Jill Sparrow

Things must have changed among the Jehovah's Witnesses!

That's not the one I used to visit, Rog. A 1960s building, flat roofed rubbish which was originally a health centre. Last I heard, the council was trying to sell it. No takers. Not surprised!

I'm right disappointed now, siddha. I had visions of some mysterious ritual taking place each morning because not one of them would reveal what took place. Afraid of excommunication, perhaps? I hardly think Barmy Colleen had a hotline to the pope!

Never met him but he seems a decent bloke. Like his plumbing stories. Come back, NBL!!!

Too right, young Trogg. Some excellent buildings in Mansfield and all those railway viaducts used to fascinate me as a child. It just looks so run down.

Where's NBL these days? Miss his contributions as well. Always amusing and worth a read.

I never understood, Lizzie, why the Catholics had their own assembly. The ethos of the school was Christian and, as you say, Loretto wasn't far away if it bothered their parents to that extent. The Sikh girls didn't mind. Actually, Trogg, we can't blame the school for my scribblings. I was an avid scribbler when I arrived and once I saw how Draconian it was, scribbling became my survival mechanism. I, too, had heard how strict it was. The tragedy is, I didn't believe it!

I like Retford. Used to go there sometimes when I worked for Nottinghamshire County Council, offices on Chancery Lane, not far from the police station and next door to a beautiful park. A mass of roses in summer. My great, great grandfather kept a pub in Retford in later life. The building still stands but is no longer a pub. He died there in 1919. Good shops and market.

Each and every morning at The Manning commenced with assembly in the hall. The sixth form sat on chairs at the side of the stage. The fifth form sat at the back of the hall on chairs carried to and from their form room for the purpose. Everyone else sat on the hard, unremitting parquet floor, youngest nearest the front. The music department (all one of him) played recorded classical works whilst we filed in and out (silently, or else) and then seated himself ceremoniously at the black Steinway grand, ready for the hymns. Assembly was very definitely a Christian affair.

Sadly, The Manning lagged behind secondary moderns of the era when it came to resources. We had nothing. Due, in part perhaps, to certain politicians who, having been privately educated and gone to Oxford, vowed in the type of language that would never cross my lips, to destroy grammar schools. Pull up the ladder and crack open the champagne!

Tins with no labels, eh? Reminds me of that sketch from Open All Hours where the skinflint Arkwright heats up what he thinks is a tin of soup and it turns out to be pears! Priceless!

It was such an awful place, even I couldn't make it up, Lizzie. I cried, too, on my last day but they were tears of joy!

These days, there's a lot of emphasis on food science in the curriculum: calories, proteins, carbohydrates, fats and nutritional values, etc. At the Manning School in 1969, cookery wasn't very high on the agenda. Lip service only, assuming the results were edible, and mine often weren't! As much as I hated the place, putting one's head in the gas oven wasn't an option. The cookers were all electric. The first 'dish' we made was poached egg on toast which we then ate because there was no point in taking that home. I've written elsewhere about the conflagration that al

How lucky you are, Lizzie!

Them were the days eh, WW? You're lucky Ben didn't spot her!

Sick of The Manning! Sick bay consisted of a broom cupboard. Like everything else at the Manning School, it was not designed for comfort, ease or encouragement to idle away one's time in anything unrelated to hard work. A visit to Sick Bay was one of the few legitimate reasons for a girl to be lurking in the Admin Block. Apart from passing through en route from the lower to upper quadrangles, or vice-versa, the place was associated mainly with punishment: standing 'Under the Dome' was the prescribed penance for most transgressions- being late, bad manners, incorrect uni

Not really your fault, Trogg. I do tend to revisit the place fairly often in my sleep. It's dredged up a few memories about which I may expand later on.

Thanks, Rog. Nice to know what it was like. I don't think my great grandparents were at the house for very long before they moved to Basford.

Disturbed night. Woke at 0130 from a very vivid dream about The Manning School...that'll be a nightmare then. I blame young Trogg! Spent some time on NS trying to erase the trip round the old alma mater. When I finally got back to sleep, was dreaming about our Ben. He was in a shop...Marsden's probably...and kept calling to me but when I went in, the bloke behind the counter had a full head of ginger hair! Too much cheese before bedtime....

Mention of Bunbury Street reminds me that my maternal grandmother was born in Preston Terrace which ran off Bunbury Street in 1889. It was no longer there many years ago when I went to look. Anyone remember it?

It wasn't like that when I was a child either, Loppy, but times change.

Been to mucky Mansfield this morning. Heard lots of people on their mobile phones. Couldn't understand a word. Serbo Croat, gibberish-itis or summat. Lots of people lolling around smoking nefarious substances and heaps of litter blowing round the market place. Nowt new there then, surree!

Ah, that explains it! They don't like strangers pinching their grub. Good to know he's a well looked after moggie, Compo.

Good thing they're as rare as rocking horse droppings then, eh Rog?

Ben could be the new Stephen Hawking with this robot voice. He could say Ay up me duck and it will sound like he's sussed E=MC² so folks will think he's had a brain transplant too. Men with brains tend to attract the discerning ladies, especially when they've got cash to buy expressos!!