When I was a lad of about 13, I decided to join the school electrical group.
This was a group of pupils, led by one of the maths teachers, who performed electrical tasks after school hours. These tasks included wiring, rewiring, maintenance and, most exiting, setting up the lighting for the big school events, like the school play, the carol service and the morning assemblies.
There were two of us that applied to join, me and John Scott, he was destined to become a star pupil and head boy, and the only one of two to get an apprenticeship when we left school . We had to take a little test in order to join, and that involved making a circuit at home, and bringing it in for inspection a week later. The circuit had to have a power source, a switch and a light bulb.
That evening, I got my fathers claw hammer out of the shed, and prized one of the laths off our garden trellis. I pulled the nails out, broke most of the splinters off, and got it mostly flat. Then I scrounged a big 1,5v battery and glued it to the wood, using bostik, attached some wire to one end then attached one of my fathers motorbike light bulbs. The switch was impossible, so I left two bare ends of wire that had to be touched together to make the light come on. I was dead proud of it. It worked, that’s what mattered, right?
A week later, Scotty comes into school with a big shoe box, opened it, and placed his effort down next to mine. It lay on a perfectly planed and varnished wooden base, the wiring pinned down in perfect symmetry, a proper battery in a proper mounting, with a big flick switch and a coloured bulb in a plastic mount. Mr Johnson was massively impressed. ‘Did you do this yourself ?’ ‘Oh yes sir’
‘I did mine myself as well’ I said, but no one was listening. I could feel the tears welling up as I pulled another splinter out of my finger.
Anyway, no one was more surprised than me, when Scotties dad, a professional carpenter, pulled him from the electrical group a few weeks later, no explanation given. This was my big chance, I was invited, accepted and then became the new boy in the electrical group.
It was fantastic. Spending hours every Tuesday evening, crawling through the roof, wall cavities and under the floors, learning about the kit and getting totally filthy with dust and muck. After a shower in the gym, we all sat around and ate fish and chips and drank coffee. I felt really grown up and accepted for the first time in my life, it was useful , productive work, and we could see the results when the lighting came on properly and the spots followed the head or the reader in the assemblies.
My speciality was the underfloor ducting. These are tunnels that run underground and are accessed by thick square covers that are removed using special keys. You walk across them every day without giving them a second thought. Anyways, its cool dark and dirty down there, more often than not the lekky is off, so you are using a torch, there are things moving around just beyond the beam and the tunnels run all the way to the graveyard in Sefton church. So they said. It was very easy to get lost in that dark labyrinth, so most people steered clear, but I loved it.
Mr Johnson was a typical maths teacher of the era, tweed jacket, brown hush puppies, military moustache, sadistic sense of humour. He was ok as a teacher, and he ran the group well. He even displayed a healthy interest in our hygiene. I say this because after the evenings work was done, we used to go to the gym for a shower. He would stand at one end, making sure that we all scrubbed up properly, and if the steam came up, he would run around to the other end in order to make sure he could supervise our showering properly.
One night, it was my turn to get the supper in, so I went off to the shower early, got changed, got the cash from Mr Johnson and headed of the 50m or so to the chippy in Magdelane square. I got a bit of a shock when I recognised my auntie working behind the counter, I didn’t know she worked there. She took my order without speaking, so I guessed she didn’t want the owner to know that she knew me, she took my fiver, then gave me change from a tenner. Brilliant, the electrical group could now afford some green and red filters – I was a hero.
We practised for weeks, mixing the colours, mixing the spots and back lighting, I was given more and more responsibility even manning the main spot up in the big gantry. I was on top of the world.
A few weeks later, I was beetling around underground, got a bit lost and surfaced in a strange( to me) part of the school. As I clambered out of the duct into the dark corridor, I could hear noises coming from one of the classrooms. I recognised the voices, one of them was Mr J.
I didn’t know what was happening, I was too young I guess, but I knew something wasn’t right, something strange was going on in there, dangerous maybe.
So I kept my gob shut , and beat a hasty.
I never went back.
This was a group of pupils, led by one of the maths teachers, who performed electrical tasks after school hours. These tasks included wiring, rewiring, maintenance and, most exiting, setting up the lighting for the big school events, like the school play, the carol service and the morning assemblies.
There were two of us that applied to join, me and John Scott, he was destined to become a star pupil and head boy, and the only one of two to get an apprenticeship when we left school . We had to take a little test in order to join, and that involved making a circuit at home, and bringing it in for inspection a week later. The circuit had to have a power source, a switch and a light bulb.
That evening, I got my fathers claw hammer out of the shed, and prized one of the laths off our garden trellis. I pulled the nails out, broke most of the splinters off, and got it mostly flat. Then I scrounged a big 1,5v battery and glued it to the wood, using bostik, attached some wire to one end then attached one of my fathers motorbike light bulbs. The switch was impossible, so I left two bare ends of wire that had to be touched together to make the light come on. I was dead proud of it. It worked, that’s what mattered, right?
A week later, Scotty comes into school with a big shoe box, opened it, and placed his effort down next to mine. It lay on a perfectly planed and varnished wooden base, the wiring pinned down in perfect symmetry, a proper battery in a proper mounting, with a big flick switch and a coloured bulb in a plastic mount. Mr Johnson was massively impressed. ‘Did you do this yourself ?’ ‘Oh yes sir’
‘I did mine myself as well’ I said, but no one was listening. I could feel the tears welling up as I pulled another splinter out of my finger.
Anyway, no one was more surprised than me, when Scotties dad, a professional carpenter, pulled him from the electrical group a few weeks later, no explanation given. This was my big chance, I was invited, accepted and then became the new boy in the electrical group.
It was fantastic. Spending hours every Tuesday evening, crawling through the roof, wall cavities and under the floors, learning about the kit and getting totally filthy with dust and muck. After a shower in the gym, we all sat around and ate fish and chips and drank coffee. I felt really grown up and accepted for the first time in my life, it was useful , productive work, and we could see the results when the lighting came on properly and the spots followed the head or the reader in the assemblies.
My speciality was the underfloor ducting. These are tunnels that run underground and are accessed by thick square covers that are removed using special keys. You walk across them every day without giving them a second thought. Anyways, its cool dark and dirty down there, more often than not the lekky is off, so you are using a torch, there are things moving around just beyond the beam and the tunnels run all the way to the graveyard in Sefton church. So they said. It was very easy to get lost in that dark labyrinth, so most people steered clear, but I loved it.
Mr Johnson was a typical maths teacher of the era, tweed jacket, brown hush puppies, military moustache, sadistic sense of humour. He was ok as a teacher, and he ran the group well. He even displayed a healthy interest in our hygiene. I say this because after the evenings work was done, we used to go to the gym for a shower. He would stand at one end, making sure that we all scrubbed up properly, and if the steam came up, he would run around to the other end in order to make sure he could supervise our showering properly.
One night, it was my turn to get the supper in, so I went off to the shower early, got changed, got the cash from Mr Johnson and headed of the 50m or so to the chippy in Magdelane square. I got a bit of a shock when I recognised my auntie working behind the counter, I didn’t know she worked there. She took my order without speaking, so I guessed she didn’t want the owner to know that she knew me, she took my fiver, then gave me change from a tenner. Brilliant, the electrical group could now afford some green and red filters – I was a hero.
We practised for weeks, mixing the colours, mixing the spots and back lighting, I was given more and more responsibility even manning the main spot up in the big gantry. I was on top of the world.
A few weeks later, I was beetling around underground, got a bit lost and surfaced in a strange( to me) part of the school. As I clambered out of the duct into the dark corridor, I could hear noises coming from one of the classrooms. I recognised the voices, one of them was Mr J.
I didn’t know what was happening, I was too young I guess, but I knew something wasn’t right, something strange was going on in there, dangerous maybe.
So I kept my gob shut , and beat a hasty.
I never went back.
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