Poxlington

 It keeps coming back like a bad penny. So soon after the railway programme, the recent disgrace of Yorkshire Cricket Club and resignation of chairman Roger Hutton (that name!) brought back more memories of Pocklington School...

My 'cell' for years 10 and 12

All pupils were assigned to one of four 'houses', one of which was called Hutton, for the purposes of competing at various sports etc (and instilling the competitive spirit essential for success among the ruling classes once you'd left school). Your 'house' was signified by the colour of the stripes on your school tie. The 'houses' were named after people related to the school, the others being Wilberforce, Gruggen, and Dolman. I'd love to report that I was avidly and instantly indifferent to the success or otherwise of 'my' house, but I suspect I went along with it, at least for the first couple of years. (Not that I was ever in danger of contributing any points to Gruggen's tally.)

I don't recall anyone ever explaining why these geezers were important, apart from Wilberforce; it was just something that had been done since the nineteenth century and carried on like most of the crap that happened year after year in that establishment. (Of course you can look people and schools up on Wikipedia now, if you're really interested.)

When our older son A reached that age of 11 my Dad commented to Mum: "Wow this was the age we sent our Michael away to Pocklington!" - as if it was an unbelievably shocking thing to do. When I challenged him later he said that he left education decisions to Mum, the teacher in the family. Later she wrote that  her priority in 1962 was to support Dad in his new role as the vicar of Norton and also that sending me away was "a mistake". Thanks, guys!

There was only one way a vicar's sons were going to attend a public school on his paltry income: if the local authority paid for it, which is exactly what happened. The East Riding of Yorkshire must have been short of grammar school places, so paid for a number at Pocklington. (For some reason Mum deemed the local grammar at Malton to be unsatisfactory.) To be admitted you had to not only pass the 11-plus exam but also the Pocklington School entrance exam. I remember my dad driving me there for it and giving me a bag of blackcurrant and liquorice sucking sweets to take in.

Of course there was no public transport across the Yorkshire Wolds so it was boarding school for us (that is until my youngest brother Mark had to go - and only lasted a few months or so before Mum caved and agreed drive him so he didn't have to board. LIKE IT WAS OPTIONAL, GUYS????!!!!!!!!!) A Church of England clergy charity (and Mum's teaching job) covered the boarding fees somehow.

And that's the story of how I spent my formative years and became the affable, generous charmer cantankerous opinionated bigot you see today. 

There are many criticisms I can make about the ethos at Pocklington School in the 1960s. Right now I'll make just one point: there was no attempt to treat the pupils as individuals. Decisions were made for the good and reputation of the school. Had this not been the case there was no way that I, a boy with a keen interest in animals and nature who wanted to be a vet, would have been deprived of the opportunity to study Biology from the age of 13. (Also I'm still angry that the shits took away my History exercise books at the end of year 11. Those essays were MY work you bastards! Yes I do realise you've been dead for many years and won't be reading this.)