The Last of the Fags

2009: Having left Moseley (Grammar) School, in Birmingham England, thirty one years ago and my mind now plagued by overtures of senility, any memories are hazy at best. Yet, I still remember my first day there better than most.

1971-2: It was a dry, windy, autumnal Thursday in early September, 1971. The new intake, about one hundred of us, turned out. I’d caught the number one bus from Acocks Green. With our new black blazers, shiny new ties and shoes, clutching a sparkling new briefcase or satchel and, of course, sitting with our Mom (but pretending that it wasn’t), who was there just in case we forgot which stop to get off at, and who would walk, not next to but just behind us those few yards from College Road. We, the new first year lads, stood out from the old lags. Furthermore, and much to the disgust of the second year, we were the first year’s first year that didn’t have to wear a cap. Then there was the only boy to arrive wearing shorts. Everyone remembers him (He will remain anonymous to all apart from the 100 boys in the intake, to avoid embarrassment to him in his new home in Whitby, Ontario, Canada). We all knew, the other ninety-nine, it could have been any one of us. En Mass, and well before Basil Fawlty did, we all seemed to look towards the clouded skies, close our eyes and thank god that it was not us, and that we’d managed to overrule our mothers. The moms who’d spent the whole summer with the uniform list toying, deliberating, uttering things like “Oh a nice pair of grey shorts would suit you; son” or “You could have a pair of over-trousers rolled up in your satchel, in case it rained”. He wore them on Friday too. What bravado.The bell went and we were all filed into the hall. Most of us (apart from the Chilcote and Hall Green mob, who seemed to account for 50% of the intake) only knew one or two others. I was from Oakland's School, and didn’t know anyone at all from my year. We all lined up in the hall in our respective classes. Gazing in wonder at the marvellous, intricate, ecclesiastic plaster moulding on the roof above us, we all gasped aloud as a tall, vampirous looking man, with a black gown and thick blacker rings round his eyes, took a few steps forward, out of the shadows.It was Phil 'Beefy' Bullock (as we came to know him), the lower school deputy head. I don’t remember that he introduced himself. That would have shown us some respect. That was that last thing we’d get in our first year.“You are the Fag.” He talked loudly, with authority. Not a sympathetic voice, but a brutal one. He continued in his unfeeling monotone. “You are the new boys. The second years, mostly, will call you fag. They will despise you. THEY WILL TREAT YOU LIKE DIRT!” That was the gist of it. And boy did they just.

1972-3: The next year. We didn’t seem to have same authority over the new intake. Bigger things were looming. Almost as if we knew that the amalgamation was coming! Firstly, our name was changed from Moseley Grammar School for Boys to Moseley Boys School. During that year, Barrie “Basher” Coreless (PE/Geography teacher) played Rugby for England.

1973-4: On the horizon were now talks of merger. We, from the Grammar School, and the pupils from Moseley Mixed were heading for unification. Mr Gaskin retired, replaced by Archie Moore, as the Head, but he was just keeping the seat warm for a new Fellow.

1974-5: Both schools had combined, and we were now just Moseley School. No hint of gender, or elitism. Now there were girls wandering around the hallowed grounds. Yet, it took until 1975 for a privacy screen to be built by the door of the gym and games changing rooms. Until then, at games and PE periods, thirty-three boys fought for the privacy, the modesty, and the dignity of the one or two spaces behind the door. The tuck shop was actually moved out of the Games changing room before the female invasion, which was a blessing, as most of their customers seemed to be the girls!

1975-6: The new head, Mr Goodfellow, had abolished the old form identification system. Out went XYZ, in came WORK CAN GELD. Yes it can Mr Goodfellow. At roughly the same time, all of the ping-pong balls disappeared from the Upper VI common room (Surely not connected?)

1976-7-8: I don't think that the them and us (Moseley Grammar/Moseley Mixed) left the school until the last of the teachers who was a young sprightly History/PE teacher in 1971, retired in 2007. I started going out with one of the Girls from 'The Other School' in '75 to '76 school year. I wasn’t the first in that respect. In fact one the first relationships that “crossed the line” was a young male teacher from Moseley Grammar, and one of the ‘highly’ regarded Moseley Mixed girls (She was the Female School Captain and he actually went on to become deputy head I think!). I married my girlfriend in 1980 and now after 29 years of bliss have three children and one grandchild.
.
1980: (Thanks to Foreman & McPherson)
"Naughty boys in nasty schools,
Headmasters breaking all the rules,
having fun and playing fools,
smashing up the woodwork tools.
All the teachers in the pub,
passing round the ready-rub,
trying not to think of when,
that lunch-time bell will ring again… "

©DTW First Published in THE MOSELEIAN 29/7/2002