THE GATES swing open, small new pupils, oversized blazers, engulfing the tremble.
Neck-ties off-centre, after hours of practice, slack and one-sided, ashamed to say “I did.”
Marched-down the corridor, new surroundings the classroom, a pew on a chair, everyone stares.
Rules and regulations, made loud and clear, repercussions of misalignment, fills us with fear.
Sussing-out allies, enemies too, make or break decisions, shaping incisions.
Follow the majority, finding the classroom, first lesson-up, Hopwood seems alright.
Trying to concentrate, Jenkins distraction, nothing sinking-in, seat-swap required.
Into the hall, dinnertime is here, awful smell, straying-up nostrils.
Hot school dinners, served on a plate, jaws working overtime, gristle-riddled sausages.
Back to the classroom, the scraping noise of chalk, missiles over head, shatterproof ruler launchpad.
Off-down the corridor, filthy-look from Stebson, proceed with caution, I’m on his radar.
Onto the sports field, Bullet overseeing, Benny’s dazzling skills, opposition in daze.
Orange brown football, looks like made of wood, twist and duck, avoid power-shot stinging.
Into the showers, freezing and cold, try to sneak out, before Bullet shouts.
Clothes gone missing, frantic search begins, vests and blazers, finding new owners.
Hometime is here, excited and buzzing, out of the gates, cautious of Brookdale.
Open-back buses, gracing the streets, practice the technique, leap, pole-grab and swing.
If bus not an option, walking it is, huge Adidas sports-bag, slung over shoulder.
In through front door, blazer and tie go flying, no time to worry, search in the morning.
Tuesday morning, the hunt is on, tie and blazer, not sure where they’ve gone.
Day-two at Grange Hill: what will it bring?
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