Friday 16 September 2022

Memory Mixtape #20: Back To The Old School


Sam's football training has changed nights, from Tuesday to Thursday. They've also got a new venue since last year... my old high school.

Last night then, I set foot in my old school gym for the first time in 34 years. (I left in 1990, but I never went near the gym after the end of the 5th form... why would I? There had to be some perks to being a Sixth Former.)

But now, here I was again, staring up at that same wood-paneled ceiling, breathing in the same stench of stale sweat and plimsolls, hearing the squeaky echo of gym shoes on barely-polished tiles... a shudder went down my spine as a juggernaut of memories came rushing back. 

Two nights ago, I had an anxiety dream about returning there and being met by my old P.E. Teacher, Mr Sh***ocks, who always called me "Roly". Which. I. Fucking. Hated. But was powerless to do anything about. Only in the dream, he didn't remember me at all, and he was struggling to give directions, and I realised what a sad little man he actually was, not the terrifying ogre of memory.

The weirdest thing of all was how nothing had changed. From the outside, the school looks quite different. They've built a whole new wing and turned one of the playgrounds into another car park (more teachers driving to work than in the 80s?)... and there are huge green security fences surrounding everything. There were no fences when I went there. You could have walked up to the entrance at any hour of the day or night and peered in through the classroom windows. It's more prison that high school now.

Inside though... time had stood still. The gloomy stairs up to the staff room, the grubby corridor leading to the Sport's Hall... the horror of the changing rooms... they were all exactly as they had been 34 years ago. Admittedly, I only walked that one corridor; the rest of the school was closed off. Still... I might as well have driven there in a Delorean, at 88 miles per hour.


I think they've painted the metalwork blue... but the woodwork, the walls, the floor tiles, the showers (not pictured - I'll spare you the horror)... for a second, I almost went and hung up my bag and started getting changed. With that ugly lump in my throat I felt every Tuesday afternoon when it was time for games...
 
I was very tempted to play The Headmaster Ritual today...

"Please, excuse me from gym
I've got this terrible cold coming on"
He grabs and devours
He kicks me in the showers
Kicks me in the showers
And he grabs and devours
I want to go home
I don't want to stay

...but I can't subject you to The Smiths three days in a row. My stats are low enough as it is. Instead, here's The Dan...

Well, I did not think the girl
Could be so cruel
And I'm never going back
To my old school



3 comments:

  1. That sounds like a traumatic experience

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I may never recover.

      At least until next Thursday, when I have to do it all again.

      Delete
  2. Oh Rol, I got that butterflies feeling in my stomach just reading this. School gyms, ugh - the source of much anxiety for this pale, awkward and decidedly non-sporty girl too. I can conjure about that smell just thinking about it (cheesy feet and floor polish is not a good mixture). Whereas the art room... ah, the smell of paint and clay, lovely! I wonder if sporty types got a butterflies feeling at that (probably not, I don't recall anyone humiliating, embarrassing or putting pressure on pupils who weren't artistic. It just never happened that way round).

    ReplyDelete

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