A moment in time.

Fifty-nine years past, which is now getting on to being a lifetime ago; I was six and at school in Harrow, Middlesex (now merely part of Greater London) even then the school was ancient having been built in Victorian times; in the 1860s to be precise. The architecture and general design revealed this age all too well; the toilets separate from the main school, were located at the bottom of the playgrounds, a long walk on rainy days. High arched wooden ceilings allowed large windows, but as these windows began so high up in the much-painted brick walls, no child even if standing could see anything of interest out of them… only the sky and the tops of trees. But most indicative of all of the buildings long history was that the oil-fired heaters then in use, stood in the front of the once used open fireplaces; around these still went the same tall fireguards that once prevented little Victorian children access to the large coal fires.

It was here during the summer term of 1963 that a young student teacher arrived, to finish her practical classroom experience. She had come from New Zealand or Australia I can’t remember which now, and as was customary at the time, for someone from the Dominions; her teacher training had been conducted within the UK. Soon to return home now, she would have been no more than 16 years older than us; an age difference that in later life would have meant very little, but to us children… she was a proper grown up. As her training progressed, she took over part of the class, a part I was lucky to be in, for she was a kind and caring young woman; one you could be sure would not belittle you, or make you feel a fool among your peers. A week or two before she was due to leave, she produced a small boxlike camera, and proceeded to take photographs of us all as we run about in the playground, supposedly doing ‘physical training’. She promised she’d show us the results before she left, and the following week while we were back in the playground, she produced the small square, black and white photographs (of course those were the days of real film cameras, and the film had to be developed, usually given in to the nearest chemist [pharmacist now] who sent it away; the whole procedure would take 3 or 4 days) the class of course gathered round; and as I approached, she said to the other children, there’s Bruce, and there indeed I was… running across the playground. One girl spoke up asking, why’s his legs like that; for, the photo showed them as little more than a blur; oh, she replied that’s because he was running, moving at the time. No one asked for a further explanation. But then a more socially adept little girl asked, why did you take them? Her answer I have never forgot, ‘so I can remember you all’ came the short reply, and of course using adult reflection; we were her very first class, the first of many I’m sure… and so yes, we did sort of represent an important ‘mile stone’ in her career. ?

As for I well; I’ve never forgotten her, nor those words. Strange that isn’t it… just a few weeks in a whole life time? ?Of course, she would be long retired now from teaching, or indeed perhaps dead. But nevertheless, I wonder still; does she sometimes open a drawer and look again at those old photos, and wonder what became of us all… just as I wonder what became of her!??????

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