So let's see, First year was 1H, Mrs. Hoderway. Second year was 2S Mrs. Skey. Third year was 3F Mr. Foreman. Fourth year 4S Mrs, Skey again. What a memory! Mr. Freeman the headmaster. I adored this man. I think I loved Mrs. Holderway!

I can't remember the music teacher's name. She taught me to play (torture) the violin, and when I turned out to be a big kid, the viola in the fourth year.

Mr. Freeman the headmaster, an exRAF type with the handlebar moustache white haired, huge tall man in a pin striped suite always with a huge red crysanthemem in the button hole.He would lead us in a rousing assembly every morning in which he would play some classical music piece and tell us the story of the music, Peter and the Wolf, Young Person's guide to the Orchestra, etc.

One year I was "diagnosed" with math problems. Actually, I think it was that no one explained what you were supposed to do with this bag of colored sticks. A black stick take away a blue stick is equal to a red stick. What! I think the trendy name nowadays is "manipulatives." So I had to go to Mr. Freeman's office for private lessons once a week. He just sat down with a pencil and paper and we did sums. He didn't see what the problem was and neither did I. I still didn't understand the sticks however.God Bless him.

Mr. Foreman. He was a balding old man, sweet natured and so put upon by us brats. He encouraged me in science classes. Mum and Dad bought me a microscope for Christmas one year. I put it one of Dad's old Kays boxes (more about those later) and I took it to school to show him. He was pleased as punch and had me show it and share it with everyone in class.

Mrs. Skey. She was a forbidding old spinster with a heart of gold. She loved France and travelled there a lot as a young girl. When the schools decided to introduce language teaching into early school we had the misfortune to get her. I say misfortune because she loved the French language so much she wouldn't allow us to mangle it. The result is that to this day I can't try and speak French because the image of Mrs. Skey shouting at you for not rolling your Rs or getting the pronounciation exactly right puts a mental block in place, I can read it, I can hear and understand it, I just can't speak it!