FIVE - INTO THE THICK OF IT

The first couple of terms of Nobby's institutionalised educational procedure were, in the main, pointless and soul destroying although some misdirected noodles who had had the cerebral stuffing knocked out of them already may have deemed them as 'character building'. Sucking on the sour sap of schooling was a tiresome and, at times, horrific regime that left our central character somewhat 'fed up'.  The morning prayers led by the sickly Reverend Ennui, the laborious mathematics lessons taught by the tightly tucked in and pertinently proper Miss Tweed, the reading lessons with the soporific Mr Tome and the history and geography affairs thrown in by the unorthodox and sweating Mr Fawkes all confounded many underdeveloped heads whilst all the while, separating the willing wheat from the mentally challenged chaff.  To add to the torment the mornings were broken by a playtime break and a bottle of puke inducing milk, the middle of the day saw a variation on a single shitty theme as savoury slop followed by sweetened slop was served via fat-handed and intolerant dinner ladies.  The afternoon saw another break that one usually used to avoid the stalking presence of the school bully 'Knuckles O'Reilly' and his two cohorts, Shit's Magoo and Pimpled Pete. 

At all times, during these arduous days, the headmaster roamed at will, a large sweating globule of a man with a fiery face and temper to match.  Many a skull had felt the ire of the clenched fist, many a backside had been warmed by the open palm, many a hand had been frazzled by the swishing and correcting cane.  Mr Spleen took no nonsense and no prisoners - it was a cruel icing on a somewhat crappy cake of circumstance that Nobby found himself forced to eat over and over again.

Despite the dread, the prolonged agony and the clock-hindering monotony, a salvation was always glinting from around the corner, a ray of hope was always held onto by those fortunate enough to be physically adept and willing to embrace the great outdoors.  The P.E. lessons saved many a soul from certain insanity and twice weekly, Nobby and his classmates, were allowed to burn up the tension, blow away the cobwebs and mentally run riot.  The girls were taken by the nimble and upright Miss Plush and rotated through a routine of gymnastics, stretching, free-movement, ballet, netball and hockey whilst the boys were led by Mr Liddell and put through their paces via football, football, football, cross-country (because the local authorities insisted) and more football.  You see, Mr Liddell was a fan of the great British game, he fancied himself as a real star of the hoofing sport and as he always said, 'if it wasn't for the war - who knows'.  Despite not making a career out of the game teaching was a way to live out his dream and an opportunity to contribute to the next generation of footballing greats.  In ten years however Mr Liddell had only uncovered one half decent player whose career ended after an incident in a car park with a kinky referee and a roll of Sellotape.  One promising goalkeeper had been found and went on to play in the first round of the FA Cup before packing the game up and opening a brothel in Batley.  Mr Liddell’s eye though was not dulled, it was still as keen as ever and with the latest batch of new-starters getting into their stride he had his peepers on one or two possibilities - one of these, you may not be surprised to hear was Nobby Nobson of JR1. 

It was during the introductory lesson back in early September that Mr Liddell remembered seeing Nobby for the first time, that thick cut basin mop, the wide eyed innocence and somewhat robust carcass looked odd to say the least and whilst setting up the class of 28 into 4 teams of 7 he decided to make Nobby vice-captain of the side he designated as Wincheston Reds.  The other teams in this opening trial were named after other local sides namely Cudley Tigers, Farmley Dons and Crikeshire Utd.  Nobby was elated by his important role, miffed by the fact he wasn't the leader of the Cudley Tigers but, after 3 games he had bigger things on his little mind and had got his first taste of the highs and lows of football.  All will be revealed in the next instalment folks where I hope to keep your ball of intrigue inflated!  Stay pitchside people!

FOUR - SCHOOL DAZE

Nobby had been awoken early by an abrasive clanking clock, dragged downstairs and roughly dressed in an outfit he remembered trying on a few months back in a rather stuffy old shop, where lavender-scented women tut-tutted and his mother pushed and shoved him with great critical deliberation.  Brown plastic sandals, grey knee length socks, ball hugging black shorts, grey shirt and jumper and a sickly-orange tie all contributed to a feeling of unease and stomach-fluttering uncertainty.  Crammed into a stiff, seemingly all-consuming Duffel-Coat, a satchel was placed over his shoulder and a flat cap put upon his mop of hair - this was one odd day for Nobby that was for sure.  Apparently he was going to a place called 'school', his Dad was to be his escort as mum was still in bed nursing a sore titty after a recent stay in The Royal Bremner Hospital.  It was a very strange morning indeed and as he was given one last brush down, donated a Club Biscuit for a midday snack it was with doom-laden worry Nobby was marched the 1.4 miles to a place that would be his second home for the next 5+ years.

St Dominant's Infant and Junior School was an imposing place, the building made of cold, unemotional brick and adorned with black, glassy eyes that saw all and judged all.  Within the iron-fenced playground many parents stood waiting, each one clutching the hand of their pale-faced, wary looking offspring, all seemingly cloned and dressed in similar attire.  At the end of the open-tarmac covered grounds lay two shining black doors, doors that loomed large, doors that seemed to hold many answers to many questions.  Nobby pondered the situation, the guts were fluttering, the legs a trifle unsteady, the mouth dry and in need of one of mum's early morning cuppas he was so used to waking up to.

As Nobby drifted off into a reverie of tea-bag fumes and snuggle bed comic reading the escapism was shattered by the discord of a clanging bell.  The doors swung outward as the ears were crudely jarred; an official looking couple made their authoritarian entrance and stood each side of the ominous orifice. At a signal from one of them the parents and children moved forward with focus and disappeared two by two into the awaiting abyss.

Within the confines of the gluttonous maw great fuss ensued in a reverberating chamber that emanated a smell of harsh bleach, sour milk and unwashed feet.  Kids were pushed here and there, jackets and bags removed and hung on a line-of pegs, one of which was labeled Nobby Nobson JR1.  Nobby's coat and bag were duly suspended; he was unceremoniously propelled by his Dad's eager mitts into a growing queue of bewildered kids, given a quick pat on the head with a rather hurried and unconvincing, 'good luck son'.

Eventually 5 rows of children were formed; the parents were gathered at the rear of the room with the 2 officials at the front, now joined by several others.  A few kids found the whole scenario too much, several began to cry, one made a dash for freedom but was quickly apprehended by a hand waiting in the wings, another stood trembling whilst a slow trickle ran down his bare legs, socks and shoes and formed a rather reeking puddle on the floor.  Nobby was now discovering what 'nerves' where, a strange sensation that wasn't too pleasant and which was to make many decisive appearances throughout these embryonic years. With minimalistic statements the shaking and quaking strips of sprouts were guided in 5 different directions, at the head of Nobby's line was a squinting woman known as Miss Phipps.  As our quaking lad marched forth he turned his head to see his Dad give a nervous wave, it was at this point he had a rather warm sensation down below and for some reason his feet felt a trifle moist.

The rest of the day was a blur but Nobby found himself walking home sucking a Penny Arrow, wearing a different pair of duds that imprisoned the old undercarriage with great spite and of a mindset that the ordeal was only a 1 day horror-show and that was indeed that.   Oh what joy it is to be innocent and a little bit stupid!