Sheila

Many thanks to vivacious for the great header.

Sheila

By

Tommy Roe

There were many shocks to the system, unfamiliar emotions and sharp knocks as I ventured further into my first year of Grammar School. The first blow was to realise I was now a little fish in a big sea. Not only was I the youngest child in the whole school but one of the smallest; huge, scary sixth form boys were not something I wanted to investigate right then; that would come later.

Being near the top of the class was something I'd taken for granted; suddenly I was surrounded by pupils who were all potential university material; many obviously much brighter than myself and obviously with a better educational background than my own. Some had already been learning elementary French and algebra at their Junior Schools; my education until then had mainly been the basic three R's. My time had arrived to start feeling inferior.

I found my fellow pupils intimidating and the teachers absolutely terrified me. Hard faces topped with mortar boards, flowing black gowns as we stepped aside to let them sweep by, sharp voices and threatening tones. There was no question of having any choices or complaints; it was do as they said no matter what the subject and woe betide any little toe rag who stepped out of line. My time had arrived to start feeling fear.

I hadn't considered the affect parting from my old school friends would have either. Most of them were now attending different schools and the local children my mother encouraged me to play with were just not my type. In later life both my sister and I have realised how much our mother has tried to influence our choices and probably unwittingly tried to manipulate and control her daughters. Mum encouraged me to join forces with the daughters of her friends, nice little girls with no sense of adventure or imagination to my mind. I was a quiet, shy child on the outside, but inside was a bit of a rebel waiting to be released.

The friend I adored was one my mother actively disliked. Her name was Sheila; as wild and unruly by nature as her long mop of curly blonde hair and I loved her. I don't think we were ever truly naughty, just daring, fun-loving and independent minded. Mum was very relieved when Sheila's family moved from our area to a farm on the other side of the city. But it was only a bus ride away, so every weekend I'd pack a bag and go to stay on Sheila's farm. They were delightful times to me; swinging on ropes in barns, riding horses and cattle, collecting eggs first thing in the morning to cook for breakfast and swimming in the local lake. Then there were the boys. I was in love with Michael Swift from the farm next door; Sheila and I would squeal with delight whenever the boys chased us around the fields. My time had arrived to experience the stirrings of hormonal changes.

But at school it was a different matter. Scared and feeling threatened, yet resentful of the harsh and often unreasonable demands, I began to feel anxious and disinterested in the lessons. Before too long it became apparent I was not the only one to be feeling this way and so it was a new group of friends began to form. Not all to my mother's liking and not all totally obedient at school, but great fun to be with. My time had arrived to grow up and little and realise adults and authority are not always experts on everything.

It was during this year I received my first love letter. I was unaware I had a secret admirer by the name of Ian Cresswell in class 1B. I was also unaware one cold, winter's night when he left a declaration of his undying love to me in a note which he left on my Dad's motor scooter in our front garden. My Mum had been out for the evening with her brother and it was my Uncle Joe who discovered the letter and brought it into the house. Ever the tease he proceeded to open it and read it out in front of the whole family, amongst fits of giggles. I can laugh about it now but at the time I wished the floor would open up and swallow me.

The last time I saw Sheila she was sixteen, pregnant and about to be cajoled into marrying the father of her child. I guess her recklessness finally caught up with her. As for Ian Cresswell; he never did receive a reply to his note or reciprocation of his affection, despite years of pursuit. Last I heard he was working for a pet food company. I hope he found another love, even if it's just the Yorkshire Terrier he's pictured with in the firm's advert.

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Zany friends and myself from my new school 1962. No hope for me even then was there?