I think we were one of the few schools in central London to have our own swimming pool. Some might have called us lucky. Indeed, it seems that very few of us left without being able to paddle at least a few strokes. The pool itself, though, left much to be desired. It was filled twice a week, so for the first period on Monday morning the water was crystal clear but barely above freezing, and by Wednesday morning it was like thick dark green slimy bath water.

Our first-year swimming, and P/E teacher, whom we shall refer to as ‘G’, seemed to us 11 year-olds that he ought to have had retired several years earlier, and wouldn’t have looked out of place in a dirty brown mac. He would amuse himself by peering over the tops of the changing cubicle doors and exhorting us to “Get that back dry.” It still gives me the creeps to think about it.

Richard Dawes:

The first swimming class in 1H was the shwimmahs selection. Non-shwimmahs walked round the side to form a group at the shallow end; shwimmahs proved their ability by doing a length. Surprisingly some boys (including myself) who completed a length were classed non-shwimmahs. I was very irked by this, and a couple of lessons later slipped into the shwimmahs group. I can still see the aghast looks from classmates at my neck when I got away with it.

Form Gym Teams

This was G's ritual every new term. He divided us into four teams for gym. Firstly captains would be selected, who chose their teams in turn. By the start of the summer term about a third of our class conspired to capitalise on G's very poor memory for names and nominate a very unfit boy, Mick Ferriter, as a captain. G accepted a couple of nominations without comment, and finally asked Ned Clayton, who duly nominated Mick. G mumbled something like 'exshellent choish' and invited Mick to the front. The moment G saw who it was must have brought him close to a heart attack. He went bright red, was speechless for several seconds, and with obvious embarrassment asked Mick to return to his bench.

He turned upon Ned, in his best Colonel Blimp manner and just about managed to splutter out to 'You are a cad Shir, an absolute cad; leave my gymnashium thish minute'. By now the rest of us were leaving puddles everywhere, and unsurprisingly most raised hands disappeared; which made G even crosser as he realised that he'd been victim of a conspiracy. Completely overwhelmed by events, only managed a stern bent finger wagging to us as punishment.

Colin Stuart:

G’s chief role at Highbury – as he saw it – was “Head of Physical Education. The one thing that would frustrate him more than anything else was the elements. Heavy thunderstorms and Gales at lunchtime meant waterlogged pitches at Highams Park and no prospect of Football, Cricket or Athletics. Blankets of snow and ice covering North London meant Swimming in the unheated pool at Highbury was only for the Insane or the Masochists. The scene then: Mr. L’s French lesson just before Lunch, enter G, creeping through the door like a shortened and aged version of Uriah Heep. He sidles up to the bored looking French Master and whispers “Scuse me Mr L, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but do you think I might have a quick word with the boys – only a couple of seconds” L gestures a “Go ahead”.

G suddenly becoming erect and stern, faces the class and announces severely:
“GAMES ARE OFF!! GAMES ARE OFF!!” then, with his smile returning “Thank you very much Mr Liddamore, and I am sorry to have troubled you”.

With swimming however, the agony would be prolonged until the actual hour approached. There we would sit in the Class awaiting Gage’s announcement. He creeps into the classroom, rubbing his hands together, and tells us in a friendly and conspiratorial voice “Brrr it’s a bit cold in the pool today boys, I think I’m going to have to make it a voluntary shwim.” Then more sternly “All those wishing to shwim follow me.” And finaly, peering at us with his familiar sneer, he maliciously adds “The babies can stay behind!”

Once in the pool, having been de-loused by the cold showers we were divided into ‘Swimmers’ and ‘Non – Swimmers’. The Non-Swimmers, all huddled together down the shallow end, were instructed by G, who was always armed with his famous ‘squeegee Mop’. We were all given white plastic floats to cling on to, and ordered to line up along one side of the pool. When we were all settled G would announce: “One width of the baths – dogs paddle –GO!” Utter pandemonium would then begin, with legs and arms flaying all over the place, floats being separated from their owners and G shouting to any poor sod who had dared to reach for the safety of the side of the pool: “GET BACK” as he firmly beat them with the sodden squeegee mop.

One of my lasting memory of G however, is the vision of him in Parliament Hill fields on Sports day. There he stands at the starting line, smartly clad in his white slacks, Blazer and white cheesecutter hat. His starting pistol is then raised, as his legs bend, and with his other hand clutching his thigh he screams: “MARKS” – SET” then a loud ‘CRACK!’ from the pistol, as he leaps to attention and marches off with his chest puffed out, totally oblivious of the complete chaos that he has just created!!! People ask me how I can remember – I wonder how anyone could forget him!!

Lennie Ladd:

I expect everyone would remember G’s bent finger where you had to guess who he was pointing at. Also his total amazement and disbelief when anyone complained about how cold the water in the swimming pool.

NOTE: ‘G’ also taught Maths, so his antics in these lessons are on another page

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