Sport
On Sunday afternoons the senior boys had to take part in organised sport; cricket in the Summer term and football in the Spring and Autumn terms. I had no aptitude or liking for either, and on most Saturday evenings I hoped for a bout of flu or some other illness so that I might be excused football the next day.
Only in later life did I appreciate one reason for this. My left eye has always been very shortsighted, and without this being corrected I could not focus, and could not for instance judge the exact distance of an approaching football or cricket ball. This is no longer a problem, as I wear a contact lens in that eye.
At that time I had glasses, but was not of course allowed to wear them for football, in case they were broken.
However, this was not the main reason for my aversion to sport. I did not like the rough and tumble of games, and feared getting hurt. When you are eleven years old it is rather daunting to face another player perhaps four years older and twice your size approaching you with the ball, knowing that you are expected to tackle him. We were sometimes joined on the football field by a grown-up named George Cuthbert. He was very pleasant, but at the age of eleven the presence on the opposing team of somebody about two or three times my size made football an even more daunting prospect.
Football was of course no longer daunting when I was eighteen, and most of the other players were smaller, but my greater size was not accompanied by any skill.
Some of the boys were more skilful than others, and this could cause a problem when a good junior player was able to run rings around an older and much larger player, who might then seek to punish the youngster for his cheek. On the way back from the football field we passed the stinky pond, and one such ‘punishment’ was for the older boy to throw the ball into the pond and tell the younger boy to wade in and fetch it [which he would do, on pain of being beaten up].
I remember one occasion when one of the older boys, a rather oafish bully, apparently felt humiliated as a result of skilful tackling by a younger opponent, threw the ball into the pond and ordered the younger boy to retrieve it. At that moment another boy of about the same age and size came around the corner and said “No, you go and get it”. Most bullies are cowards, so we had the pleasure of seeing him obey this command rather than risk a beating-up.
The team captains appeared to favour placing their best players in the central attacking positions, so I mostly found myself on the wing, chatting with Cyril Ives, my opposing wing, and making a show of trying to get involved when the ball occasionally came towards us. At other times I would be one of the backs. If our team was attacking strongly, my fellow back and I would spend most of the time chatting to the goalkeeper [almost invariably Alan S], and trying to look busy on the odd occasion when the ball approached the penalty area.
My experience of cricket was similar, but exacerbated by the need to try to focus on a much smaller ball travelling at a much greater speed. I was of no use at all, although on a half term holiday at Harwich in 1956 I was part of a Caldecott team playing against the boys of HMS Ganges. You’ve guessed it – there were only eleven of us on that holiday.
One boy about a year or two older than myself was Richard Newington. He was very small and wiry, suffered from asthma and had a collapsed lung. He was not a great football player, but had a reputation for being able to foul an opponent so skilfully that nobody else noticed. He also taught me to ride a bike [of which more later].
Very rarely, the weather [e.g. snow] prevented us from playing football, and on these occasions a makeshift boxing ring was set up in the playroom, and we all had to take part. After a bout against David Sandercock [‘Sandy’], in which neither of us distinguished himself, it was judged that I had won on points, of which I was quite proud when, several years later, Sandy went on to become welterweight champion of Kent.
There was one sport that was voluntary, and which I did enjoy. There was a table tennis table in the senior boys’ playroom, and most of us enjoyed playing table tennis and came to play it fairly well. I continued to play until a few years ago, and would still enjoy it, given the opportunity.
The subject of sport reminds me of Ken Arber, who introduced some of us to badminton. We had no court, but he set up a net on the lawn, and taught us the basics, without the benefit of any marked-out boundaries. As a better player, he had of necessity to go easy on his opponent, but I could not help noticing that his play improved remarkably whenever a teenage girl or a female member of staff appeared on the scene.