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 ALBIE
WAS RATHER CONCERNED – to tell the truth the lad was beside himself
with worry at the prospect of sitting the GCE examinations, which were only a
week away. These were to be his final examinations at the Paston School and his
entire future hung in the balance. As far as his parents’ expectations were
concerned, they had made it abundantly clear ‘he was to excel in all things
and pass with flying colours’. But Albie had just cause to question his academic
abilities and, as it was beginning to affect his health, he plucked up courage
to visit his doctor.
THE
FAMILY’S MEDICAL PRACTITIONER,
Dr Lawson – or ‘Merry and Bright’ as everyone called him –
was an amiable Scotsman and always full of the joys of spring – hence his
nickname. He held surgery in a large house on the corner of Church Street in Sheringham
and had the reputation of being a natty dresser – never without his Norfolk
jacket and plus-fours! In
those days it wasn’t necessary to telephone for an appointment, besides,
very few people were on the ’phone and there was no appointment system –
it was more a case of first come, first served! Albie
languished in the waiting room, with all the coughs and wheezing, and patiently
awaited his turn after making a mental note of those already waiting, as certain
latecomers had a tendency to jump the queue! “Next,
please!” called Dr Lawson, from his surgery across the hall. “Will
the next patient come through, please!” The
first of the patients disappeared into the doctor’s surgery, closing the
heavy, panelled door behind them! “Och,
now, what seems to be wrong with you?” Dr Lawson asked his first patient,
with his every word clearly heard in the waiting room as the doctor had quite
a loud penetrating voice. Following some unintelligible mutterings there was a
period of silence suggesting a more intimate examination was taking place! “Now,
take a tablespoon of this medicine la-ast thing at night,” Merry and Bright
was heard to say, as the door opened and the patient emerged: “and
if you haven’t moved by the weekend, call and see me again on Monday!” For
a while, the coughing and sneezing gave way to fits of chortling and giggling,
as result of the doctor’s remarks in passing! Albie
sat there for almost half an hour, as patiently as could be, waiting for his turn
to come, or had he been forgotten, he wondered? ALBIE
CONSULTS MERRY AND BRIGHT! Suddenly,
Dr Lawson yelled: “Next!” and Albie leapt to his feet, almost
knocked the door down, went inside and took a seat. “Well,
laddie?”
said
Dr Lawson, adjusting his wire-rimmed, half-glasses on the end of his nose, gazing
at the boy in a quizzical manner, “and just what seems to be the matter
with you?” “I
can’t eat. I can’t sleep an’ I just can’t think straight any
more,” Albie blurted out, almost in tears. “I’m so worried, Doctor
– really worried, an’ I just don’t know what’s wrong or what
I can do about it.”  Dr
Lawson responded promptly by instructing the lad to undress and, warming the endpiece
of his stethoscope by breathing on it, he began sounding the Albie’s chest.
“Breathe
in... and out. Say: aa-aargh!” Albie’s
heart began pounding furiously in the almost certain knowledge that there just
had to be something terribly wrong. “Perfect,
perfect,” declared his doctor and, with a noticeable air of impatience,
waved his hand for the lad to get dressed. “Well,
laddie,” the doctor declared, “there’s nothing at all wrong
wi’ you.” Albie,
with a look of utter disbelief on his face, openly expressed his concern at the
doctor’s findings, but Merry and Bright would have none of it. “Hmmph,”
he snorted, “seems to me that you’re suffering from a wee bout of hypochondria,
a nervous malady. Is there nothing at all on ye mind?” Albie
then began to express his fears and concerns regarding the forthcoming GCE examinations
that were only a week away. “I
just have to do well,” moaned the boy. “There’s so much
expected of me and I’m not at all sure that I will be able to live up to
it, but if I fail my parents... I don’t know what I’ll do!” Doctor
Lawson then stated the obvious. THE
DOCTOR MAKES HIS DIAGNOSIS “Your
trouble,” he declared, placing his hands firmly on his hips, “is that
you’re totally lacking in self confidence and we cannot have that,
can we?” Sitting
himself down at his large, dark-brown, mahogany desk in the corner of his consulting
room, Dr Lawson began hastily making some indecipherable scribbles on a pad and,
tearing off a sheet, handed it to Albie. “We
can do a wee something for you, I ken,” Dr Lawson exclaimed, much to Albie’s
relief. “Just take this wee note down to Mr Shewell the Chemist, then I’m
sure you’ll be as right as rain and sail through all your exams!” Swiftly
ushering Albie out of his consulting room, the doctor called after the lad: “Just
take one little pill, a half-an-hour or so before your exams, and then the rest
is up to you, laddie. Good luck!” “Next,
please!” Albie
did as he was told and went home with a small tube of pills secreted, under his
handkerchief, in his right-hand trouser pocket, happy in the knowledge that he
would do well and excel in all things. THE
DAY OF RECKONING The
fateful day duly arrived and Albie, and the rest of his form, assembled outside
the gymnasium that had been set aside for the first examination of the day –
Mathematics, which Albie had come to dread! In
his pocket, neatly concealed within the folds of his freshly-laundered hankie,
Albie could feel the small tube of pills prescribed by his doctor. Already he
sensed the telltale signs of impending nervousness, with the butterflies fluttering
inside his stomach, refusing to settle. Albie
glanced at the little tube of pills in his hand. ‘Pro-Plus’ it
said on the label, ‘Guaranteed to Relieve Tiredness, Sustain Stamina and
Give Confidence’! Swiftly, but discreetly, he tore open the wrapper and popped
a sugar-coated pill into his mouth. “Mmm...
quite nice,” he said to himself, then popped another, and another...! In
the gymnasium, rows of desks and chairs filled the large hall, with each set a
regulation 6 feet apart from the next to deny any cribbing. Satchels, books and
logarithm charts were not permitted within the exam room, with each scholar only
allowed to take a pencil and ruler, together with a fountain pen and a bottle
of Quink – preferably black. “Silence
must be observed at all times,” ordered the Invigilator, and,
glancing at his watch, gave the order to commence. “Turn over your papers,
you may now begin. You have one-and-a-half hours!” WILL
ALBIE’S PILLS HAVE THE DESIRED EFFECT? Turning
over his exam sheet, Albie looked at the first question. As if by magic, his nervousness
had vanished and he was feeling at peace with the world, cocooned within a sort
of pleasant warmth and, in a sense, ‘on a high’. Quickly, he began his
calculations to the mathematical problem and wrote down his answer. If they were
all as easy as that, he told himself, he would sail through the exam, he just
knew it! Albie
had finished his Maths’ paper within minutes to spare as the bell rang heralding
the end of the exam. “That
was really easy, that Maths paper,” once outside, he exclaimed to
his friends. “I don’t know what all the fuss was about, it was
a piece o’ cake!” But
his
friends weren’t at all sure, as they’d found the examination quite difficult. And
so it was for all the other examinations: English, History and Geography. After
popping a quick pill to stem his nerves, Albie would set to and write all the
essays, fill in all the dates, hazard a guess where Mesopotamia was to be found,
all without giving it a second thought. After the exams, once outside, he was
so confident he’d done well. But had he really? One
exception to the rule was the Art examination. This being his favourite subject,
Albie had decided the little ‘confidence’ pill wasn’t necessary.
Drawing
and painting like never before, the lad let his imagination run riot and began
expressing himself right from the heart, putting his innermost thoughts and feelings
down on paper in glorious colour. When
his ‘work of art’ was finished, with every brushstroke torn form his
body, Albie was completely drained of all his emotions and pent-up frustrations.
But had he done well enough to pass the exam? Strange, he thought, there were
no feelings of confidence this time, and, slightly downhearted from the ‘masterpieces’
he’d seen all around him, he was certain that the other scholars had bettered
him. But
his Art Master, Joe Mercer, had other ideas and took him quietly to one side. “Albie,”
he whispered to the boy, “don’t let this go to your head, but I think,
from what I’ve seen from your painting, you’ve done really well!” Then
the lad remembered the day, many months before, when he’d been sent home
from school feeling rather unwell, and how he’d discovered the joys of the
countryside and sketching from nature. He’d vowed there and then – on
that sunny springtime day, beside the Organ Beck at Beeston Regis – to become
an artist and now, it seemed, his ambition was about to be fulfilled. “You
will need some formal training of course,” said Mr Mercer, interrupting
Albie’s daydreams, “but I’m sure they’ll find a place for
you at Art School!” When
he arrived home, later that day, Albie told his mother what his Art master had
said. “Oh,
I don’t know, Albie,” exclaimed his worried mother, anxious for her
only child to get the best out of life. “What do you think, Dad?” Albie’s
father wasn’t too keen on the idea of an artist in the family, as he regarded
most of them as unwashed, unshaven, dropouts! “I
still think a career in the Co-op is the place for you, fellow-me-lad!”
he replied. The
boy began to look rather crestfallen at his parents’ disaffection with the
idea of him being a painter, or an engraver, or perhaps just a general artist
in some north-facing studio, and, at this point in time, his future didn’t
look at all promising. “But,
if that’s what you’ve set your heart on, Albie,” replied his father
with a wry smile, “then who are we to stand in your way – if
you want to be an artist, an artist you shall be!” Soon,
with all the examinations over, Albie was able to heave a sigh of relief and await
the arrival of the results of his labours, which his parents hoped would
be ‘exceptional’! The lad himself, of course, was still full of ‘confidence’,
in the belief that he would achieve good pass marks in all subjects.
All would be revealed when the results were known later that summer – but,
was he to be in for a shock? THE
LAST DAY AT THE PASTON SCHOOL At
the end of five, long, wearying years, Albie, and the rest of the scholars of
the Paston School, assembled in the Gymnasium Hall for the end-of-summer-term
service. With mixed emotions, he joined the crowd of young and old, smartly dressed
Pastonians, for, what was for him and many others, their final service.  They
sang the psalms and hymns, and prayed for guidance in their world to be, some
secretly rejoicing that their time for learning was over.
Then,
the Headmaster, Lieut. Col. Marshall, addressing the entire School, spoke of ‘upholding
the honour and tradition of Paston’, reminding the leavers of past achievements
by other Pastonians – comments which Albie and his friends had heard many
times before – no doubt also witnessed by countless other generations of
past scholars. “Whilst
the Sixth-form justifies the existence of the Grammar School institution,”
the Headmaster continued, “the less-gifted boys, in the academic sense, grow
strong in the habits of industry and especially in character, which will put them
in good stead later in life.” This
was indisputable, as The Paston School was well-respected in the world of commerce,
as Albie was to find out in the years ahead. The
service ended with the formation in the main aisle of all the boys who were about
to depart that famous school and go their separate ways. As they moved quietly
in full view of the rest of the seated school, many were of mixed emotion. Some
were eager to get on with their lives – aspiring to the giddy heights of
Oxbridge, or an apprenticeship in some dark, noisy factory – whilst others,
like Albie, would go on for further education. Joining the rest of his fellow
school-leavers at the front, he began to feel a slight pang of regret. His
thoughts were interrupted by the Headmaster who, turning his attention to the
boys all standing patiently in front of the assembled school, said: “I wish
you all well. Go forth into the world and hold our banner high, and never forget
what you learnt at The Paston School.” Almost
time to leave, thought Albie, as they began singing the final hymn, the hymn of
dismissal, which was, by tradition, always sung at the end of every summer term.
“Lord,
dismiss us with Thy blessing
Thanks for mercies past receive;
Pardon all,
their faults confessing
Time that’s lost may all retrieve;
May Thy
children
Ne’er again Thy Spirit grieve.” Albie
sang loudly, until his voice ran dry and, with a lump in his throat and a tear
in his eye, he gave thanks for all the good times he’d had at the Paston
School, as images of the past invaded his mind. Some times, of course, had left
bittersweet memories; such as his first day at the school with his initiation
on the school train, then there was the gruelling Cross Country Run which took
place every year – and his first experience of boxing, how could he ever
forget that! “Let
Thy Father-hand be shielding
All who here shall meet no more;
May their
seed-time past be yielding
Year by year a richer store;
Those returning
Make more faithful than before.” Albie
found it difficult to sing that last verse of the hymn, as his innermost feelings
were beginning to get the better of him. He knew he would always remember that
final verse for the rest of his life. There were, indeed, those he would see no
more – boys he had grown up with, those he had gone to Infants’ school,
passed exams with and joined at the Paston School – unless fate intervened,
their paths were destined never to cross again! The
gymnasium doors suddenly burst open and, with one accord, an uncontrollable flood
of Pastonians of all ages burst out to go their separate ways. Some laughing,
some shouting, all clamouring for the summer, but some to return another day.
Most
of the boys, amidst the sea of navy-blue blazers, were thinking of nothing but
their summer holidays, as they happily scurried down the wide shingle drive to
catch their ’buses and trains home. This was not the time given to thoughts
of the autumn term. But,
there was to be no such return for the leavers, as they stood, isolated, at the
bottom of the driveway, alone, in an unfamiliar world. As
Albie quietly walked away, he ventured a fleeting, backward glance at the old
School House and the Form Room Block at the Paston School, which had been like
a second home to him for the past five years. Passing
through the gates that one last time, knowing he was never to return, Albie brushed
away a solitary tear from his eye. “From
Good to Better Everywhere,” he said, turning on his heel and tossing
his blazer over his shoulder. “Look out world – here I come!” NEXT:
Part Two: Albie Moves On – and becomes a Bohemian!
Please sign Albie’s guestbook, or if you wish to contact
me – please email:
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