Doddman
Toronto, Canada
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230 of 1450
Mon 16th Sep 2013 6:58pm
We were now 6th form students, some wore grey suits and some the traditional black blazer that you could only buy from the one store down from the "Hotel Leofric" I think it was called. Amongst our number was the fashion magnate Rick Rogerson. His mum had re-married and his name changed from DeMarco to Rogerson one Wednesday morning. I liked Rick a lot, but he was a good athlete and should have done more on the sports field, we could have done with him.
Rick's new dad bought him a car that looked like an Austin A40 but was probably a more modern bigger car, painted it black then put bright orange swirls on the side of it, and orange highlights. It certainly was hippie-esque and we and Rick called it "The Bomb". It was a car you could visibly see from 5 miles out or less, and there was no way to be inconspicuous in it. David Pennington drove a blue Hillman Imp at some point and "Henry" Ford a green Triumph Herald. His long almost white hair flowing behind him, with Nigel Chatland in the other front seat, his jet black long hair following in synch. Sometimes we would get to drive a parent's car to school, so when we did at lunch time we generally tore off to Barr's Hill School to take in the scenery.
I remember well Jack the Wrench and that plum colored waistcoat he wore continually, and a greeny brown jacket that bore elbow "pads" as so many of our masters wore in those days presumably to stop the elbows of jacket wearing out on school desks. I think Jack drove a green MGB roadster, highly out of character it would have seemed, but one never knows. I had an idea he lived in Leamington Spa or Warwick. There is a "Leamington" over here in Ontario, Canada, about a three hour drive west of us, en route to Michigan where Kyle went to University. "The Tomato Capital of Canada" its welcoming signs proudly hail. Geoff Courtois at the time drove a monster of car, I can see it now, black and grey, but do not remember the manufacturer or make. We could get almost all of our basketball team in it if we were playing locally, I can still smell the old leather in it, it was a big car for sure. On some days when we had finished paying rugby on Wednesday afternoon on the A45 Geoff would run back to the school and would often beat the coaches we were on. Man he was fit in those days. Probably Harry Shaw coaches? I see they are still going!
We had an exchange master once from America, Jack Packenham I think was his name, I don't remember what classes he used to take but I was in one and there were often slide shows. About one in every 15 slides was of an NFL cheerleader, lame really but he seemed to find it amusing. Of course he was very animated, we sent a teacher over to the USA on the exchange but I cannot remember his name.
I remember John Skermer's first day at the school, and his involvement in track and field with Droob. I used to throw the javelin and undertake the shot putt for Droob, I remember John had a blue holdall bag he habitually carried. He had velcroed it so that he could put a black and white large patch on it that Droob or someone had had made, it said in bold letters "King Henry VIII Grammar School", after the meet off came the signage. My friend Bryant said a very very strange thing to me on Skermer's first day, and it has been with me forever. It directly alluded to his first reaction of John and years later when my wife's mum called us from England and told us of John's plight I reeled that Bryant had been so accurate in his initial instant reaction. Could he have know or sensed something or was it a pure guess? I think we know that John made mistakes, and his life has been ruined for it.
I remember well school outings in the summer. Ironbridge was one I particularly liked, and one Shakespeare play in Stratford. Years later Alastair and I were enjoying a bright pint of beer in Stratford on one lazy Sunday afternoon and sitting with us was a young lad called Nick Faldo, and his female companion. He was golfing in a tournament locally. This was before anyone ever knew of him. Now as I understand it he is Sir Nick Faldo, I see him here on American television all the time commentating on PGA and other golf.
I remember almost everyone's dad had been in the war, or so it seemed, and at the time the large employers were Massey Ferguson, The Jaguar, Rootes Group/Humber Motors/Chrysler, and more. Coventry felt like it was an industrial juggernaut, and last time when I was home I was shocked and saddened to see that the entire Humber Motors plants had gone, vanished, from Humber Avenue to Bolingbroke Road, and away and beyond. My granddad worked on "the track", and my dad in the purchasing offices off Humber Road, and as a kid when I stayed with my granddad over some weekends we went to the "Rec", Recreational Club on Humber Road on Saturday afternoons, and the "Top Club" on a Saturday night where my granddad played snooker and bingo, and I watched Match of the Day and got cockles with vinegar from the "Fish Man" who came in at about 9.30 pm. On the way home, fish and chips!
Emerson Lake and Palmer came along, and Alastair loved them and I like them. I guess at Christmas staff were allowed to take vinyl albums into the offices at Chrysler and play music of their choice. My dad came home one Christmas week, beside himself. Someone had played "Brain Salad Surgery" by ELP for half the day, and my dad was an emotional and physical wreck. Somewhat shaking he said "Why would anyone subject themselves to that kind of torture!", all could do was smile. Give my dad Louis Armstrong or the Ink Spots any day, but ELP ? One of my dad's other favorite sayings to my brother and I when he sensed our hair was getting to long was from his RAF days : "Son, is your hair hurting you?".. "no dad, why?" "well it should be son, because I am standing on it !"
Our first car had actually been a black Austin A40, license plate GEN183. When my dad went to pick one out the salesman at the car dealership said "you can have it in any colour you like sir, as long as it is black".
My dad had been a bomber pilot in WWII, he flew the Lancaster platform. Like my dad was he never waited for papers, he went down, signed up and said he wanted to fly. I guess he got his wish. Late in my dad's first campaign he got shot very badly over Germany, from memory his co-pilot and rear gunner were dead, and my dad managed to stay conscious long enough to get his trouble aircraft home and save the rest of the crew. On landing he was taken to hospital, and they amputated his right leg from the knee down which had been destroyed by bullets. Eventually my dad attended Buckingham Palace where he was decorated for bravery by the King, and awarded The Distinguished Flying Medal. Of course it affected my dad for life, but most people never even knew he only had one leg. As I said his medals hang in my office, as do two perfect pictures of him and his crew, one signed by the crew, and his aircraft pre one flight. Brave men and women those people.
Aside from the day when he dropped Shona and me off to come to Canada I never saw a lot of emotion from my dad, except for one day that I do remember distinctly. It was a dull Saturday morning, and I got up at probably 9.30 am or so and went in to our family room, where the black and white tv was playing on the corner cabinet, and the coal fire was heating the house. My dad was sat on the sofa, crying, and crying. This I had never seen before, I think I must have been 6 or 7, and it shocked and perturbed me, it was so out of character and seemingly impossible. Like any youngster would I sought the refuge of my mum and asked her why "daddy' was crying. "Oh Nicholas" she said, "Mr. Churchill died this morning and your dad flew for him and he is very upset". I guess he had every reason to be upset.
Several years later on the same television in the early hours of the morning we watched Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon. I was in a room over here with Neil Armstrong one time, he just stood there in a power blue suit and everybody seemed to freeze up. He spoke, you listened on his every word. When he died recently, I think it was Time magazine, had his picture on the front cover, just two words "The Man". My wife and I were travelling from Detroit, Michigan to Louisville, Kentucky one time recently and we went through his small home town. There was a small museum dedicated to him, it was fascinating, quite the guy?
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