weren’t Supposed To Speak To Boys!!
See, you had to move *beyond* the swinging doors. (And in my day, there were doors that swung on every level. I think they blocked some off once I left. The two could be related.)
What to say? With all the music and books and stuff? Oh, right, not many girls were interested. Ballymena chicks with their sturdy thighs, all about the farming and and tractors.
Hey, I was good in school (academically, at least), honest. Plus I was never, and never will, be one of the Cool Kids. But then again, I never cared, never listened to anyone and wound my own path.
See, try telling Kids Today of the life we had in school (more so the split schools idea) and they wouldn’t believe us. Blazers? Ties? Gender apartheid? Truly NI was always, and still is, 40 years behind the mainland.
Beyond the swinging doors… gulp. Never.
And discussing books?! I think I would have found things much easier in Your Day. I knew very few people who would entertain the idea of reading for pleasure, and we generally had to keep it quiet for fear of being mocked mercilessly. Starting a conversation about books with anyone, never mind a boy, would have been a serious faux pas. And nowadays I suspect it would be unheard of.
Things were much better, conversation-wise, when I got to university. Mind you, I did go to the mainland for that.
My day. Pfft. I amn’t *that* much older than you. Oh, hang on…
I had absolutely forgotten about this until I read your blog! Priceless moment Hails! Hope you are getting on well in Korea x