Figure 1.--.

I was a scholarship boy which meant that no actual school-fees would be payable. Two shopping expeditions were necessary, however. The first, to a well-known stationers, to equip me with a long list of regulation pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, rulers, compasses, dividers etc. The other would be to the school shop to buy the uniform. I say ‘the uniform’ but, when my mother and I left the school premises to return home, we had considerably more than either of us had bargained for, all of which would have to be name-tagged (sewn, not ironed, on) over the following week.
My Clothes

I wore long courdroy trousers, usually navy blue or bottle green, though I do recall some brown ones. I had favourite shirts, usually vertically striped and quite garish. Back to the S clasp belt. Y-fronts, and some extremely idiomatic pullovers knitted by my grandmother! I also had a dark navy blue 'navy' pullover with shoulderpads (I loved that one), and a series of 'Parka' Coats (semi anoraks with a fake fur lining to the hood.)

Primary School

I grew up in London. I went to a state primary school. There was no uniform.

Scholarship

I won a music scholarship to a local prep school. My parents were quite musical and very ambitious. They encoyraged me to take violin lessons which I enjoyed. It was they who encouraged me to try for the big public school. I think that I failed the entrance exam, but that the school was so blown away by my musicianship they offered me a place anyway! Being a scholarship boy meant that my parents did not actually have to pay the rather expensive school-fees.

Buying the Uniform

Two shopping expeditions were necessary, however. The first, to a well-known stationers, to equip me with a long list of regulation pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, rulers, compasses, dividers etc. The other would be to the school shop to buy the uniform. I say ‘the uniform’ but, when my mother and I left the school premises to return home, we had considerably more than either of us had bargained for, all of which would have to be name-tagged (sewn, not ironed, on) over the following week.

Try On

My sister could not wait to me in all the different outfits and so I decided to present my very first fashion show. I was 9 years old. First came the regular day suit. My sister had to help with the tie (how on earth would she know how to tie a boy’s tie?) but, once dressed, from my shiny new black shoes, to my crest-emblazoned jacket, my school cap, and sporting my new leather belt as opposed to the elasticated S-clasp belt we all were used to in those days, I felt I was the smartest boy in the world.

My New School

My new school was the Junior department of a large public school. The school additionally had a prep school (up to age 13) but I attended the school proper. It had a few boarders, but I was a day boy as were the majority of pupils.

I would later review my initial feeling concerning the uniform, when I discovered that there was a two-tier system of jackets in operation at the school. Despite the fact that one aspect of a uniform’s purpose is to disguise differences in background and wealth, the school did make two kinds of jackets. The richer boys all had fine woollen blazers, while the less fortunates (myself included) had to make do with a much coarser fabric; it felt to me like a kind of wool/asbestos mix…

Anyway, on with the show: Rugby kit was next. Black shorts – very short compared to today’s, and a rugby shirt in house colours; mine, to my delight, were black and dark blue. Long blue rugby socks that went right up to the knee before being turned over just at the point that the black rings started. Macho rugby boots. (I would only ever play rugby for a couple of weeks. I hated it – aside from the clothes - and I managed to get that particular games period turned into a private music lesson!)

There were several outfits for games. Then cricket. The creamy white long trousers, white socks, white flannel shirt and blue/black house cap. Despite my failures on the rugby pitch, I would always remain a dedicated cricketer and cricket lover. The sight of such elegantly clad participants pursuing such an elegant game is still one of my favourite scenes. When I later captained my pub side, I would insist that we were properly turned out in whites, it is such a part of the whole ritual. Gym clothes next. Plain white shorts, plain white vest, white socks again (but different to the cricket socks, these were much shorter), and gym shoes.

Finally swimming. Plain dark blue speedos…. at first, anyway. This would be the one outfit that I would grow to hate. Until that day I had been a keen swimmer. Not a very accomplished one, it has to be said, but I had learned to swim and I loved splashing around at the local municipal pool. Swimming at my new school, however, was the one other area (aside from blazers) in which clothing apartheid existed. The school pool was probably not quite Olympic size, but it was pretty enormous to the eyes of a 9 year old. Each boy had to prove that he was a capable swimmer by swimming ten lengths of the pool. That feat was way out of my league. Five widths, perhaps, but ten lengths? No way. Unfortunately, until this deed had been accomplished, a boy had to wear some identifying garment that presumably showed the teacher in charge that this particular boy was some sort of a weedy weakling and quite possibly a health hazard. There were only four or five of us for whom the task was too much, and we were forced to wear a white cotton thong over our trunks until such time as we had managed the lengths. I would never manage to get rid of this appendage – I would leave the school at the age of ten to move to a boarding school in the country; I’m sure that my lack of enthusiasm for swimming is directly attributable to this small but embarrassing little trauma!

Next School

I would not wear a uniform again until I was sixteen and then, for a sixth-former in a much more relaxed school and I would anyway prove to be a bit of a slouch. The school was a sort of experimental hippy type school, so obviously no uniforms there! It was quite a chasnge, I can assure you! It was at their insistence that I upped and left the public school at which I was pretty happy. I did not enjoy my time at the hippy establishment. I stayed tgere though. No choice in the matter. Also parents going through messy times - it was convenient for them that I was not at home. I do not recall conversations about school uniforms with the other students at the school. We did play football against one of the local public schools and I remember being jealous of their uniforms, but it was not something that I felt able to confide to anyone. (There were only 45 students in my new school - Nightmare!)

Looking Back

I loved that first school uniform. It gave me an identity, and a sense of pride, and of belonging. I’m pushing forty now but last year, in a belongings purge prior to moving house, I came across that first school tie, my name tag sewn beautifully into the back. I remembered the fashion show I put on for my family that day. I remembered, too, snapping the tie like a whip in the changing rooms – a skill I am still able to demonstrate though there is less social demand for me to do so these days. And I remembered a very important year of my life.