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Fit for nothing

Did you ever see a television series called, The Grimley’s?  It was a comedy set on a housing estate in Dudley at the beginning of the seventies.  The heart of the show was centered around a local school where student, Gorden Grimley carried a torch for his gorgeous English teacher.  It was a superb piece of writing and it captured the essence of the era perfectly.  The cloths, the kids, the parents and the teachers, all in a well chosen cast, were cemented together by a dry, humorous and sometimes dark script which was complimented by the music of the day. 

Noddy Holder played the headmaster, and Amanda Holden provided the eye candy playing the role of the school’s English tutor, delicately named, Miss Tittley.  Throughout the series she was wooed by the sadistic PE teacher, Doug Digby, right up until his untimely death in a javelin accident in the gym.  As I got to know the characters it wasn’t long before I recognise a similarity between the casts roles and some of my old teachers, particularly the part played by Brian Conely as Doug Digby.  Like the character in the programme, my PE teacher was a pig of a man and was built like a brick outhouse.  Unlike all of my other lessons physical education was encouraged by applying humiliation, pain or fear, and in some cases all three in the same lesson in a bid to spur on the bloaters, weaklings and the thug elements to join in.  

Mr Evans was an overbearing Welshman who had Gazelle like ankles, thighs like a brace of tugboats and was, at the very least, the width of a healthy Ox.  Quite why he joined a football playing school was never disclosed but I think that was the reason he used to take out his wrath on the pupils, so for him at least it seemed the perfect placement for a practising sociopath, who may have been ejected from the Welsh Guards and was unable to find a rugby playing post.

All we  ever seemed to do in his lesson was running.   Cross country was most popular when it rained, and in the summer we could be found circulating the track while Evens sunbathed.  At the end of each session in, how to sweat, we were, how can I put this – coaxed towards the communal showers by two verbal directives.  “SHOWERS BOYS,” was bellowed out first, followed by, “LAST WARNING,” two minutes later.  If you weren’t under, or heading towards the showers a ‘persuader’ was employed to ‘encourage’ you forwards, and this came in the shape of the knotted cord which was attached to his whistle and by God it stung if it made contact with your arse. 

There were days of change to our routine over the course of the year which strangely coincided with the weeks that the education board were in the area!  At that point every piece of field equipment we had on campus came out on show, and we were let loose with long pointy sharp things, bloody great dinner plates and cannon balls, all of which apparently had to be lobbed manually!  It was a concept some of the pupils weren’t adapted for.  You knew there was going to be an element of danger surrounding these pieces of shrapnel, especially if they were handled by the planks amongst your class.  This worrying thought was back up when the most vital piece of instruction stamped on each box was, MUST BE THROWN FORWARDS! 

Give him his dues, Evans could chuck a javelin and a discus a hell of a distance, but with his build his was much better equipped for the shot putt, and believe me, he would be the last thing you’d want to see charging at you if you were holding a rugby ball.  He chose a victim for the tutorials in all things to be thrown that afternoon, and his first choice was the speckiest swatoid in the school.  He was an absolute wonder with a writing implement and had many, many brain cells, but his eye to hand coordination left a lot to be desired.  Imagine, if you can, a javelin left in the hands of Frank Spencer!  

Evans gave student Yelland a few pointers in throwing the discus and then lobbed one down the field.  Mark then picked up his projectile while the class took three paces backwards.  As it happens he did okay for a first try, it didn’t go to far but at least it went in a forward direction.  Next up was the sharp stuff.  Evans pulled a javelin out of the ground and handed to a shaking Yelland.  As before Evans went first and then gave Mark a pep talk before letting him loose with this potentially dangerous piece of equipment.

A sweating swat stepped up to the plate and tried desperately to physic himself up for the job in hand, but he needn’t have bothered.  Evans was on hand to inspire the last few seconds of his warm up and bellowed, “Right Yelland, what’s the most critical part of throwing a javelin?”  “Err, timing sir.”   “That’s right boy, okay class stand well back, this fucker could go anywhere!”   What Evans didn’t know was the kid he’d just left in charge of the aluminium spear had been taken out of his music studies in favour of an extra physics lesson by his parents, as he had no natural sense of rhythm!

We all took several steps backwards.  Some, including Evans, took a few sideways just in case, and we watched as the gangly student began his run up with a spear that was trailing along the grass behind him.  Seagulls parted in the sky above him as the javelin left his hand, but no one could see which direction it was headed.  I mean, we saw it leave his grip but that was it!  We all scanned the field to see if his spear was still in the air, or had  stuck in the grass at a jaunty angle, but nothing was the worrying sight we saw. 

Even Evans was beginning to show major signs of concern.  By pure chance I looked directly upward and against the dark clouds I could see a silvery object hurtling its way back down to earth, and standing right underneath it was the kid that threw it.  I pushed my way through a still confused crowd and knocked Mark out of the way and the javelin missed him by a split second.  I believe he was the only athlete in the history of the school to have recieved an award for throwing a javelin the highest rather than the furthest.   It makes you wonder how we survived our education… 

Hope you all have a blindin’ weekend, and let’s not  forget… 

“Never make an important decision on an empty stomach or a full bladder.” 

All material copy written.  Copyright 2006

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