24 July 1962

1974 - Std 5

Bahamas

Paul-at-Beardsell.com

Market making on the web, roving computer consultant, non-executive director of SAM Group Ltd.

Separated. No kids.

Making markets on the web. Programming and web site development. Playing with computers and gadgets. Linux enthusiast and evangelist. Listening to BBC Radio 4 on the web. Cinema. Popular science books. Travelling. Reading The Times obituary pages. Swimming short distances.

Great classmates! We had spirit. I have fond memories of you all. Almost without exception. 

But the school? I hated it. I don't mean to overstate my case but it was a brutal and brutalising place. I occasionally remind myself what it was really like, how I really felt at the time. It's a natural tendency to remember the good and forget the bad. I bet some reading this don't really want to be reminded. Or to be thus patronised by me! 

I hope and trust things are much better there nowadays. They must be otherwise some of our classmates would not be sending their offspring there. The sheer lunacy of the place. Or am I just bitter and twisted? Naively still expecting the world to be fair? Get over it! It was a long time ago. 

Perhaps I didn't cope as well as, let's see: You, for example. Is this bad form, to not only tell the funny stories? 

The few adequate teachers we had such as Werth and Lomax couldn't compensate for the useless ones. By the time we got to Std 6 (with our numbers suddenly boosted to 46 all in one classroom) we would only respond to threats. Boardman and De Vries had no hope against a history of Bros Cyprian, Kieran and Augustine. Even Werth couldn't cope, in the end. 

Bro Kieran slamming 9 year old fingers in desks (I missed that, thankfully). Bro Cyprian, foaming at mouth, knocking 10 and 11 year olds to the ground with a chair leg because they couldn't recite his tedious notes verbatim. Bro Augustine strapping you for any old reason. 

Heck, these guys are going to have a tough old job explaining themselves at the Pearly Gates, should such ethereal contraption exist. I'm sure St Peter gives the evil Religious the same short shrift a judge gives a corrupt policeman. Unless they are both masons. 

Which reminds me: It was probably a mistake to tell Bro Thomas (who had just concluded a lecture on the masonic conspiracy that, amongst so many other things, placed a pyramid and the evil eye on the one dollar bill) that my father was a mason and there was nothing evil about him. [Although it did help with planning permission for the extension to our house!] 

We didn't think it too unusual Kev caning us because our handwriting wasn't up to scratch. He was civilised IN COMPARISON to the brutes we knew. 

Academically: Well, we would have been better off in government schools. Except Maths. Bro Thomas didn't even cover the full Biology syllabus. What arrived at the house Friday PM? The Solly Kramer van. 

The O'Sullivans being denied honours blazers despite the rules being quite clear: Represent your country and get a Springbok blazer, then get an Honours blazer. Ah, I see, it's not a "sport"! 

Saturday morning detention: One particular week we pushed all the rocks up the embankment and the next we carried them down again. Ah, the psychology of it! 

John Nourse (I think) breaking his hand punching a hole in the wall (so it looked) out of frustration with Bro John. 

Bellingan swinging his blazer, his cigarettes landing at Bro Thomas's feet. Bellingan's impression of a spider spinning its web repeated, at Bro Thomas's insistence, on top of Bro Thomas's desk. 

Watching the merry-go-round caning of the O'Sullivans and others by Bro Lawrence. Who, by the way, is a third cousin of mine. Or something. 

Midnight escapades to the Snooker Hall. The accident. Sherlock Thomas investigates and takes notes in Gaelic. 

Boardman, substituting for an absent Geography teacher, telling us it is hotter at the equator because the poles are further from the Sun. The French teacher, Mrs Martin, also teaching us Maths for some of Std 6, being absolutely amazed that (2x3)+4 is not the same as 2x(3+4). OK, it wasn't their subjects but, really?!? 

What was the name of that idjut Brother who got himself all worked up, spitting and shouting and ranting for half an hour about the evils of MASTURBATION? Gabriel? 

Mark Carrick running half way across the pitch to kick the ball out of an opponent's hands as it crossed the line. Brilliant! I hated compulsory rugby spectatorship but it was worthwhile that day. 

Mark C doing a Basil Fawlty walk up and down the classroom as De Vries wrote on the board. 

Daily poetry: Me failing the honesty test when Bro John asserted that some people had been cheating. Stand up those who cheated. I know who you are. No there are still more. Stand up. There are still more. Me stubbornly still sitting. Half the class standing now. Philip Harris eventually jumping up (much to Bro John's surprise) "I always get caught," Philip exclaims. 

Bro John getting me to tabulate details of countless lives of the saints. Presumably because I failed to own up. 

Kev asking all those drinking alcohol at the Holy Cross fete to stand up. What did you drink, Master Beardsell? A beer. What made you think you could do that? Because my father bought it for me. Laughter. The definition of School Function was widened that day. 

Kev and his green Valiant. 

Bro Laurence making the school kombi into an automatic by keeping it in 3rd and riding the clutch. 

Being bust for running a book on the Durban July. But the school allowing gambling on donkeys at the fete? Attempted rigging of the donkey races by the usual suspects. Bro Thomas asking my father's telephone number. Bro Thomas telephoning him to tell him I was taking bets on the Durban July. Afterwards I learnt how it went. After delivering a precis of the facts, Bro Thomas asked my father: "What do you think of that, Mr Beardsell?" My father, thinking on his feet, said: "At last! Paul shows some initiative. I think it's all down to his excellent education." Bro Thomas (guessing I wasn't going to be punished at home) giving me so many lines to write for Monday delivery that there wasn't enough time to write them all even at 5 a minute 24 hours a day. 

Std 9: Johann seeing the ridiculously long odds I was offering on his becoming a prefect and backing himself. I suspect insider trading. Johann let me off most of my debt, which was just as well, bankruptcy not being a state the average 16 year old considers seriously. 

Johann having to sit sideways. Johann and Bro Thomas arguing about who was taller! 

French exam: Me helping Marco (I think) with grammar, he me with vocab. 

Copying homework. 

Stubbornly not doing Maths homework even though the "will I, won't I get caught" suspense was terrifying. 

Doing Maths Matric Prelim exams in ball point. [It's no wonder I got into trouble!] That pissed Kev off no end. 

Std 9: Helping organise the matric dance. Bart finding me someone to go to the matric dance with! Thanks. 

Smoking on the bus to school and being bust by a Grade A toddler. 

Visconti's Early Morning Cafe. 

Once deciding to go to the movies instead of school. I wasn't missed! 

Beating King David 99-0 (or whatever) at Rugby. Everyone got a try that day. Wish I had been playing. Drumgool, blind as a bat without his glasses, gets the ball. We shout: "Left, left, left! No, right! Right!" A try. The 50% pond coverage of the undulating KES rugby pitch allocated for the U13B game. Bro John's outrageously biased rugby refereeing. 

School tour Std 5. Being told we could order anything we liked by the waiter at breakfast at the hotel in Durban: The whole table had ice cream. And we had a great time on the beach at Port St Johns. 

Std 5 chess. I knew the rules but couldn't play. This was enough to get me onto the primary school chess team. The Bellingans and others in the middle of the team could play a reasonable game. But the brilliance of the top boards (O'Sullivans) was matched by the uselessness of the bottom boards i.e. me and some other poor unfortunate. For the regional finals Kevin and Michael taught us Four Knights and the French Defence the first few moves of which I can still remember. On the way there Kevin and Michael played each other by just calling the moves out: I.e. in their heads. 

I was worried I was going to let the side down. The O'Sullivans' final word of advice to me was, should the situation be uncertain, to keep on asking my opponent if he would like to resign! This I did most moves of the first game, right up to me being soundly checkmated. K & M were highly amused: Delighted even. But I was collared by the opposing team during the interval and told in no uncertain terms not to try that in the second game. Somehow, violence was avoided. 

Std 5: Second day at the school and I am going to be strapped. Tim Archer advises me to rub my hands on the bricks beforehand to lessen the pain. 

Std 5: Paul Toweel asking me CONFIDENTIALLY (ON PAIN OF DEATH) to confirm what he had heard about the facts of life. [Sorry, Paul, but I've kept quiet all this time! And it's easy to be brave half way around the world.]

Std 5 almost to the end of Std 10

Science week. Std 9 matric dance Darth Vader painting. (Well, I liked it!) Expelled. For a bloody good reason, surely?

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