Memories of school

This morning I decided to walk to fetch the paper - still trying to hang on to some pretence of a New Year's resolution to do more exercise. It was a cool, drab morning with a feeling of dampness rising from the pavement, but I could hear birds singing as if heralding a new advent as we wait for spring.

On the way back I saw a gully that leads to a path around my old primary school. Although I pass the main gates several times a week, I have not looked at the grounds for years. Apart from some shiny new play equipment and a small extension the place does not seem to have changed - but it all looks smaller than I remember. The playing fields that once seemed so vast, now look quite small, more like a suburban back garden than the huge plains for adventure and exploration when I was 8.

I look at the 'infants' school building, probably built in the 1970's. I rememer its small classrooms; cosy, intimate, with play cupboards and nature tables. The 'middle school', a plaque proudly dating it's oldest part to 1863. I remember my first classroom in that block, it had high Victorian ceilings which made everything echo, but there was an excitement of learning when anything seemed possible.

The rest of the school is a rather bleak, square 1950's building. The old boiler house is still there, it was always out of bounds and we always thought it was haunted, we used to stare up at the blackened windows in the hope of catching a glimpse of the ghost.

So many memories came flooding back, of teachers, of friends, lessons, subjects. A warm feeling of a time in my life when there were few worries. A feeling of gratitude for a place, that although it is not always in my consciousness, it is very much a part of my history, and therefore a part of the person I am today. By the title of this blog, you probably have guessed that I like history, and I think as well as understanding other people's history - I need to undertand my own.