It seemed that I was destined to become a brief lived legend in Fourth Form rugby. A few weeks into term the Games Master, for reasons that were completely beyond me, decided to move me from my accustomed place as hooker and try me in the full back position.
Being the last, desperate hope for try prevention isn’t really the ideal job for a small, skinny chap like I was but the Games Master was God and what he wanted he got. Perhaps the tactic was that an onrushing forward would be so distracted by the sight of me trying to be menacing that he’d forget what he was supposed to be doing.
If that was the theory then it was a miserable failure, I spent a large part of the double period either with my face in the mud or lying flat on my back as boys much larger than me shoved the unwilling full back aside and made the try line.
It was inevitable that these continued failures would get me angry; perhaps the Games Master was counting on it and so, when one lone boy broke from the pack and headed towards me I decided “He shall not pass!” Looking my most menacing, think mouse trying to stare down cat, I prepared to put a stop to his charge.
With my right arm scything round, I threw myself at him in what should have been a crunching tackle although all he had to do was sidestep to my left and I’d be face down in the mud again. Instead he misjudged my move, sidestepped to my right and my hand, with all the force of my notorious Celtic temper, smacked him straight in the goolies. In those days protection was pretty well unheard of for schoolboy sports apart from a cricket box.
He didn’t score a try, in fact he didn’t do anything except lie on the ground, curled up and almost vomiting while I shrilly tried to convince the Master “it was an accident, Sir”. The Games Master attended to the stricken lad while several of the boys openly accused me of deliberate foul play and things almost got nasty but he shouted at everyone to shut up and leave me alone, stressing that my victim’s own stupidity had been the cause. Later, in the changing room, he did quietly suggest that I’d been a little over enthusiastic and that I should try to calm down a little.
That was the end of my very brief career as a full back, the following week I was returned to my accustomed place as hooker. The first time we scrummed down I was guilty of my own lapse of concentration and my opposite number got his knee into my groin before the ball was put in. That was perfectly normal behaviour between us hookers; I was normally a lot quicker and got first blood.
If you read this, Mike H, it really was an accident. You and I were never friends but I had no particular animus towards you, sadly I can’t say that about many of the boys in our year.
Love
Great story.
I had to laugh at “smacked him straight in the goolies”. But I’m sure that neither Mike H. nor you were laughing at the time.
-nl
Fortunately he saw the funny side once the pain had stopped but it did get quite tricky for a while.
Love
Mac
When I was a kid, bicycles were the things that endangered the ” boys area” at one time or another we all fell of the seat and hit the bar. For some reason it never seemed as funny when it happened to ourselves as when another boy did it.
warm thoughts,
Scottie
But was always funny when it was someone else wasn’t it? I did the bike thing once and a farm dog ran up and bit me while I was lying in the middle of the road trying not to be sick from the pain.
Love
Mac
In the Third Form I seem to think it was deemed a (theoretical) penalty which a girl might inflict if one got too fresh. Not that one ever did, of course.
But I agree with you that it was par for the course in rugby – not to mention water polo, judo (blindside of the Master, of course) and in various playground games!
Yes, just about every sport except cricket. The beauty of playing hooker was that it was so easy to blind side the master. What happened in the scrum stayed in the scrum, most of the time. I can’t get over the fact that we wore steel studs in those days, what sort of a weapon is that to give a teenager? That was particularly bad for skinny lads like me, the stud scraping went straight through skin and on to bone. Hot showers after winter rugby were bloody painful!
Love
Malcolm
I am sorry, but I can’t stop laughing at your choice of words for the unfortunate event suffered by your fellow rugby player. I am not sure why it caused this reaction in me because normally it would have elicited a cringe and an “ouch” knowing the pain this must have generated.
It’s one of the important things you learn when you’re a schoolboy, as long as it’s someone else’s goolies getting smacked it’s very funny. To be honest I still laugh when I think about the incident and that probably makes me a very bad person although I wasn’t laughing at the time, I thought I was going to get a punishment to fit the crime from the other boys.
Love
Mac
At school I never engaged in that sort of thing, and being rather timid was rarely subject to attack. It’s funny how some boys were considered not appropriate. That is, apart from one occasion when I was leaning out of a window, arms on the cill. A boy called Wood came up behind and grabbed me. I remember to this day his “Gotcha” and my strenuous and indignant denial. But I knew that he knew his hand had enclosed them and squeezed. It was with the utmost strength that I stood up and faced him when everything in me was telling me to bend double. The other occasion I would need to think about before sharing because in retrospect it was quite revealing.
There were a couple of boys in my form who were “off limits” as far as that sort of thing went but I never did work out what gave them that immunity. I’m impressed with your determination, I’d have been writhing on the floor in seconds; well done.
If you do feel up to sharing that other story I’ll be fascinated to read it but don’t feel under any pressure.
Malcolm
Well, it happened during afternoon games on the far side of the playing fields. I was larking around with another boy on our own when it turned into a ruck. He was much bigger than me and got me helpless face down on the ground. The next thing I knew, he shoved his hand between my legs and began playing with my goolies. He might have intended to have a good old grab and in a way I wish he had but he seemed to relent. It didn’t last very long and when he released me I felt obliged to get up. The problem was you could see from my shorts that the experience had not been entirely without pleasure. I remember trying to walk on all fours and then to bend forward in an effort to cover up. As you say, in those days nothing was worn underneath. Embarrassing in the extreme then, but good and a laugh to share now. It is amazing what one dredges up from the memory bank. There may be yet more if you can bear it.
Oh dear! At that age though I think it would be a forgiveable response for any boy. I’ve got a truly delightful mental picture of a red faced lad walking on all fours to hide his perhaps slightly shocking reaction.
It really is quite astounding what lurks in memory. I’d love to hear of any other adventures (or misadventures) it’s always nice to compare notes with people who actually know what it was like to be a Grammar school boy in the 60s.
Not exactly a personal adventure but I am reminded of an incident which I witnessed at school. I mentioned elsewhere that a new games master had insisted that every boy should shower after games etc. One late afternoon I was in the changing room when Daid S. returned from a cross-country run on his own. Geoff M. with a couple of others reminded the boy of the shower rule. What could he do but comply. They crowded round while he slowly stripped off and made his way to the showers. As he did so, followed by the silent onlookers, it was apparent, shall we say, that growth was occurring down below. By the time he had got under the shower in full view of everyone it had reached its full extent and he was red in the face. At that age once it was triggered there was no stopping it. Suffice it to say he had the quickest shower on record (5 secs?) Even with the towel wrapped round him afterwards one could see that something was up! The poor guy was totally humiliated. I just remember the silence as we watched in amazement. I think Geoff rushed off to find someone to tell. Not an uncommon occurrence, though, I suspect.
Ah, the nightmare of utterly random teenage “excitement”. Another of those awful events that are hilarious for everyone else. I suppose that within the context of those times it’s hardly surprising that Geoff ran off to spread the word. I think that the general feeling is usually “there but for the grace…”
Thanks for another good chuckle, it’s good to remember that we all shared certain problems.
Yes indeed. And apologies if I seem to be in full flood. Thinking of Geoff reminded me that he was one of those boys who, when they reached senior school, was still wearing the same PE shorts that he wore in the first form, leaving little to the imagination. Did you notice that phenomenon? I remember a comment of yours elsewhere about swimming trunks. Why did some parents not realise that their offspring were getting larger as they grew up? I remember sitting in the school library with Geoff one day and lamenting the fact that I had forgotten to bring in my own PE shorts. He offered to lend me his, saying that they rendered a jock-strap unecessary. A Jewish lad sitting opposite asked with feigned innocence and a straight face “What is a jock-strap?” As you say, recalling this sort of banter makes you chuckle. Shorts were what it said on the tin in those days, not the baggy things of today. Further memory looming relates to post school and a time spent sharing a flat with a school friend.
There was one boy in particular, Michael, who’s shorts hadn’t changed from first form. When we were perched on the climbing bars in gym and he was above me it was, for want of a better expression, something of an eye opener. I do wonder if mothers in particular had a built in resistance to the idea of their “little boys” growing up. I’d have been wearing shorts as uniform, which was permitted for first and second formers, had my future stepfather not intervened and convinced Mum that going to Grammar school made me a “big boy” and I should have long trousers to demonstrate that fact.
I remember being very disconcerted by my first encounter with a jock strap, a very curious garment indeed!
Looking through the comments in these these posts again, especially the one about the “curious” jock-strap reminded me that although most boys eventually wore them (or the equivalent) there was one, Peter T, who even in the sixth form, for some reason did not and, not to put too fine a point on it, ought to have done especially as he wore long flappy shorts and was, shall we say, well equipped. I remember standing at the school gate with some others one day at the end of a cross country run and watching Peter run up the road towards us. We were treated to a great deal of movement as he approached. Ribald comments preceeded his arrival and when he reached us and enquired what we had been saying and laughing about, we smirked and replied, “Oh nothing”! Now he would have been crying out for your “smack in the goolies” which is where these posts began a while back. Oh, those innocent days!
Ah, the school uniform! Part of ours was the cap – always to be worn. The problem was, if you did, it would be snatched off and thrown over a hedge or worse. I never put mine on until I was in sight of the school. Consequently I wore it for about 60 secs a day! Prefects were distinguished by having tassels on their caps – quite ridiculous. I wore short trousers until the second year as did quite a number of boys. On reflection this made it easier for me and my cousin (a bit younger than me) to indulge in the same sort of “naughtiness” as I imagine you and Rich. We were diffident and I’m not sure who led who but on one occasion it resulted in quite a traumatic experience for me although we were both totally innocent of the area of bondage. You probably don’t want me to go there. But to be able to share thus far is quite therapeutic.
The school cap was actually one of my happier moments. Having been forced to wear one at primary school (I HATED hats!) it was announced at our induction day that the Headmaster had decided the MGS cap was to be used exclusively as the school cricket colours. Effectively that part of the uniform was abolished just before Mum had to buy it for me; all she had to do was shell out a ridiculous amount of money on the rest of the uniform which I then ruined in a fight.
Bondage? I’m er.. intrigued, I don’t remember going anywhere like that, I might have enjoyed it!
Yes, the school uniform was ridiculously expensive. I seem to remember that there was only one shop in the town which supplied it. No one to investigate the monopoly in those days. I remember going to the school with my father along with all other first-formers on a sort of induction session at which the uniform suppliers were present, bowing and scraping. Having made the necessary purchase, my father insisted that I wore the blazer home (to show off to the neighbours I suppose). So there we were cycling down our street with me in a blazer about two sizes too large. They had to be didn’t they in order to allow for growth? I felt such a ninny. The other noteworthy thing was the pale yellow braid along the tops of the pockets. Such a sensible colour for boys don’t you think?
I well remember the sole supplier for MGS uniforms. Bradleys in North Street. The shop’s imprinted on my mind because I had to stand in the middle of it in just my underwear for almost an hour while the owner went through every single pair of trousers before coming up with the smallest pair he could find which were almost 2 inches too big in the waist and about 6 inches too long in the leg. The blazer, like yours was at least 2 sizes too big.
I had to show off my uniform in the village, the only boy of any age to wear it at the time, and then had to change into my new rugby kit to show that off as well. Thankfully I already played cricket for the village team otherwise I’d have had to show off my whites.
Royal blue and gold in my case with a ghastly golden hind embroidered (not sewn)on the breast pocket. The poor animal had an arrow through its throat and a red thread depicting an arterial blood spurt. Embarrassing colours and gross! What more could an 11 year old wish for?
We also had a blazer badge – this with a yellow embroidered figurehead wearing a crown. A motto underneath “Honor Deo”. Now I think of it, we also had a school song – sung once a year after we had adjourned from the Parish church to the Odeon cinema for speeches and prize giving. The words I cannot remember but they were ridiculous. I must try to track them down. Now there’s an extreme test for google!
Well, hardly a day went by it seems when you were not seen in public in your underwear for one reason or another. Did the phrase, “Here we go again” ever cross your lips? If your trousers were that small what, one speculates with some delight, about the nether garments!
Our school motto was “Labor omnia vincit”. We didn’t have a school song but the school hymn was “To be a pilgrim”, a typical old tub thumper. How I used to hate Founder’s Day! The whole school marching through Midhurst mostly feeling like utter twerps except for the Head, the Masters, the Head Boy and the Head Girl who all wore sanctimonious expressions. Then marching all the way back for an interminable speech by Lord Cowdray, Chairman of the Governors followed by prayers (again!) from the School Chaplain followed eventually by prize giving. It was my single most hated day of the year. I hope you can find the words to your school song, should be good for a giggle.
I did seem to spend a lot of time in just my underwear as a child and yes, “here we go again” definitely crossed my mind more than once but by the age of 7 I’d learned not to complain. Underpants were always too big and gave very little support until I was in my teens. They got replaced when Mum saw they were getting a bit ragged as she did the laundry. She hated having to buy new clothes; not because of the money but because she then had to sit and sew name tags into everything.
Would you believe, the school song was sung to the cinema organ played by the music teacher and church organist. At least he did not rise up out of the pit! As to the words, Google has so far been defeated! I’ll try other routes. You may be interested to know that I recently drove past what I think you refer to as “lane end”. A lovely day, sun shining on Autumn colours. I had to chuckle just before that because I noted a signpost to a village whose name must surely have given rise to some youthful ribaldry in your neck of the woods – Balls Cross! I can’t quite remember when, like a lot of boys, I started wearing Y fronts although, as I may have indicated elsewhere, they were not essential for megiven my endowment. At least I didn’t stand out from the crowd. No pun intended!
Now that is tacky beyond belief! At least we only sang the school hymn to either the church organ or the school orchestra (yours truly on violin of course). I wouldn’t have been able to sing for laughing if there’s been a cinema organ involved but Midhurst didn’t have such a thing as a cinema. I think a first former laughing during the school hymn would have pushed even the mild mannered Dr Lucas too far.
Balls Cross! I first saw that signpost when Rich and I went to the Ebernoe Horn fair when we were about 7 so we didn’t get the joke then despite his big brother’s best efforts. When I started Grammar School the long coach journey took us through Balls Cross and by then of course I got the reference. Much giggling amongst the boys!
I seem to remember that proper Y Fronts became part of my dress when I was about 14 but it would be another year before I could really justify them; damn late development!
Ebernoe Horn Fair eh? I have heard of it and know what it is about but did that also give rise to any comment? Or I am I thinking thus because at our school when tumescent trousers were spotted the cry went up, “Pete (or whoever) has got the horn” or , more usually, “Pete has got the knob”. Boys at our school never to my knowledge referred to erections – the nightmare of utterly random teenage “excitement” as you have called it. It sounds as if your school was much more proper.!
Oh, Ebernoe Horn Fair gave rise to much boyish ribaldry and sniggering. It was a great day out though, especially for 2 cricket obsessed boys like Rich and I. With that and Balls Cross it was almost as if West Sussex had gone out of its way to give young boys things to be smutty about.
MGS was very proper in many ways but mostly because of the iron hard prefects. Any overheard comment like “X has got the horn” was an instant demerit and the threat of being reported to our Form Masters. Dr Lucas was an odd man in many ways, he detested corporal punishment but was almost obsessed with politeness and decorum. Over the years I wrote a lot of punishment essays on subjects such as “Why it is important to respect others” sometimes I’d have preferred the cane!
The only time we ever felt free to indulge in crudeness was in the changing rooms and showers Mr Allport didn’t seem to mind then. Having said that when I swore at someone on the rugby field I got a tremendous smack round the back of the head.
Your usual speed of reply leads me to believe that the sytem as set up allows you to be notified only of the last listed comment and misses notification of any reply which is inserted against an older post, for example, the reply made on 19 January and inserted after 22 November – if that makes sense. In the meantime if I feel the need to respond to anything I will follow on from the last reply. Cheers.
Hi
I’m really sorry, I’ve been very lax about my blog recently. Your tale about Peter reminds me of one boy (I’m certain every form had one) who was ridiculously well endowed for his age. Nigel’s problem was that he knew exactly what he’d got and made a great show of letting everybody know about it. I can’t help wondering what he’d have thought if he’d realised just how fascinated the little ginger haired kid was in his display!
I really do enjoy your comments, it’s good to be reminded that my experiences were mostly universal in the Grammar school environment that we “enjoyed”.
All the best
Malcolm
Hi Malc
Thank you. Happy memories but at the time sometimes perplexing. Although not a “school” story I can recount that there was more to the Peter T. story. He and I were quite good friends and when we left school shared rooms together near London. He was studying and I was working. Picture the scene – a bedroom with two single beds. He would wait until he thought I was asleep before he began humping around. It shows how naive I was because I wondered what he was doing. I soon cottoned on when the movement was accompanied by heavy breathing and grunting. I was amazed to find that he performed almost every night. I got up before him in the morning and by returning to the room on one occasion I discovered that it appeared that there was a repeat performance in the mornings. I decided to test the theory and waited outside the door until I could hear him in full flood. I then entered the room suddenly, pretending I had left something behind. How cruel is that! Needless to say I always pretended to go to sleep at night occasionally stirring in order to bring about a certain interruptus. Poor guy he just couldn’t help himself. But we never alluded to it.
What a great story! I love the fact that this was the great unspoken matter between you even though he must surely have been aware of how obvious he was being. Under similar circumstances I’m pretty sure that I’d have emulated your cruel behaviour. The temptation would have been too much to resist. What is it about boys and young guys that they can’t admit “everybody does it”?
The sequel to this was the occasion was when, one day felt unwell and decided not to go to work. Peter eventually asked if I was getting up. I explained that I was staying in. He himself, then had no choice but to get up. All was revealed. His pyjamas went before him so to speak and almost prevented him opening the wardrobe. I was amazed, not to say aghast at the length.
Dear Malc
I quite agree. But we just never talked about it.
The sequel to this remembranceof Peter was the occasion was when one day I felt unwell and decided not to go to work. Peter eventually asked if I was getting up. I explained that I was staying in. He himself, then had no choice but to get up. I think his anticipation of some early morning exercise was cut short. All was revealed. His pyjamas went before him so to speak as he walked across the room and almost prevented him opening the wardrobe. My eyes (and not only my eyes) were out like organ stops. I was amazed, not to say aghast, at the length. The comparison was not favourable to say the least. Most depressing.
Hi
That must surely have been an interesting situation for both of you. One of those not quite knowing where to look moments! I shared a place with a school friend for a short time when we were 18 and on one occasion had to put up with him “entertaining” his then girlfriend. I really didn’t know what to do so I put the pillow over my head. She was gone by daybreak and nothing was ever said. I shared a flat with a similar lothario in London but by then was a little more liberated so maneged to shock him a couple of times.
Love
Malcolm
Dear Malc
Your turn. I’d be interested to know how you shocked him (3 March).
Der Malc
Good news on the course!
Looking back over these posts I see that I didn’t tie up the loose end in the 24 Nov post. I didn’t follow up the reference to bondage which so intrigued you. The reason for this was that I felt it may be upsetting for you given your experiences in the village woods. I will elaborate if you wish but am happy to leave the story untold. I wonder if you see any distinction between youthful experimentation on the one hand and molestation which you experienced on the other. I guess I would see what happened between me and my cousin as the former but then your tormentor was young wasn’t he?. Perhaps the distinction related to consent and degree. As the elder by a year I certainly took the lead with my cousin and therefore might appear as the villain in your books.
Best wishes
Bagthorpe
Hi
I wouldn’t be at al, upset. My best friend and I played those games from about the age of 8 and it was essentially innocent and fun for both of us. What happened with the teenager was a different kettle of fish entirely and no fun for me.
I really would like to hear your story.
Love
Malcolm
Hi Malc
I see that there are a few posts to respond to when you have time.
Love
B
Well it happened in my bedroom. My cousin and I were rucking around on the bed. He got hold of a couple of my ties and used one to tie my hands behind my back. He then pulled me to my feet and backed me up against the end of the bed – one of those metal ones. He then pulled my trousers and pants down and proceeded to use the other tie to tie my balls to the bar at the end of the bed. In the course of all this I lost my balance and fell over backwards onto the bed still attached. I lay there on my back and struggled some more. My cousin looked on in amazement as, for the first time in my life that I can remember, I came. It went everywhere. My cousin looked on aghast as I lay there spouting. I don’t think he realised what was happening. He quickly untied me and helped me up. We never referred to the incident.
My word! A rather shocking introduction to the effects of light bondage for both of you. I can well understand why that subject was never discussed. It’s one of those potentially confusing moments for youngsters being at an age when just about anything can get you going and almost any form of contact can produce an explosion. I do hope no lasting harm was done.
Dear Malcolm
No lasting harm. They still tighten up and have gone on producing right up to the present day. Your turn, though. How did you manage to shock the lothario?
Love
B
Well, believe it or not it was a girl that caused the shock. Howard and I were pretty casual around the flat so seeing each other making a naked dash for the loo wasn’t cause for eyebrow raising.
Somehow, it’s a complicated story that I will tell on this blog one day, I ended up with a girlfriend (number three since the age of 13 actually) and after a major night’s drinking she stayed with me instead of us going back to her place. Howard was struck speechless when he came out of the bathroom to be confronted with a very naked and frankly rather gorgeous young lady who’d obviously just come out of my room.
His confusion was something to behold and the story went round the hospital like wildfire. By the time I next went on duty I was being congratulated by everyone from student nurses to consultants and I’d never even tried to get a girlfriend! The relationship lasted for about 2 years and I can claim with absolute honesty that I told her up front that I’m gay; she just wouldn’t take no for an answer!
Love
M
Dear Malcolm
Thank you. That has satisfied my curiosity. Entirely unrelated I remember being taught to swim when I was 25 by a colleague at work who supported ( or should I say cupped) me in the water in a very sensitive area. When you are doing your best to stay afloat you don’t have time to object. Similar experiences??
Love
B
Hi B
What a curious coincidence. At about the same age a friend of mine who claimed to be entirely straight was teaching me to swim in exactly the same fashion. It didn’t help that he was good looking and had an almost classic swimmers body. I’ve often wondered about that whole situation, especially as he invited me for a few drinks at the flat he shared with his girlfriend. She was on night duty at the time. Nothing happened but there were certain signs, I didn’t have the courage to find out if I was reading the situation accurately.
Love
Malcolm
Dear Malcolm
I didn’t need to wonder about my swimming teacher. One day after a swim in the open air pool in the park at which I think I must have been deliberately provocative we were running across the park when he pulled me down straddled me and proceeded to put his hands down my trousers. I managed to extricate myself and thereafter severed contact.
Dear Malc
Sorry, forgot to say, that was me not anon.
B
Oh dear! I really can’t blame you for severing contact. Knowing where boundaries are is a terribly important skill because crossing them can cause such distress. That was why I didn’t make any moves on my schoolboy crush for the whole 6 years we were form mates and very good friends. Eventually it turned out that we’d both been thinking along those lines but didn’t actually do anything until we were safely in a 2 man tent on a holiday in Scotland. Even then he had to make the first move because I couldn’t contemplate compromising our friendship for mere gratification.
Love
M
Dear Malc
Wow! 6 years of sublimation. Must have been some release. But how fortunate you were. I did not think my crushes would be reciprocated. Co-incidentaly I also went camping in Scotland with a school friend (the aforementioned Peter). But unlike you when I got back home I was bursting to be re-united with my w.n.ing shorts!
Love
B
Let’s just say the first night was sleepless and noisy! Once we’d got that out of the way we both had a good laugh at just how silly the pair of us had been. The really stupid thing was I used to stay at his house at least one weekend a month and we had ample opportunity to deal with things. Adolescents are so good at getting in the way of their own happiness! Seriously though we were both terrified of what would happen at school if anybody got wind of something between us; not the friendliest of times for young lads of “that persuasion”. Of course the boaraders were at it like knives all the time but that was different (at least that’s how they rationalised it!)