What can one say about Mike Harvey, alias Beak, that hasn’t already been said? It’s all true, he droned his way through History, only occasionally changing the pitch of his voice. I had him in the final year leading up to the O Levels, and when it came to the mocks, I revised furiously on a limited amount of the work we had covered during the course of the year. Amazingly, they all came up, and I waltzed to an A5 assessment, the best you could get. Unfortunately, the exam itself rendered no such favours, and I failed, miserably, which was a pity because I liked History.

RANDOM STUFF

At end of the fourth year, after finishing bottom in Roy Taylor’s biology class, a few of us were offered an alternative one year O Level course in either German or Religious Education. Seven of us plumped for RE, and duly turned up to waste a year with Billy Gray, my form master. And waste we did. We messed around, took no interest in the lessons etc etc. Kenny Marsden set next to me, and in the middle of one bored lesson, I drew a small but amusing cartoon on the inside of my book. I nudged Kenny for him to look at it, he did, and snorted with huge amusement and sent a huge bogie down his nose to hang off the end of his desk for the rest of the lesson. It was about 18 inces long. Billy never cottoned on, but me and Kenny nearly wet ourselves once we got clear after the lesson! Billy Gray declared that we were all a bunch of wastrels, with no chance of passing the O Level. I stuck my head down, revised like mad, and passed! Not bad for an atheist!

One year I was secretary of the Subbuteo Club, and we duly turned up after school on Thursday nights in the Geography Room, pushing tables together and trying to make flat pitches on which to play table soccer. Fordy used to turn up occasionally and play, but we had to relegate him as he couldn’t keep up his fixture commitments.

Spot Richardson ran the school team in my fourth year, and though he says he can’t recall it, Glyn Phillips was my partner at centre back, God alone knows why I was playing there, probably because I’d play anywhere as long as I was getting a game! Dave Ali couldn’t get a game cos Richardson thought he was too small. No worries, we all went down to St Helens to watch Dave play in a trial, where he eventually got picked to play for Man United youth team! Dave continued his playing days in New Zealand, playing in the NZ National League with Blockhouse Bay before teamed up in 1981 for a club called Oratia Utd, where we progressed as players to the top regional league. Dave eventually became manager of the side, and took them to the National League. Dave’s son Andrew, ironically born in NZ but now living in Prescot, went on the captain the NZ Under 17 national team, and his other son Steven also played to a high standard, but to my knowledge, neither of them longer even kick a ball…

During the spring, PGS groundsman Ted Cullinan would seed the grounds in preparation for the coming soccer season. If we should stray onto the canteen pitch, or one of the parallels during this time, you’d hear Ted from miles away – “Get off them effing pitches!”
I’m sure we did it on purpose…

At the end of the fourth year, myself and a couple of cohorts brought some records in on the last day to play on the record player in the Spencer Briggs. Unfortunately, someone had whipped the plug, but I had the bright idea of just sticking the wires straight into the socket. Turned it on and, bang, the whole hall went black. Thanks, see you in September guys… Never got caught for that either…

The Nab. He was the guy who came round to catch a few people to fill the holes in the first sitting at lunch. This was a bad thing, because by the time you got there, you were sat on a table with strangers, at the bottom of the table, with a cold, small meal. To be avoided at all costs. I was gutted when, just as I reached fifth form and due to be top of table, it all changed to self-service. Damn…

Metalwork. Woodwork. I was crap at both of these fine skills, but depite that, Jimmy Dewsnip’s reports in my Report Book (which I still have) got better and better as time went by. I think he must have mixed me up with someone else, I even made a mess of the pencil box we made. None of the hours of filing for me, I used the guillotine. I remember Jug heating up a shilling with the blowlamp and leaving it on the floor for some poor unsuspecting sod to pick it up.
In Woodwork, I honestly couldn’t understand a word that Frank Davies, alias Splinter, said, and I dropped the subject as soon as options came in. I’m still a crap home handyman, is it any wonder?

SYNCHRONICITY

This is the art of being in the right place at the right time. I was in England in about 1989, visiting a friend in Richmond, London. My wife was visiting her sister in Hammersmith. We decided to meet up at Earls Court for dinner on the Saturday night. At the last minute, the venue was changed and we duly met at the tube station. We came out of the station, where we had never been before, turned right, turned left and found a restaurant where we booked in for an hour’s time. Meanwhile, we went to the pub round the corner to kill a bit of time. In there, I noticed a guy with red hair at the bar, and told my wife, “I’m sure I know that guy”. She knows I do this all the time, and dismissed the idea. When it was time to go, I decided to approach the guy and ask him where he was from. “Liverpool” he said. “Keith Yarrell, PGS, 1966-1971” I said! Dead right! We’d never been there before, and he’d just moved into a house round the corner the week previous. Syncronicity – go figure!

Via this site, I’ve managed to communicate with quite a few people, namely Steve Birchall, John Parkinson, Dougie Johnson, Geoff Sumner, George Stirling, Ade Caesar, Dave Janes, Glyn Philips, Terry McDonnell and Les Rafferty, plus Ian Walker from the year behind us with whom I worked at the BICC. To all, thanks and keep in touch.

And finally, Paul Gerrard, what’s he been doing?

Attained a magnificent 5 O Levels (if you include the Grade 1 French CSE). Despite what careers teacher Mr Rimmer said, the world was not my oyster. Worked at Ocean Fleets in Liverool for two years, then five and a half years at the BICC. In New Zealand since 1979, I followed Dave Allanson out here to NZ after he came in 77. Eventually got into sales, then into publishing a soccer magazine, now running my own graphic design studio, Pageworks (6 staff) for the last 14 years. Still married (23 years), two kids, daughter Kelly (16) and son Patrick (11). Still playing soccer, haven’t missed a season for 37 years, haven’t missed a game for over 7 years, coaching my son’s team, playing golf and drinking plenty of this country’s fantastic wines, as well as some beaut Aussie stuff.

Never regret coming to NZ, but still occasionally get back to the UK every few years, trying to get there for Christmas 2003, where I’ll hopefully try to make contact with some former co-pupils. If anybody cares to contact me, my email address is: peegee@pageworks.co.nz

And finally, I realise that this diatribe will probably interest only those relevant people in the great intake year of 66 (we’d just won the World Cup) but I’ve felt the urge to get this down ever since I discovered the site. I can now rest easy.

And to those of you who may feel defamed, misquoted or insulted, don’t bother suing, my lawyer’s a real b@stard!!