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 ALBIE
HAD SURPRISED EVERYONE,
including himself, when the results of the 11-Plus Examination became known. The
wheat had certainly been sorted from the chaff and, although 1952 hadn’t
yielded an over-abundant harvest, Albie found himself the topic of conversation
in Regis Place. Not only had he passed the dreaded exam but he had also been awarded
a place at the Paston School, in North Walsham, and, all too soon the lad would
have to pick up the gauntlet of grammar education. And time waits for no man,
let alone Albie...
TO
TELL THE TRUTH,
it wasn’t that Albie didn’t want to go to the Paston School, it was
just all the fuss getting prepared for it that was getting him down. In fact,
the lad quite relished the challenge, although, understandably, he was a little
bit apprehensive of what to expect, but he was certain it would be a lot different
to his days at Sheringham Primary School. So,
one day in the summer of 1952, Albie and his mother waited for a train at Sheringham
station to take them, the fifteen-or-so miles, to North Walsham. His mother had
decided it was time for him to be ‘kitted out’ with his school uniform,
but, having better things to do with his time, the lad had other ideas and began
protesting vociferously. “But
Mum, do we really hatta go?” he moaned, wanting instead to
sit at home and read his latest Eagle comic. “You’re
gorn, an’ tha’s that!” she replied angrily. “Arter all, you’ll
on’y go moochin’ around the plearce all day!” The
train for North Walsham steamed into the station and, after much complaining and
banging of doors, Albie eventually settled down in his seat. The signalman raised
the signal, the guard waved his green flag, and the engine driver tooted on his
whistle, and, amidst an enormous column of steam and smoke, the 11.55am began
its journey to North Walsham. Half
an hour later, Albie and his mother alighted on the‘Up’ platform at
North Walsham Main Station. Soon, after a short walk into town, they stood in
the Market Place.  There,
in front of them, was the parish church of St Nicholas and close by, almost within
its shadow, stood the ornate-façaded Marjoram Bros, advertising themselves
to be: ‘Purveyors of Men’s Wear of Distinction’ and, naturally,
stockists of the Paston School uniform.
“I
want you t’ look hooly
smart at
your new school,” Albie’s mother declared, dragging him into Marjorams
shop. “So, let’s hear no more of it, you’re gorn t’ hev a
posh school uniform, an’ tha’s that!” The
doorbell gave a welcoming tinkle as Albie closed the door behind them. Inside,
the shop was an amazing collection of mahogany cupboards and counters, with glass-fronted
drawers. Albie could see piles of neatly-folded shirts and trousers all packed
away in numbered drawers, and rows of navy-blue blazers hanging from rails. To
him, the shop smelled of wax polish, moth balls and the clean, freshness of Worsted
cloth and gabardine. “May
I be of assistance to you, Madam?” the shop assistant enquired most politely.
Could this be Mr Marjoram, wondered Albie? He certainly looked the part,
with his smartly-cut pinstripe suit and well-pressed trousers. Venturing a second
glance, Albie noticed the man had a tape measure around his neck. Yes, he deduced,
this had to be Mr Marjoram himself, as only the best would do for
mother! “Yis,”
replied Albie’s mum, pushing the lad forward. “This here’s my son
Albie, an’ he’s gorn t’ Parston this comin’ September.”
Mr
Marjoram nodded knowingly: “Say no more, Madam, we have some of the best
school clothing in town.” Then, with his tape measure in hand, he turned
to Albie. “I’ll
just take a few measurements, young Sir,” he announced, taking the lad’s
chest size before bending down and deftly placing the tape between Albie’s
legs. “Just the inner leg measurement to do,” he said, almost apologetically,
“then we’ve done!” Cupboard
doors creaked wide open on their hinges, drawers slid silently out on their runners,
coat hangers were carefully lowered from overhead chromium rails, and soon the
vast display of Paston School uniform was proudly unveiled for their perusal. Gathering
up quite an armful, Mr Marjoram escorted Albie to the fitting room, with his mother
close on their heels. After
much ‘umming’ and ‘arring’ by his mother, Albie emerged into
the light of day with a brand-new navy-blue blazer, together with a white shirt,
navy necktie and grey trousers. The blazer was set off by the official school
badge, with its coat of arms, and shiny brass buttons. Even
he had to admit to ‘looking smart’, as he stood back admiring
himself in the large mirror.  “You’ll
need to keep those brass buttons well shone, young Sir,” advised Mr Marjoram.
“and another thing, you’d best not stand around with your hands in your
pockets, as your Headmaster is most particular about those things, I can
tell you!”
Admiring
the brass buttons, Albie noticed the school’s coat of arms complete with
the fleur-de-lis and the date ‘1606’. Then, turning his attention to
the blazer badge, he noticed the motto: ‘De Mieux En Mieux Pour Tout’. “Hmm,”
he muttered under his breath, “sounds ‘furrin’ t’me.” “Wha’s
that dear?” asked his mother. “Wha’s furrin, surely that there
blazer wun’t mearde abroad, wuz it??” “Most
certainly not!” replied Mr Marjoram, rather put out be the insinuation.
“Made to the highest quality, from the best material – and locally –
I can assure you, Madam!” “Duh
Merx On Merx Pore Towt,” declared Albie, in a very matter of fact way, “least,
tha’s what it do say on the badge.’  His
mother just shrugged her shoulders, as she hadn’t a clue what he was talking
about – not that Albie had either.
“I
think,” he muttered to himself, “it may be French, but I dun’t
know what that mean.” However,
on his first day at the Paston School, a few short weeks later, Albie was about
to find out!
NEXT:
What will schooldays be like at the Paston School? Find out now in The
Initiation!
Please sign Albie’s guestbook, or if you wish to contact
me – please email:
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