Tax

For me one of the more irritating phrases used in the media is Tax Burden. I’m with the American Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr who stated "I like to pay taxes; with them, I buy civilization”.

Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr

That was back in 1927 (or earlier by some accounts) and I’m not sure whether he would get away with that phrase today given the current state of affairs in America. Or here in the UK come to that. Unfortunately, the last few years have seen the austerity of neoliberal economic theory and therefore civilisation crumbling. And the Labour Party continues it, unbelievably.

When I think of Nordic countries I think of high taxes coupled with a reputation for excellent public services and high standards of living. Although some of those are showing signs of succumbing.

As an aside I’ve always admired those Nordic countries for their tax transparency. With the exception of Denmark, the countries openly publish tax records. Norway has published tax records since 1863, while Finland shares the names of the country’s 10,000 biggest earners each year. I have no idea what tax I paid this year and couldn’t care less if someone wanted to find out by ringing the tax office.

A quick run through the history of taxes:

The earliest record of taxation is from Egypt around 3000 BCE. Initially every two years, and then every year, the pharaoh and his advisors would tour the kingdom, assess the value of livestock, and then collect a tax on the ownership of that livestock. At the time, Egypt lacked coined money, so grain represented a tangible store of value that could easily be collected, traded, and redistributed throughout society.

Taxes are also referenced in Mesopotamia, where scribes used cuneiform clay tablets to keep records of what was owed to local temples. I rather like this story from the area about 4,500 years ago: A king imposed a toll tax on the bridge that his citizens used daily to cross the river to farm their lands on the other side. To avoid the toll, the locals began to swim across the river. KPK Law say that this was the first manifestation of tax planning. The king was not amused and responded with a rule that made swimming across the river an offence subject to severe sanctions, such as decapitation.

Here are some of the weirder forms of taxation:

Urine tax
This tax was introduced in Ancient Rome. Back then, human urine was viewed as a valuable commodity. It had many uses: tanning, laundering, and even teeth brushing. It’s widely believed that this led to the popular Latin phrase Pecunia non olet, i.e. ‘money does not stink’.

Being a coward tax
From around 1100, English medieval knights could opt out of fighting a war by paying for the privilege. It’s official name was ‘Scutage’ but was commonly known as ‘cowardice tax’.

Beard tax
In 1698 Emperor Peter I of Russia created the beard tax. It was thought to be a move that would help westernise the appearance of Russian society, as he deemed it an old-fashioned fashion choice.

Window tax
This tax was first introduced in England in 1696. It was intended to be quite a liberal tax as those with smaller houses would pay less or be exempt. Households reduced it by blocking out windows. The negative effects of the lack of natural light and ventilation led to a growing movement which stopped the tax in 1851.

windows blanked out to reduce window tax

Hat tax

A hat tax was introduced in 1784 and was aimed at raising revenue for the government in a way that would mostly correspond to a person’s wealth.

Playing cards tax
This was in force from as early as the 16th century. Furthermore, in 1710, the English government increased the tax on playing cards and dice. Inevitably, this led to mass forgeries of playing cards. The tax was not removed until 1960.

Wallpaper tax
Brought out in 1712, Britain taxed anyone who bought patterned, painted or printed wallpaper. This led to people finding creative ways to avoid the tax, such as – using plain paper and then having painted after applying. The tax was abolished in 1836.

Clock tax
Introduced to tax the wealthy. In 1797, the British Clock Tax was applied to all timepieces, such as watches and clocks. The annual tax rate was two shillings and sixpence for a standard watch, and up to ten shillings for a gold watch. Clocks costing more than twenty shillings were rated at five shillings.

extensions to clock tax?

Poems about tax are not usually sympathetic but I did come across this by Edward Guest who was born in Birmingham in 1881 and moved to Michigan USA as a young child and where he was educated. He was popular in the first half of the 20th century and became known as the People's Poet.

Taxes

When they become due I don’t like them at all.
Taxes look large be they ever so small
Taxes are debts which I venture to say,
No man or no woman is happy to pay.
I grumble about them, as most of us do.
For it seems that with taxes I never am through.

But when I reflect on the city I love,
With its sewers below and its pavements above,
And its schools and its parks where children may play
I can see what I get for the money I pay.
And I say to myself: “Little joy would we know

If we kept all our money and spent it alone.”

I couldn’t build streets and I couldn’t fight fire
Policemen to guard us I never could hire.
A water department I couldn’t maintain.
Instead of a city we’d still have a plain
Then I look at the bill for the taxes they charge,
And I say to myself: “Well, that isn’t so large.”

I walk through a hospital thronged with the ill
And I find that it shrivels the size of my bill.
As in beauty and splendor my home city grows,
It is easy to see where my tax money goes
And I say to myself: “if we lived hit and miss
And gave up our taxes, we couldn’t do this.”

Edward Guest 1881-1959

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Old School/New School

I'm going with a literal approach to theme this week in blogging about my old school - which also happened to be a new school in premises barely three years old when I enrolled, as I'll explain shortly.

First a bit about me and how I got to go there. When my family arrived back in England from Nigeria (where I was born and spent my formative years), we lived in Peterborough for some time. My dad was a Methodist minister and I went to infant and junior schools in the city between 1958 and 1964.

Methodist ministers move parish about every six years (it appears to be a bit of a tradition to keep things fresh) and so in the summer of 1964 we were about to move to Cambridge.  My parents were faced with sorting out a secondary school for me in a new city. I'd recently turned eleven and had just sat the 11+ exam, as all children in their final year of primary education did in those days. (I believe it was finally phased out in 1976.) It turned out I did quite well. I not only passed but earned a county scholarship into the bargain.

When my dad enquired as to what the best secondary school in Cambridge was, he was told that it was The Perse School. The Perse was originally founded in Cambridge in 1615 by a wealthy benefactor, Stephen Perse. Born in Norwich and educated at Norwich School and then Gonville and Caius College Cambridge, Perse became a Doctor of Medicine and a shrewd businessman. In his will he left money for the founding of a Free School in the city, originally in Free School Lane (as it came to be called) from 1615 until 1890. Free School was a bit of a misnomer as it was a fee-paying school. The fees per pupil when it relocated to newly acquired and built premises on land in Gonville Place in 1890 were £3 per term. (Nowadays they are up to £7,500 per term, excluding VAT.)

From 1945 until the mid-1970s, although still a Public School it was also classified as a 'direct grant grammar school' meaning that though the majority of boys were fee-paying, it also offered free 'assisted places' to bright boys from poor families -   and that's where my county scholarship came in handy as it entitled me to go there, covering the fees that a lowly paid Methodist minister would simply never have been able to afford. 

Off to the Perse I went, in September 1964 in my purple and black striped blazer and purple and black cap, a new boy at literally a new school, for The Perse had recently relocated again away from its cramped site in Gonville Place in the centre of the city to its current spacious location in the outskirts, to elegant but functional premises designed by the architect Stirrat Johnson-Marshall, set among acres of playing fields, and officially opened by Princess Alexandra in July 1961.

artist's impression of the new school façade

I think even at the time I realised how very fortunate I was to benefit from such a good education in such well-appointed surroundings. In addition to the relatively small population (approximately 400 pupils compared to the 1,000 + that many schools contained) we had small class sizes in clean and bright classrooms and well-equipped labs. We even had our own theatre for drama lessons complete with sound system and lighting console, a lecture theatre, a music room, a library, a geography room complete with wave-tank, a  gymnasium, a hall with a balcony, a refectory, a cloistered walkway and a vivarium in the grounds, plus the usual playing fields (with cricket pavilion), tennis courts and a parade square for those who liked to march about.

It was a privileged education, but were school days the happiest? Probably not. For all the setting and facilities, I had to go nearly four miles to get there and back and sometimes envied my brothers who could just walk around the corner from home to their Secondary Modern school. I went by bus (two of them, changing in the city centre as I lived to the north of it and the school was to the south), and sometimes walked home if the weather was good - but never walked to school as that would have meant getting up an hour earlier than I already did. Even so I was quite often out of the house before anyone else was up.

The only real downside was school every Saturday morning, on account of us having two games afternoons in the week...and if you ended up playing for a school team as well, as I sometimes did, well that was your Saturday afternoon gone as well. Oh, and it was a rugby school, so football (as in soccer) was not an option, though it was rumoured that headmaster Stanley Stubbs had once been on the books of Stoke City. 

fresh fodder in the refectory ;)

It was also quite a regimented existence and I think there were regular instances of bullying, not that it really impacted me but I used to hear fairly macabre stories of stuff that went on in the boarding houses (for although I was a day boy, the school had quite a large number of boarders). And there was sometimes a subtle divide between cliques of fee-paying boys whose parents were obviously wealthy and the rest of us. 

Curiously though, The Perse was probably more like the soon-to-be Comprehensive Schools that would arrive in the 1970s than the other Grammar schools in Cambridge in that there was a true mix of abilities. Yes the 40% of non-fee-paying boys who, like me, had come in on 'assisted places, were all academically minded, but among the 60% of fee-paying pupils, there were more than a few perfectly pleasant but not terribly bright youngsters who were only there because their parents had money, and they struggled - though we all got along fine and they certainly benefitted from challenges and opportunities they wouldn't have got in a Secondary Modern school.

The regimentation wasn't too irksome while we were young, green first and second years, but as we grew older and the permissive ways of the sixties began to hold an attraction for us, issues around length of hair, dress code, illicit smoking and drug use caused conflict with the establishment which wasn't kindly disposed to change or challenge. I was never compliant enough to be a prefect and would probably have declined the offer if it had been made, but in my upper sixth year I was chairman of the school council, a consultative body that had recently been established by a new headmaster, (Stanley Stubbs having retired  in the summer of 1969). So we passed through and out into the wider world, in my case to read English at university and then to become a teacher of English and drama in my own right at a London Comprehensive school.

Since my time there, The Perse has undergone more significant transformations. From 1976, when the 'assisted places' scheme was ended and state funding ceased to flow, it went completely independent. It also went co-educational in the 1990s, expanded both its intake and its facilities with more classrooms, a sixth-form block and an arts centre, and is now ranked regularly among the top independent schools in the country. It holds reunion events for Old Perseans, though I have never been tempted.

an imposing skyline

I've not had time to write a new poem this week, though ideas are percolating. I was planning to do so today, but I've ricked my right knee somehow and spent the afternoon in bed  asleep, dosed with painkillers and with a hot-water-bottle pressed to the knee (probably should have been an ice-pack but I couldn't face that idea).

I've gone with this poem by John Clare because the first poem I ever had published was something I wrote back in 1964 in that junior school in Peterborough as part of an English project marking the centenary of Clare's death, as he was local to the area. I don't have a copy of what I wrote. Neither do I have copies of any of the poems I wrote at The Perse and which appeared in issues of the school magazine 'The Pelican'. When my parents moved on from Cambridge, I was away at university, and they just threw out boxes of my school magazines, exercise books, project folders, essays, notebooks et cetera without even asking me if I still wanted them. Brutal.

I never walked to school, for reasons I explained above, but here is John Clare's delightful poem about doing so...  

Schoolboys In Winter

The schoolboys still their morning ramble take 

To neighboring village school with playing speed,
Loitering with passtime’s leisure till they quake,
Oft looking up the wild-geese droves to heed,
Watching the letters which their journeys make;
Or plucking haws on which their fieldfares feed,
And hips and sloes; and on each shallow lake
Making glib slides, where they like shadows go
Till some fresh passtimes in their minds awake.
Then off they start anew and hasty blow
Their numbed and clumpsing fingers till they glow;
Then races with their shadows wildly run
That stride huge giants o’er the shining snow
In the pale splendour of the winter sun.

                                                         John Clare (1793-1864)

                 

              Qui facit per alium facit per se 

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Old School

Britain’s oldest schools offer a remarkable window into the country’s religious, political and educational history. Long before the modern school system emerged, these institutions were founded to educate clergy, train administrators and preserve learning in an age when books were scarce and literacy was limited. Among the most ancient surviving schools are The King’s School, Canterbury, St Peter’s School, York, and Sherborne School.

Each began in the early medieval period and endured immense upheavals, including Viking invasions, the Norman Conquest, the Reformation and modern war. Their histories reveal how education in Britain developed from monastic instruction into the broad academic tradition associated with independent schools today.

The King’s School, Canterbury is widely regarded as the oldest school in England, tracing its origins to 597, when St Augustine arrived from Rome to convert the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity. Education formed part of the new religious foundations at Canterbury Cathedral and St Augustine’s Abbey, where boys were taught Latin, scripture and church music. Although the earliest records are limited, the school’s connection with these monastic communities suggests a continuous tradition of learning on the site.

Its modern form dates from 1541, when Henry VIII, after the Dissolution of the Monasteries, re-founded the institution by royal charter and established fifty King’s Scholars. Over the centuries, the school survived the turbulence of the English Civil War and even wartime evacuation during the Second World War, while preserving its setting within the cathedral precincts. Its long history makes it a striking example of how medieval religious education evolved into the prestigious independent school tradition known today.

St Peter’s School, York traces its beginnings to 627, when it was founded in connection with York Minster during the conversion of Northumbria to Christianity. Like Canterbury, it originated in the world of the early Christian church, where schools existed primarily to educate future clerics and administrators. Tradition associates the school with Alcuin of York, the great scholar who later served Charlemagne and helped shape the Carolingian Renaissance in Europe. This link gives St Peter’s an importance beyond England, connecting it to the revival of learning across western Christendom.

The school was later re-established under a royal charter in the sixteenth century, a pattern common among ancient English schools whose medieval religious foundations were reshaped after the Reformation. Over time, it evolved into a major independent school while retaining its historic identity. Its endurance from the seventh century to the present demonstrates the resilience of educational institutions rooted in both faith and civic life.

Sherborne School, founded in 705 in Dorset, emerged from another important religious centre, Sherborne Abbey. It was established during the Anglo-Saxon period, when monasteries and cathedrals were the principal guardians of literacy and education. Although younger than Canterbury and York, Sherborne still belongs to the earliest generation of surviving British schools. Its medieval roots were similarly transformed in the sixteenth century, when Edward VI granted it a charter in 1550. From that point it developed into a grammar school and, later, one of England’s best-known public schools.

 Sherborne’s history illustrates how ancient institutions adapted to changing political and cultural circumstances while preserving a sense of continuity. Through the centuries it educated clergy, scholars, statesmen and writers, linking the modern classroom to the intellectual life of early medieval Wessex. Today the school remains deeply conscious of its origins, using its heritage as part of its identity while embracing contemporary education.

Together, these three schools show how education in Britain was originally inseparable from the church, royal authority and the preservation of learning. Their earliest forms were not schools in the modern sense, but religious communities dedicated to instruction, discipline and scholarship. Yet their survival across more than a millennium is extraordinary. 

Each institution was reshaped by the Reformation, renewed by royal authority and gradually transformed into a modern school, but all retained a strong sense of historical identity. The King’s School, Canterbury stands out for its connection to the coming of Christianity to England; St Peter’s School, York for its intellectual links to European learning; and Sherborne School for its place in the cultural development of Anglo-Saxon Wessex. Studied together, they reveal not only the longevity of Britain’s oldest schools, but also the enduring importance of education in shaping national life.

Please find below a poem on education by Thomas Grey. This poem gave us the phrase “ignorance is bliss”.

Ode to a Distant Prospect of Eton

To each his suff’rings: all are men,
Condemn’d alike to groan,
The tender for another’s pain;
Th’ unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
’Tis folly to be wise …

                                          Thomas Grey, 1742

Thanks for reading and please leave a comment as they are much appreciated. 

Dermot Moroney

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Old School

I attended Elmslie Girls’ Independent Grammar School here in Blackpool, founded by two sisters named Brodie and sited on Whitegate Drive in a substantial double-fronted detached house. The school grounds were filled with Elm trees (hence the school’s name) and also abundant with crocuses every spring, from which came the splendid purple and gold of the school uniform.

Attending an all girl’s school had its ups and downs. The atmosphere was great. Sports were very competitive and many students excelled in music, sciences and the arts. I hazard a guess that this was probably due to a lack of distractions by boys but it was also due to a great sense of camaraderie and identity.

I had started at Elmslie Girl’s Grammar School as a naturally very bright, scholarship holder with an acquired Liverpool accent that was more of a strain for my headmistress than my already blossoming career in International ballroom dance. It had been made clear to me, before I was offered a place at the school, that if the standard of my school work should deteriorate due to dancing, then the dancing would stop. Mum and Dad were surprised that I even considered agreeing to Miss Oldham’s terms, but it made me all the more determined to succeed at both.

In the late 1960s and early 70s, my study of English Literature was peppered with novels, short stories, poetry and plays. Each academic year I was entertained by at least two Shakespeare plays, a novel by Charles Dickens and poetry by the Romantics.

In 1970 I was reading aloud in English: A passage from Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw, when suddenly the voice of Eliza Doolittle was transformed into a cockney twang. Immediately I was playing Audrey Hepburn, the most beautiful and glamorous actress that I had ever seen. Lerner and Lowes pastiche of Shaw’s remarkable play was transformational for me. 

Pygmalion was a turning point. A working class girl in a public school, intelligent but awkward, playing the role written for me by others. Suddenly I knew how to live in both worlds. I became a living pastiche. I let the school and the world of dance transform me into from ugly duckling into a swan and I soared.

Our school uniform was distinctive. A deep purple blazer, trimmed with gold braid and a brimmed, purple felt hat with a taffeta band adorned with a fabulous enamelled badge bearing the Red Rose of Lancashire and the crossed keys of St Peter, topped with the bishop’s mitre. I really wish that I still had by hat badge. If anyone has a spare please feel free to contact me.

On the downside, we Elmslie girls were affectionately called, The Purple Virgins. Needless to say that I have no comment to make on that score. I know what I know and I promise ladies my lips are sealed. We have a code of honour. We have a school song with a Latin motto. Attending Elmslie was a little like being a student at Hogwarts. We had our secret passageways, spooky staircase and archaic sick bay too.

I am proud to have been an Elmslie girl and loved wearing my purple regalia. It carried a certain kudos and on through my lifetime it has opened a few select doors. I am still in touch with many school friends and as 2018 would have been the school’s centenary, hundreds of former purple virgins gathered in Blackpool in the spirit of friendship and reunion about which we sang in the school song so many years ago. Eat your heart out J K Rowling.

Omne Bonum Dei Donum

Omne bonum, dei donum
Is the motto of our school
All good gifts they come from heaven
To be grateful is our rule.

Midst the splendour of the elm trees,
In a shady place and cool,
Towering up above the branches,
Stand our much loved Elmslie School.

Omne bonum dei donum
Omne bonum dei donum.

Joys and sorrows both are known there,
Battles are both lost and won.
Fearlessly we all press onwards,
Happy when the task is done.

When our schooldays are behind us
And fresh duties we pursue,
Memories then will crowd upon us
And old friendships we’ll renew.

Omne bonum dei donum
Omne bonum dei donum.

"It matters much more what a girl is than what she does, and if you have learnt to work hard, play hard, keep faith, forget self, help others, you will have begun to be, in the highest sense of the word, a useful member of society. I would remind you of the famous words, "To labour and to love is the sum of living".

Miss Elizabeth Brodie
July 1928

Thanks for reading, Adele V Robinson

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Old School

There is old and there is old. The oldest schools in continuous operation are the Shishi High School, 143 BCE, in Chengdu, China and The King’s School, Canterbury, 597 CE, in Canterbury. Which is pretty impressive and I would like to check out the one in Kent at some point.

But I can’t miss the opportunity to go back even further in time to Sumeria (a part of Mesopotamia) where the schools (known as edubba, ‘House of Tablets’) trained the scribes of Mesopotamia in reading, writing, interpretation of texts, general knowledge, and the specifics of whatever field they would eventually work in. The Sumerian scribal school was operational by 2600 BCE and their curriculum continued by the other civilizations of Mesopotamia that followed.

map of Mesopotamia (between Euphates nd Tigris rivers)

How do we know that? The web site Brewminate states that ‘Based on information from tablets discovered in the ruins of the city of Nippur (primarily) and elsewhere, students entered school before the age of ten and graduated around twelve years later having mastered cuneiform script, Sumerian and Akkadian, and an array of subjects including agriculture, architectural design, astronomy, botany, engineering, history, literature, medicine, philosophy, religion, and zoology. They attended class from sunrise to sunset for at least 24 days a month (possibly year-round), and graduated in their early twenties as scribes.

A lot of student learning was done by writing out cuneiform compositions (‘school texts’) on clay tablets. A large number of tablets preserving scribal students' exercises (called ‘exercise tablets’) have been found and they come in different shapes and sizes, depending on the level of the student and on how advanced the assignment was.

The students were primarily boys, although female scribes are also known in Mesopotamian society. The eduba literature paints a vivid, if highly embellished, picture of daily life for young scribal students. According to these compositions, a boy would leave his parents' home in the morning, go to the eduba, and begin his lessons for the day. These included things like reciting texts learned previously and forming new tablets to inscribe.

Punishments for misbehaviour - talking out of turn, going out at the wrong time, writing poorly, etc. - could be harsh: in one exaggerated account, a student describes being beaten no less than seven times in a single day. After a day at school, the student would go home again to his parents, where he might tell them about the events of his day or recite homework assignments to them. Maybe not entirely accurately some scholars now think.

excavating Nippur

School was optional and was funded by the parents of the students through tuition. Only the children of the upper class and nobility could afford to attend. Daughters of nobles, merchants, or clergy were allowed to attend if they were going to follow in their parents’ profession. Slaves were also sometimes sent to school, especially those belonging to merchants or priests, so they could help with the scribal responsibilities of their masters.

Tablets had standard shapes and sizes which were mandated by the instructors and formed by the students. Students, therefore, had to create their own writing tablets and then learn how to inscribe them with hand-made implements.

A complete schoolroom would have had shelves on which completed work was laid out to dry, storage chests for miscellaneous school supplies and for the safekeeping of ‘textbooks’ They would also have had large ceramic vessels which held the damp clay that would be moulded into writing tablets and others filled with water into which old tablets were dropped to soften so they could be erased, reformed, and reused.

a Sumerian maths primer

The whole faculty was structured on the model of the family where the father was head of the household. The head of a Mesopotamian school, in fact, was known as the ‘Father of the Tablet House’ and corresponded to today’s school principal. Every other faculty member was an expert in his particular discipline, and older students, known as ‘big brothers’, served as teacher’s assistants in guiding younger learners.

Most of the information above comes from: World History Encyclopedia Joshua J. Mark, Brewminate, Psychology history books.

The first written records of The Epic of Gilgamesh date back to around 2100 BCE and students would have been copying the story but it would have been known in oral form which they would have learnt at school. Here is an excerpt (and I’ve cut a few lines to make sense):

“[Tell me] how you came to stand in the gods’ assembly and sought eternal life? Ut-napishtim spoke to him, to Gilgamesh,

“Let me reveal to you the secret of the gods. . . . [T]he gods . . . decided [to] make a flood. . . .
So he repeated their speech to a reed hut, x “Reed hut, reed hut, brick wall, brick wall: This is the message:

Man of Shuruppak, son of Ubara-Tutu,xi
Dismantle your house, build a boat.
Leave possessions, search out living things. Reject chattels and save lives.
Put aboard the seed of all living things, into the boat. The boat that you are to build shall have her dimensions in proportion, Her width and length shall be in harmony...

I realized and spoke to my master Ea,
“I have paid attention to the words that you spoke in this way, My master, and I shall act upon them. . . .
I loaded her with everything there was, Loaded her with all the silver,
Loaded her with all the gold
Loaded her with all the seed of living things, all of them. I put on board the boat all my kith and kin.
Put on board cattle from open country, wild beasts from open country, all kinds of craftsmen. . .
I saw the shape of the storm, The storm was terrifying to see.
I went aboard the boat and closed the door. . . . For six days and seven nights

Epic of Gilgamesh

From Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, Gilgamesh, and Others, trans. Stephanie Dalley. Oxford: Oxford University Press (1989)

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Old School - New Technology

 

One of my grandchildren is doing Key Stage 2 Standard Assessment Tests, otherwise known as KS2 SATs exams this week. He’s on track, so I’m sure he will be fine. He likes to do his homework at my house, which is fine. In recent weeks, the homework has been SATs practice papers for Maths and English and a list of spellings to learn. Maths is good. He is a whizz at maths, except anything to do with mixed fractions. Not my forte, either, better ask Grandad. I’m good at passing the buck. I’m good at English. At least, as a published writer I thought I was until I encountered an English paper he needed a little help with. Thank you, Google, for topping up my old brain with ‘subordinate clauses’, ‘subordinating conjunctions’, ‘relative pronouns’ and many more terms new to me that I tried to quickly learn. I decided that although I have qualifications to prove I am (was) educated to a certain level, I finished up feeling a bit thick, and he’s not quite eleven.

He attends one of my old schools. I had five different primary schools due to my father’s job in the licenced trade taking the family to various towns. As a child, I was very unhappy at this school and failed to settle in. These days, someone would pick up on that and show care and encouragement to a child, especially coming in new to the unfamiliar. For all that I once hated it, I’m at home there, now. I look after the infant’s library as a volunteer. Previously, I worked there. I would be out of my depth now. Methods have changed so much, even since my own children’s primary school years. I suppose we must move with the times.

My grandson will go to high school in September, where things will be even less familiar to me. That’s if he tells me anything about it, of course.

In my day, the Eleven Plus created the great divide between Grammar or Secondary school, and made some of the exam failures, like me, feel disappointed and even worthless. The KS2 SATs won’t be responsible for anything like that, thank goodness.

When I was at secondary school, we had to use fountain pens in English. Handwriting was encouraged to be cursive and perfectly formed, something to take pride in. Untidy writers were made to practice on specially lined paper. Sometimes, English homework would be to learn a poem by heart. It would be recited in class. No escape.

My grandson has developed his own handwriting style, as we all do. At school, some work, including writing is done on an iPad. Modern technology is the way forward and as things change and improve, we must keep up. I am ‘old school’ in my ways and in my thinking, but coping, I think, in this digital age.

My poem is not intended to sound cynical, but more of a sigh to what has passed never to return. A comparison from then to now.

An Alternative Education

The 3Rs soon to be redundant
Computer-led kids will be abundant
With all information mega-quick,
It only takes a scroll down and click.
No need for any conversation
Included in their education.

Last year’s reception class have all gone
And taken a leap up to Year One
To drag sticky fingers on iPad screens
And work out what technology means.
Will this be their basic foundation
Instead of formal education?

Numeracy, or let’s call it Maths
Has rules to follow specific paths
Beginning with learning how to count
Then adding up and sharing out.
One click away from calculation
Takes away their education.

When did this digital preference start?
Oh, why no poetry learnt by heart?
‘Spell check’ becomes their favourite teacher
With ‘grammar check’ an added feature.
The only future expectation,
A self-taught on-line education.

The infants are learning to use a pen
It’s not a skill they’ll need again,
For a future spent staring on-line,
Social activity in decline
With hardly any interaction,
So they won’t need our education.

PMW 2015

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Old School

I recently asked AI about myself. It told me was I was one of the leading figures in educational developments in the twentieth century, which came as a revelation. I never knew.

Of course, my ridiculous biography said everything about our brave new world and how technology shapes our lives and, apparently, our histories. It wasn’t always like this.

I actually left teaching in 1999 after being a head of English for fifteen years. I found myself one day sitting in a staff training session when we were being introduced to the wonders of ‘white boards’. I remember clutching the piece of chalk in my jacket pocket, feeling like Butch and Sundance must have done as they realised they were part of the past and there was no hope for them in the era to come. Instead of going to Bolivia, I resigned and started a new life.

Back in the twentieth century, everything was so different. I was a teacher in a time when we taught ‘pupils’: ‘students’ back then were studying in HE. We had no idea that in a quarter of a century’s time, every kid would be walking around with a mobile phone, effectively a personal computer, in their pocket and would be doing their work on an electronic tablet. We’d have protested if we were told that every lesson in every subject must follow the same pattern, that all that matters is results and, above all, Powerpoint rules, ok?

I admit at times we wandered into class and asked, ‘Where did we get up to last time?’ or ‘Would you like to watch TV today?’ I admit that on a miserable day, we might have allowed a joke-telling session. I remember a headteacher once catching me perched on my desk doing an owl impersonation for the least able year 11s on a Friday afternoon. But school could be fun. It was about more than just achieving Grade 4. It was also about stimulating kids to think, enjoy learning and, in my case, to enjoy English.

My latest novel, ‘How Was It For You, Mr Pilgrim?’ is about a young English teacher starting out on his career. Set in 1976-77, in a light-hearted way it presents a society, people and schools as they were half a century ago. 

from the front cover of 'How Was It For You, Mr Pilgrim?'

No one could claim that everything was better – for a start, misogyny was rife (indeed, the Sex Discrimination Act had only recently been introduced) – and in many ways the country bore little resemblance to what we have today. There were just three television channels, there was no need to wear a seat-belt, take-away food meant fish and chips…

However, some things never change. Here, our hero, Paul Pilgrim, is doing battle with his most challenging group:

‘OK, there’s a book between two. Don’t fight over them. And you’ll need a pen later. Yes, alright, I’ll find some for all those who haven’t got one. Settle, settle. Shush. Gillian, keep your hands to yourself. And you, Jimmy – especially you, Jimmy. Quiet now, everybody. Come on, settle down. Quiet. This is about a dead soldier who’s been killed in a war in South Africa.’ He began to read: ‘They threw in Drummer Hodge, to rest uncoffined – just as found…’

‘Sir, what the f…? What’s that about? That’s stupid, that,’ Bobby Savage interrupted straight away. ‘He won’t be coughing if he’s dead, will he?’

‘Yeah. It’s rubbish. What’s it mean?’ asked Gail Hudson, as if he cared.

‘Oh dear.’ Paul sighed. He didn’t feel strong enough to survive the battle either…

Discipline, back then, came in very different forms. Not always in a good way. One boy in the novel is complaining because he’s always caned at least twice a week and it’s Friday afternoon and he’s only been caned once and he thinks it’s not fair keeping him waiting for a second beating until the very end of the day.

In this extract, one disgusting boy has been caught making masturbatory gestures at the deputy head of department:

‘Jimmy, you are a bad, bad boy,’ said Allison, standing over him. ‘And you should know that I am not fond of bad boys. They have to be punished.’ In another place, at another time, Paul would have loved to hear her say exactly the same thing to him, but here she was on a different mission.

Widdle tried to lean away but she grabbed him firmly by the left ear. Her long red fingernails bit into his earlobe and she twisted and lifted and the boy rose from his seat.

‘Agh. Agh. Gerroff, miss. Aagh. That hurts. Give up! Stop! Ow! Gi’ up!’

She held him there.

‘And what do you have to say, Jimmy?’

‘Ow. Nothing. Ow. I mean I’m sorry, miss.’

‘Louder.’

‘I’m sorry, miss.’

‘Very sorry, Jimmy?’

‘Very sorry, miss. Very sorry, miss.’

The class was loving it. Several thumped their table in approval.

‘I’m pleased you have apologised, Jimmy, for you have done a thing which is not acceptable. I am also worried that someone from my own class might hear about your disrespect later. So, do you know what we are going to do now?’

‘Agh, agh. No, miss. No.’ He was on his tiptoes and his pug face was even more contorted than usual.

‘We are going to take a little walk to my room so that you can apologise in front of my class too. Is that alright, Mr Pilgrim?’

‘Well, yes, of course, Miss Argent,’ said Paul, unable to take his eyes off the blood which had begun seeping from Jimmy Widdle’s earlobe and was trickling down her nails.

She walked Jimmy from his seat, still on his toes and with his head on one side. She left the door open. The delighted chatter in Paul’s room was drowned by the howls of laughter that greeted Widdle’s entrance next door.

‘She’s great, her,’ said Widdle on his return. ‘And she fancies me. She’ll do anything to get her hands on me, she will…’

If you were around in the 1970s, you might enjoy being reminded of what life, in school and out of school, used to be like. Or what it might have been like. If you weren’t around back then, you might be surprised by what you missed.

An early review of the novel said, ‘It’s full of fond, bawdy scenes, peppered with on-point satire on various kinds of posturing, and an underlying vision that juggles irrepressible optimism with something darker.’ And approval like that made even the author want to read it again.

The book is available in paperback, for Kindle and in Kindle Unlimited. If you want to find out more, take a look at www.keithbrindlewriter.com.

Keith Brindle

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Upside Down

Politicians, psephologists and people on omnibuses might be claiming that this week's local council and regional assembly election results flip the old 'two party' political landscape on its metaphorical head, but once the blue dust has settled I think they will realise it's been a tremor rather than an earthquake - though hopefully enough of one to shake Labour up a bit, as we expect better of them.

Now if you really want World Turned Upside Down, take a yomp in time with me back to the age of Roundheads and Cavaliers, the English Civil Wars (three of them between 1642-1651), and the subsequent establishment of the republican  Commonwealth of England.

Even if you're not into history, you're probably aware that England underwent  a seismic shift in the middle of the 17th century. It was in essence a revolution, the deposing of the monarchy and the establishment of a new puritan republic. The parallels with the Iranian revolution of 1979, the deposing of a corrupt Shah and the subsequent supremacy of the religiously fanatical Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) should not be underestimated. 

The lasting impact of the Civil Wars was the curtailment of the power of the monarchy and the establishment of the key principle of multi-party democratic politics via parliament, but for the duration of the Commonwealth of England, the rise of religious puritanism meant a clamp down on social structures that were deemed to be frivolous at best, immodest in the main and immoral at worst. It all became quite strict. Theatres were closed, dress and fashion became plainer, religious observance was a paramount duty of everyone and that observance itself had to be serious and shorn of frippery and fun. (They weren't called puritans for nothing.)

Even Christmas got cancelled - and that had a modern ring to it. Or if not cancelled, as least the fun and excess would be taken out of it. In other words, no ho ho! For parliament decreed that the holiday should be a solemn occasion, and so outlawed traditional English Christmas celebrations, which were seen as too closely associated with Roman Catholicism and the old aristocracy.

"Old Christmas is kickt out of Town"

I wrote a poem in a recent blog about what life must have been like for Iranians in the last fifty years: "I have never truly found life. The light was elsewhere." Ordinary English people living under Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate must have felt a similar sense of repression, that life was dour, all the fun had gone out of it.

Popular protest against such stricture came in the form of a ballad of the time, titled...

The World Turned Upside Down

Listen to me and you shall hear, news hath not been this thousand year:
Since Herod, Caesar, and many more, you never heard the like before.
Holy-dayes are despis'd, new fashions are devis'd.
Old Christmas is kickt out of Town.
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.

The wise men did rejoyce to see our Savior Christs Nativity:
The Angels did good tidings bring, the Sheepheards did rejoyce and sing.
Let all honest men, take example by them.
Why should we from good Laws be bound?
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.

Command is given, we must obey, and quite forget old Christmas day:
Kill a thousand men, or a Town regain, we will give thanks and praise amain.
The wine pot shall clinke, we will feast and drinke.
And then strange motions will abound.
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.

Our Lords and Knights, and Gentry too, doe mean old fashions to forgoe:
They set a porter at the gate, that none must enter in thereat.
They count it a sin, when poor people come in.
Hospitality it selfe is drown'd.
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.

The serving men doe sit and whine, and thinke it long ere dinner time:
The Butler's still out of the way, or else my Lady keeps the key,
The poor old cook, in the larder doth look,
Where is no goodnesse to be found,
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.

To conclude, I'le tell you news that's right, Christmas was kil'd at Naseby fight:
Charity was slain at that same time, Jack Tell troth too, a friend of mine,
Likewise then did die, rost beef and shred pie,
Pig, Goose and Capon no quarter found.
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.

                                                                (as found in the Thomason Tracts, dated 8 April 1646)

It should come as no great surprise that England's flirtation with republicanism only lasted eleven years. Tired of military rule, religious oppression and political experimentation, the majority of people in the country turned with relief to the old ideas of what constituted a proper Parliament and government, and the monarchy was restored with sensible checks and balances. And yes, theatres opened, life became fun, the nation got its yo ho ho! back and Christmas became Christmas again.

Thanks for reading. Have a good week, S ;-)

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Upside Down

I’d been having a few tentative thoughts about the subject of Upside Down as a topic. I’ve heard about cakes but that didn’t do much for me, I was very tempted about maps. And this morning when I was having a shower I realised that I was turning the shampoo container upside down as it passed the half way full mark and wondered what other objects around the house I turned upside down for convenience.

Anyway I started making a few notes on that when I needed to check on a particular fact and was very surprised to find reference to a whole house that was upside down. And not only that but there are loads of them.

Apparently the very first one was built in the Centre of Education and Regional Promotion in the north Poland town of Szymbark (see image above). Completed in 2007, the house was designed by businessman Daniel Czapiewski as a statement about the uncertainty of life in post-Communist era Poland.

The construction of the timber-clad house proved rather problematic. The foundations alone required 200 m3 of concrete. Danmar, a timber construction company, took 114 days to construct the house, rather than the normal time of just three weeks, in part due to the regular breaks workers had to take because of the disorientation caused by the strange angles of the walls.

Indeed, visitors to the house often report feelings of giddiness and nausea only a few minutes after they have entered through one of the attic windows and walked along the ceiling.

The interior of the house is furnished in a style typical of houses in the Communist-era Poland of the 1970s. There is even an old TV that shows vintage propaganda.

that upside down feeling

There are many such houses and buildings around the world now such as:

Germany (Trassenheide): Die Welt Steht Kopf (The World Stands on its Head) is completely furnished, including a bathroom and kitchen.

South Africa (Hartbeespoort): An art installation and tourist attraction where the building is angled for stability.

Poland (Pobierowo): A bright blue, modern-styled home frequently visited for its interior.

Niagara Falls: This house looks as if it has been literally picked up and placed on its roof.

And how about the UK? Well, the Upside Down House UK was launched in November 2018 with its first house in Bournemouth and they have expanded to multiple locations nationwide. Tom Dirse, its CEO said: “The success of our very first house in Bournemouth back in 2018 motivated and propelled the business which has gone on to expand throughout the country including residences in Brighton (see image below), Bristol and Lakeside Shopping Centre. Each location is unique, with its own identity.”

From what I can see the other houses are in Cardiff, the Metro Centre, Clacton, Great Yarmouth, Swansea, Portsmouth, Skegness and Liverpool. Although I have just spotted that one is being built in Blackpool.

I will just go back to that reference to some people feeling nauseous when walking around the houses. Years ago when I lived in Coventry a group of us went for a pint at the Crooked House in the Black Country (see image below). We rolled pennies uphill along the floor and bottles up tables. The fixtures and fittings were at wonky angles. A couple of us had to leave the building as they were feeling wonky themselves. I think they took their beers with them.

Upside Down

It's funny how beetles
and creatures like that
can walk upside down
as well as walk flat.

They crawl on a ceiling
and climb on a wall
without any practice
or trouble at all.

While I have been trying
for a year (maybe more)
and still I can't stand
with my head on the floor.

                            Aileen Lucia Fisher, 1986.

Thanks for reading, Terry Q. 

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Upside Down

At the beginning of last summer, we spent a few days on the south coast of England, between Worthing and Brighton, or thereabouts. I really liked Worthing and could be quite at home there. Brighton was pleasant. Being a holiday resort, it was busy, as to be expected. On the front, a quirky upside down house generated interest. I believe it is a tourist attraction. We didn’t visit. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that our own holiday resort, Blackpool, might benefit from the same thing, but sure enough, as I sit typing, an upside down house is under construction somewhere on the sea front at South Shore. While I’m having my daily whinge about the state of roads and pavements in my locality, and wondering why we need special food waste bins when it’s simple enough to bag it separately – oh, yes, someone said rats, ok – I remind myself that Tourism Planning and Town Planning are probably not the same, and don’t share an office, or if they do, it’s all upside down. Was I dreaming about Blackpool being put forward for a future City of Culture status? Let’s wait and see. Mr Bickerstaff had a daft idea about a tower and that worked out just fine.

Upside down, topsy-turvy, inside out. This is still how my house is and has been for nearly a year. I wish the fairies would come during the night and sort it out. Packing up and getting rid of things no longer needed takes forever and I’ve got to be ruthless to downsize. It goes against my nature to part with most things. We’ve spent weeks in our caravan, quite happily with not much more than the basics. Funny, that. We haven’t moved house before. At this rate, it might not happen until Blackpool has City of Culture status.

The family home, children raised here now grandchildren treat it as their own, which is how I like it. This is how sentimental I am. Old photos show the changes through the ages. Furniture, carpets, décor, all a mix of good ideas, or not. We’ve always had painted walls, apart from the lounge. It is painted now, but until recently it was wall-papered. When we did the papering, I did the cutting and pasting, my husband did the hanging, smoothing and finishing trim. Once, we had the entire room papered with the pattern upside down. My fault, of course. Luckily, it was a subtle design, mostly hidden by book shelves and tall furniture. I don’t think anyone noticed.

Imagine the horror of being stuck upside down on a malfunctioning ride in an amusement park. It has happened. A group of people spent thirty minutes suspended upside down 100 feet high for about half an hour when a ride they were on stalled. Everyone was rescued safely and without injury, apart from the discomfort of blood rushing to their heads giving visual problems, dizziness and headache. This occurred in Portland, Oregon, USA in 2024. It might have happened elsewhere, too.

A poem,

Upside Down

It’s funny how beetles
And creatures like that,
Can walk upside down
As well as walk flat.

They crawl on a ceiling
And climb on a wall,
Without any practice
Or trouble at all.

While I have been trying
For a year (may be more)
And I still can’t stand,
With my head on the floor.

    

                                 Aileen Fisher

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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