First Day 1959

Mum brought me to nursery
School that first morning.
I wasn’t going to start today,
Just have a look around and
See what a ‘lovely place’ it was.
Dressed in my Sunday shoes;
Left polished over night
And buffed up the army way
This morning, so that, ‘you could
See your face in them’.
My best knee high socks
In suitable sombre grey;
The tight elastic tops,
Cutting Into my chubby calves.
BRAND NEW charcoal shorts;
Too long and hanging embarrassingly
Level with my socks; but without the
Normally ‘just ironed’ smell
Of slightly scorched creasing and –
Most amazingly of all – one of
Those new-fangled Zips;
So much better than buttons
When in need of a quick wee
(Was there any other kind?)
A NEW nylon shirt; a proper one,
With collar stiffeners, just like dad’s;
But again in boring grey.
“They will call me ‘The Grey Boy’,
I had suggested, while mum wet
The comb under the kitchen taps
And fixed my ‘quiff’ and severe
‘Boys’ side’ parting. “They will
Call you, My Little Soldier”, she soothed.
I was tempted to tell her, that ‘Grey Boy’
Was preferable but knew instinctively
She would be hurt and disappointed.

I was snivelling and ‘snottering’
All the way down to the
School gate. The hankie
Appeared many times for
‘A good blow’. Mum said it
Sounded like someone ‘blowing off.’
Her attempts at levity at a time like this,
Were badly misplaced;
I pouted quite hard,
so that she would know it.
I threw in “I don’t think you’re funny!”
Just to emphasize the point.
“It’s only for an hour or so”, she mollified.
“You won’t even miss it!”
“I’ll miss ‘Andy Pandy’” I stated
“…and if I have to come every day,
I’ll miss ‘Bill and Ben’ the ‘Wooden Tops’
And the test-card music
When I have my nap”, I said;
Clutching wildly at straws.
“I’ll miss you too Mummy” I whimpered;
Striking below the belt
And hitting the jackpot.
Mum got all soppy and started
Hugging me, RIGHT IN THE
MIDDLE OF THE STREET.
She even gave me a big KISS;
I mean; ANYONE could be looking.
“I’ll miss my little soldier too, but
I’ll bring you a big ‘Sherbet Dip’
When I collect you and we can
Get a ‘Pyramid lolly’
On the way home again.

We reached the school gate.
There was woman there,
That I did not recognize.
She shook Mums’ hand and
Bent down, her face level with mine.
“You must be Christopher; I’m
Miss Spooner”, crooned the
Jolly fat lady.
I wee’d in my brand new
Charcoal shorts!
It dripped – well, flowed really –
Down my socks and onto, AND into
My army buffed Sunday shoes.
I howled, like next door’s cat,
When dad threw stones at it
For playing ‘Leap-frog’ with
Its’ boyfriend at night.
A boy from down the road
Shouted out to me;
“Chris there’s loads of toys
In here to play with. Miss
Spooner says that you get
To play with the new pedal
Car, ‘cause you are new.”
I cried all the way home!
I know Mum was cross
But she pretended not to be.
I didn’t get any sweets on the way home.
I was shamed! Worse, I had
Missed the chance to play with
The NEW PEDAL CAR.
‘Blue Peter’ was on when I got home
But was scant consolation.
Mum must have felt sorry for me
Because she went to the shop
For Dads’ dinner and brought
Back some ‘Blackjacks’ and ‘Fruitsalads’
“Can I go back tomorrow?”, I asked quietly.
“If you really want too” Mum said as
She pushed my shorts through
The wringer.
Great! Now they would get scorched
Or what Mum called; ironed.