Class Divide

The human mind, as an archive of a lifetime, is a truly amazing thing.

The faintest of smells, a millisecond of a sound or a brief glimpse of something can transport you back to a point in time, a place or an experience that made an impression on you, even if that is decades or more in the past.

I was transported back to when I was 5 years old (I am now 53) by a chain of events just yesterday.

The sensory journey began with my volunteering to help out a friend by providing a lift as the means to get the youngest of his three children to a new school for the very first time.

It was a first for the little lad in many respects.

He is a recent arrival in the UK, confronted by a different language, culture, environment and expectations which is daunting for most of us, let alone to those of his very junior years.

To a certain extent he may have hoped for a bit of a holiday based on his obvious excitement and look of amazement  at being reunited with his Father after three years of enforced separation. The look on his face upon my arrival to collect him and his family was the farthest possible away from that I had seen over the last few weeks, more akin to terror and a feeling of betrayal and impending abandonment in a strange place.

He was distraught.

The howls and the constant stream of tears down his face were all too familiar emotions to me at that same age. I could sympathise with his position entirely. He struggled as his father tried to fasten his shoes and there was a tustle and wrestle to get his arms into the sleeves of his coat.

I could, even after the passing of 48 years of my own life,  recall all of the tricks and traits of my own attempts to avoid going to infants school.

I could always rely on claims of a stomach ache.

If that was not convincing enough to dissuade my parents of their well intentioned efforts to get me to school then I could always revert to holding my head or feign the possibility of throwing up a recently consumed breakfast of porridge, toast and orange squash, a fearsome combination indeed.

We were always marched to school. This was a practical arrangement for myself and my sisters as we were close in age and until the age of 11 attended the same junior school in the town. My father's workplace was within walking distance of home and the school gates were but a small deviation from the shortest route to it.

It was obviously quite a logistical effort to get all three of us ready on a morning, our Mother's specialist department, but we were, as small children, very much oblivious to the hard work that we made it.

Our family would soon expand to another two brothers and it was not until I was a parent myself that I came to appreciate what early morning school preparation entailed.

As for my friend's wee son, he was a real handful.

Although we had not spoken together about education avoidance tactics he showed admirable skills of his own. I wish that way back in 1968 I had mastered the mock-ailment, as he showed, of wobbly weak legs. His father had to carry him out of the house under this affliction.

The limpet effect is something I regularly adopted, aged 5. This is where a grab and hold is made of all and everything within arms reach to hinder progress through the house and outdoors. Obviously this trait is well known globally as the small boy, I reiterate a new arrival to the UK, displayed good aptitude and understanding of suitable objects, both static and mobile.

His father carefully negotiated the garden obstacles and street furniture before depositing the still howling child onto the back seat of my car directly behind my drivers seat.

I flicked on the door lock mechanism to prevent any attempts at his doing a runner, termed "doin' one".

In retaliation I could feel two feet kicking my seat back in protest. That was one of my best methods to antagonise my parents on the rare occasions that we were taken to infants school or indeed the Doctors, Church or Dental Surgery in the family car.

I found the foot pounding most annoying but realising how much grief I must have inflicted on my parents under the same activity I made a point of not reacting in any way.

The short road distance for his first school attendance was noisy and not a little bit distressing.

Single pedestrians on the route could be seen reacting to what must have seemed like an act of child cruelty or an abduction although I did notice that members of the public pushing buggies or endeavouring to keep their own children under control did not bat an eyelid. They knew the score well indeed.

On the narrow street on which the school was located there was the usual traffic congestion of an inner city and the pavements swelled with those making their way for the 8.30am start of the school day.

The little lad went for the well tried removal from car deterrent of making himself as small and tightly wrapped as possible whilst still, in his own lyrical language, expressing disapproval at what was happening.

Eventually and still protesting he disappeared through the school gates under close guard of his father and older siblings.

The sudden silence in which I found myself was remarkable although the constant ringing in my ears from the previous few minutes of one-child riot certainly muted its full qualities.

Returning to the car those who had delivered the little boy to the education system  remained quiet as though, and I can appreciate this as a parent, a part of them had been ripped away and they were somehow no longer a tightly knitted unit.

The whole experience had really brought to mind in sharp relief the sensations and emotions of my own 5 year old self.

It exacted a sobering influence on me for the rest of the day, a poignant reminiscence.

I caught up with the new pupil later that afternoon.

He had really enjoyed his first day and tomorrow could not come fast enough to do it all again.