| I was 11 in 1960, and passed the 11+ for one of the local grammar schools. Although we lived in the back streets in a poor part of Birmingham, going to 'the Grammar' was a natural thing to do for me - I didn't feel that I was 'special' or clever, or any of those things, but I did enjoy learning and studying. We had a distinctive green and red uniform, and were expected to look tidy and to wear flat, lace-up shoes which weren't very glamorous. Unfortunately, the distinctiveness of our uniforms made us targets for some of the rougher elements in the neighbourhood who regarded us as their natural enemies.
Even though I was brought up as a publican's daughter, I was a shy girl, and wasn't one of those who could easily give backchat to the streetwise rough-toughs who'd call out in pretend-posh voices "Ho! Hello, Cynthia! Haren't we posh? Been playing hockey, have we?' Some of the older boys would also pick on the younger grammar school pupils and push or jostle them in the street or in the shops quite roughly, because they were easy targets. One day after school, I was crossing the road at the traffic lights near to my home, when an older boy that I knew slightly crossed in the opposite direction and decided to grab my (compulsory) beret and throw it into the middle of the road. Not only was I mortified, but the lights had begun to change and I didn't know whether to run back and get my beret or let the cars drive over it. Fortunately, the driver of the first car realised what had happened, and signalled to me to pick my hat up from the rain-sodden road, which I did before running home, my pride well and truly dented. My parents had had to go without a lot of things to buy my uniform and equipment, and a ruined beret would have represented a lot of money for them on their limited budget. Fortunately, in spite of my fears, the hat was only muddied, but otherwise undamaged. It was quite difficult to cope with some of these insults and physical attacks my friends and I had to suffer, but I did get my own back on the boy who threw my beret.
A few weeks after the incident with my hat, I was in the local library when I was aware of one of the librarians - who were very strict - getting ready to throw out a boy of about fourteen. As children did in those days, he turned to find another child to corroborate his story (told with great innocence) that he hadn't been doing anything wrong. Seeing me, he appealed with his eyes for me to back him up, but he'd given me too much of a hard time, making me worry about having to tell my parents about my damaged headgear. I turned my back on him and let the librarian turf him out into the street. It was cruel, but he never bothered me again.
Submitted by: BizzieBear
Location: Birmingham
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