Alongside tapestry another useful medieval skill taught at primary school in the 1970’s was how to play classic songs like "Greensleeves" and "London’s Burning" on a recorder. We played various sizes of instrument, though I sadly never got near the Holy Grail of the recorders - the Bass. The Bass recorder was massive and had an extra metal bit at the bottom to hit the really low notes – like bell ringing it was reserved for the tallest people in class and I never quite made it even in my clumpy Nature Trek shoes. We played in Northumbrian Festivals, resplendent in brown dresses and home-knit cardigans wielding brown recorders and blasting out "Bobby Shaftoe's Gone To Sea, Silver Buckles On His Knee!" This along with ballet, tap and modern dance classes at The Sweet School of Dance (above the Co-op in Stakeford) gave me an early taste of performing to audiences despite being very shy. I learned about the politics of competing and that taking part was more important than winning. I was lucky enough to have some natural rhythm and an ear for music - overcoming my nerves and remembering the moves was achievement enough.
My parents often made clothes for me and my brother on their sewing machine, having a penchant for the TV show “The Good Life” and a creative streak. Designs included smock tops in the style of a country bumpkin, flared jeans with white piping down each leg and an all in one nylon jumpsuit just like Anthea Redfern from The Generation Game. The dance competition and show costumes were more avant garde, made in a variety of styles including authentic Italian native (“Papa Piccolino”), young frog (“Spring, Spring, Spring”) and bright citrus silk dresses to accompany the song “Who’s Been Polishing The Sun?”. Hours were spent either curling or coaxing my fine flyaway hair into a tight bun with around 500 hair grips sticking into my tender young scalp. On one occasion our car boot opened unexpectedly driving up the spine road to a competition and an ornately constructed French Peasant hat went flying out along the road at 60mph. The hat was rescued somehow and I went on to perform as a stylish and quietly revolutionary peasant. My parents put so much effort into our extra-curricular activities. I have any number of certificates signed by the great Dame Margot Fonteyn and sometimes stand in third position when photographed. Until recently I could still do the splits, but I’ve given that up since the last time I did it (at a salsa club in a Newcastle church in 2019 at 1am without a warm up) my leg muscle went into spasm and I was incapacitated for several days.
One Christmas heralded the pinnacle of my performing achievements when I was asked to play "Little Donkey" in the Christmas Show on glockenspiel. Christmas was always a special time but usually Nativities were a low key affair for me as I was never a Mary (not angelic-looking enough) or a shepherd with a tea-towel headpiece (not shepherdy enough). I was incredibly nervous but excited; however, mid-song one of the audience suffered a health emergency which caused a right kafuffle. Not ideal circumstances but it proved a useful experience later in life when playing keyboards in bands in working men’s clubs. I persevered to the end of "Little Donkey" while first aid was being administered.
A less happy fact from my 1970’s childhood is that they were right in assembly about the dangers of crossing the road. In 1975 my elder brother was hit by a car and almost killed. Thanks to Newcastle RVI and to my brother’s incredible life energy and strength he survived against the odds. He overcame horrific injuries and re-learned how to talk, walk, read, write and more when he came home. The 1970s had some amazing medical staff but the after-care and support for such injuries was very light-touch. The years ahead would be a learning curve for all of us, sometimes funny, sometimes tough and often unexpected.
We ventured out into the wider world with school thanks to trips to places like Vindolanda and Holy Island to find out about Northumbrian history, packing Kagools and butter-laden sandwiches in great anticipation of being let out for the day. It would rain incessantly but our spirits were not dampened and it didn’t stop us from appreciating how our forefathers used to survive on unleavened bread, kippers and mead. And no TV!! In class if we were doing history or working up to a visit to an old Roman site the teacher would wheel out a large television in a wooden cabinet and open up the doors for us to enjoy the heady pleasure of watching a show called “How We Used To Live”. We learned about how we were filling the planet with rubbish and how recycling was really important – ironically it was to be another twenty years before someone came up with the ingenious idea of recycling bins.
Next time – what else we watched on television, shopping at Prestos, Woolco and the pop man….
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