Regular readers may have noticed that in my Last Post (all stand to attention while bugle call fades away) I referenced, for the first time in many months, my old school.
Those who have been with me from the start or who have taken the trouble to read through my archives right back to (and including) March 2009 will also have noticed, without my needing to mention it in the text, that I gave the school its correct name instead of using its Latin motto as a pseudonym.
There is actually very little point in persisting with this pretence when my former classmate a.k.a. Cornelius\Damien\Morpheus (whose sites are bookmarked in the “Blogroll” on this page) calls it Copleston whenever he refers to his (= my) schooldays.
I do note that when HE mentions it he goes for the slightly classier sounding “Copleston High” – a name that it wasn’t given until the co-educational, comprehensive days some four or five years after we left.
I, however, prefer the more proletarian and sexist “Copleston Secondary Modern School for Boys” that was its ACTUAL title in our time.
As usual I have gone and distracted myself from the point I had in mind when I started!
One of my readers, with whom I am in direct contact via Facebook, sent me a message asking for more information on people rejoicing in names such as “Batman” and “The Wombat”.
I agreed to pass something on to him about them and to tell him of many others with strange nicknames. I have a feeling, however, that the guy wants to be my Literary Agent some day because he came back instantly with “Don’t tell ME! Write it down and use it in the blog!”
So while I’ve been stuck inside with “the-doctor-thinks-it’s –Swine-‘flu-but-if-it-isn’t-it’s-one-pig-of-a-cold” for the last few days, listening to old Moody Blues albums (What other kind of Moody Blues albums are there?) I have been preparing a list of my secondary school teachers, their nicknames and their little quirks to delight and amuse you.
And this short piece is nothing more than an introduction to that article.
Still, while you are enjoying those innocent years of 1964 to 1969 you are, at least, avoiding having to listen to off-colour tales from 1975 to late 1977 – the period I think of as my “Men behaving badly” years and which I intend one day to turn into a novel entitled “Confessions of a 1970s lust monkey!” (There! That’s gone and embarrassed the children! One – Nil to me!!)