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 ALBIE
HAD SURPRISED EVERYONE,
including himself, when the results of the 11-Plus Examination became
known. The wheat had certainly been sorted from the chaff and, although
1952 hadn’t yielded an over-abundant harvest, Albie found himself
the topic of conversation in Regis Place. Not only had he passed
the dreaded exam but he had also been awarded a place at the Paston
School, in North Walsham, and, all too soon the lad would have to
pick up the gauntlet of grammar education. And time waits for no
man, let alone Albie...
TO
TELL THE TRUTH,
it wasn’t that Albie didn’t want to go to the Paston School,
it was just all the fuss getting prepared for it that was getting
him down. In fact, the lad quite relished the challenge, although,
understandably, he was a little bit apprehensive of what to expect,
but he was certain it would be a lot different to his days at Sheringham
Primary School.
So,
one day in the summer of 1952, Albie and his mother waited for a
train at Sheringham station to take them, the fifteen-or-so miles,
to North Walsham. His mother had decided it was time for him to
be ‘kitted out’ with his school uniform, but, having better
things to do with his time, the lad had other ideas and began protesting
vociferously.
“But
Mum, do we really hatta go?” he moaned, wanting
instead to sit at home and read his latest Eagle comic.
“You’re
gorn, an’ tha’s that!” she replied angrily. “Arter
all, you’ll on’y go moochin’ around the plearce all
day!”
The
train for North Walsham steamed into the station and, after much
complaining and banging of doors, Albie eventually settled down
in his seat. The signalman raised the signal, the guard waved his
green flag, and the engine driver tooted on his whistle, and, amidst
an enormous column of steam and smoke, the 11.55am began its journey
to North Walsham.
Half
an hour later, Albie and his mother alighted on the‘Up’
platform at North Walsham Main Station. Soon, after a short walk
into town, they stood in the Market Place.
 There,
in front of them, was the parish church of St Nicholas and close
by, almost within its shadow, stood the ornate-façaded Marjoram
Bros, advertising themselves to be: ‘Purveyors of Men’s
Wear of Distinction’ and, naturally, stockists of the
Paston School uniform.
“I
want you t’ look hooly
smart at
your new school,” Albie’s mother declared, dragging him
into Marjorams shop. “So, let’s hear no more of it, you’re
gorn t’ hev a posh school uniform, an’ tha’s that!”
The
doorbell gave a welcoming tinkle as Albie closed the door behind
them. Inside, the shop was an amazing collection of mahogany cupboards
and counters, with glass-fronted drawers. Albie could see piles
of neatly-folded shirts and trousers all packed away in numbered
drawers, and rows of navy-blue blazers hanging from rails. To him,
the shop smelled of wax polish, moth balls and the clean, freshness
of Worsted cloth and gabardine.
“May
I be of assistance to you, Madam?” the shop assistant enquired
most politely. Could this be Mr Marjoram, wondered Albie?
He certainly looked the part, with his smartly-cut pinstripe suit
and well-pressed trousers. Venturing a second glance, Albie noticed
the man had a tape measure around his neck. Yes, he deduced, this
had to be Mr Marjoram himself, as only the best would
do for mother!
“Yis,”
replied Albie’s mum, pushing the lad forward. “This here’s
my son Albie, an’ he’s gorn t’ Parston this comin’
September.”
Mr
Marjoram nodded knowingly: “Say no more, Madam, we have some
of the best school clothing in town.” Then, with his tape measure
in hand, he turned to Albie.
“I’ll
just take a few measurements, young Sir,” he announced, taking
the lad’s chest size before bending down and deftly placing
the tape between Albie’s legs. “Just the inner leg measurement
to do,” he said, almost apologetically, “then we’ve
done!”
Cupboard
doors creaked wide open on their hinges, drawers slid silently out
on their runners, coat hangers were carefully lowered from overhead
chromium rails, and soon the vast display of Paston School uniform
was proudly unveiled for their perusal.
Gathering
up quite an armful, Mr Marjoram escorted Albie to the fitting room,
with his mother close on their heels.
After
much ‘umming’ and ‘arring’ by his mother, Albie
emerged into the light of day with a brand-new navy-blue blazer,
together with a white shirt, navy necktie and grey trousers. The
blazer was set off by the official school badge, with its coat of
arms, and shiny brass buttons.
Even
he had to admit to ‘looking smart’, as he stood
back admiring himself in the large mirror.
 “You’ll
need to keep those brass buttons well shone, young Sir,” advised
Mr Marjoram. “and another thing, you’d best not stand
around with your hands in your pockets, as your Headmaster is most
particular about those things, I can tell you!”
Admiring
the brass buttons, Albie noticed the school’s coat of arms
complete with the fleur-de-lis and the date ‘1606’. Then,
turning his attention to the blazer badge, he noticed the motto:
‘De Mieux En Mieux Pour Tout’.
“Hmm,”
he muttered under his breath, “sounds ‘furrin’ t’me.”
“Wha’s
that dear?” asked his mother. “Wha’s furrin, surely
that there blazer wun’t mearde abroad, wuz it??”
“Most
certainly not!” replied Mr Marjoram, rather put out
be the insinuation. “Made to the highest quality, from the
best material – and locally – I can assure you, Madam!”
 “Duh
Merx On Merx Pore Towt,” declared Albie, in a very matter of
fact way, “least, tha’s what it do say on the badge.’
His
mother just shrugged her shoulders, as she hadn’t a clue what
he was talking about – not that Albie had either.
“I
think,” he muttered to himself, “it may be French,
but I dun’t know what that mean.”
However,
on his first day at the Paston School, a few short weeks later,
Albie was about to find out!
NEXT:
What will schooldays be like at the Paston School? Find out now
in The Initiation!
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