Jill Sparrow

I have been looking through some old scrap books and found some programmes from the Youth Drama Festivals for the late 60s and early 70s- held by the City of Nottingham Education Committee at the Co-Op Arts Theatre. Thought some readers may be interested to note who was taking part: Aspley Boys' Club Glenbrook Junior Girls' Club Nottingham Theatre Club (Max and Joyce Bromley) Meadows Boys' Club- in 1969 they performed an extract from Dylan Thomas's "Return Journey" directed by John Shooter St Leonard's Youth Group Bilborough Baptist Drama Group Clifton YMCA Hyson Green Boys' Club and

That's tragic, Stan, but they were pretty ubiquitous (oh, bless my soul...another long word...) in the 50s and 60s (Ascot water-heaters, that is). Yes, I was educated at Berridge from the age 4- 11 years. My reminisences of those halls of learning are on here, under 'First Day at School'. Su and my sister (being several years older) had moved on to Peveril by the time I arrived at Berridge, but they were educated there too. I remember Su calling for my sister, en route for the bus to Peveril, each morning. Su was always immaculately dressed in school uniform and a beige trench-coat. Her

Stan, I think a large part of Su's idiosyncratic (whoaaa...that's a big word for a Friday!) speech is due to the fact that she's a Nottingham lass- and PROUD of it! After all, whenever she appears on TV, everyone knows she's from Nottingham. Actually, I saved her life when I was a child. Her parents lived in Prospect Terrace (the houses are long since demolished) and had a caravan at Skeggy or Mablethorpe (I forget which) where they'd go every weekend. When Su and my sister were around 17, four of us slept at the Prospect Terrace house one night: Su, her sister Jean, my sister Julie and me

Ah, that's where you're wrong, Stan. People who only see Su on TV have no idea of the talent she really has. She's a brilliant serious actress: I remember seeing her play the lead in Federico Garcia Lorca's "The House of Bernarda Alba" at the Co-Op Arts in 1969. She's also a brilliant singer: I saw her in The Student Prince, also in the 60s at the Co-Op Arts. The problem is (and she bemoans this herself) that, once you've been typecast on TV (as a dotty chalet maid) that's all you'll ever do. Very very difficult to break out of the mould. A crying shame because there is so much more to S

From the age of around 10 years old, I was a member of the Co-Operative Arts Theatre's Junior Group. What a fantastic facility that was for young people. My sister (and her best school friend Su Pollard- she was known as Susan Pollard in those days and sported long, straight blonde hair!) were members of the Senior Group. We were taught by a lady named Phyllis Blackwell, who covered the areas of elocution, stagecraft, correct breathing and all kinds of useful know-how tips for speaking in public and in performances. Anyone else remember the Junior Group?

Welcome nlightnd9 who is obviously one of our Berridge alumni. I am sure I must have known you at Berridge, since you will be around the same age as me but of course, I can't identify you from your Nottstalgia name. I knew several boys who went to High Pavement: Ian Munro and Philip Walker among them. Not sure who 'Jill M' is. Just thought that, if you are slightly older than me, the 'Jill M' could be Jill Maddern who was in the year above. I have put all my Berridge Photos on Friends Reunited, so if you want to look, you may find your mug shot on one of them...didn't we all look innocen

You've heard of the American Dream....it's only a dream, because you have to be asleep to see it. This is going into my personal book of quotes...I love it! Thanks Dave!

I've avoided, thus far, Manning School's take on the teaching of history. The past is my favourite subject- always has been. My Daddy used to say I emerged from the womb asking awkward questions about my forebears and I've been doing it ever since. I intend to go on doing it: I like it, so why should I stop? History at primary school (Berridge Road) was well taught: outings to Nottingham Castle and the caves: tales of Isabella and Roger de Mortimer. Museum expeditions, where you could almost smell the past. It became tangible and real, inspiring you to find out more...ask questions, read

Having mentioned Wilkins Micawber recently, I was reminded of Manning's euphemistically titled 'Head of Music': one of its rare male teaching staff. Wilkins, the poor relation of the curriculum, was not just 'Head of the Music Department', he was the Music Department, all artistically-tempered 5' 2" of him, forever hoping that something (in the way of funding) might turn up. Music was not regarded as an academic subject: a crass decision that only a non-musician could arrive at. The ASE, who should have recognised that music and maths are inextricably linked, to her shame ( between quoting

Anderson shelters were constructed outside. Morrison shelters were for those who had no cellar, no garden and no access to a nearby public shelter- named after Herbert Morrison. Thatcher? Er....who?

Well, don't thank me...Fate dictated that I should spend 6 years surrounded by cranks, misfits and utter nutters- the kind of person who, as an elderly relative used to observe: "they let out while they whitewash his room!" I often used to think that Dickens would have had rich pickings with 'em because some of our pedagogues at the Manning (if that's what they were) were every bit as 'radio rental' as Montague Tigg, Chevy Slyme and WIlkins Micawber. I merely report their antics. If you can't laugh, you'll go crazy!

The sad fact is that, as the late and wonderful Harry Patch said so often, wars are brought about by a few crazy men (and, yes, I'm sorry but they always ARE men) who are eventually constrained to end up sitting round a table and making peace but only after the needless death of millions of innocent people. And for what? Just a waste. There is the point of view which says war is necessary for controlling the population and I sometimes look at 18 year old inebriates in the street, shouting their mouths off or vandalising property and I think of those 18 year old lads climbing into Spitfires

In September 1969, my first term at the Manning School, the All Seeing Eye (aka the Headmistress) had very recently been married for the first time to a clergyman. The ASE, approaching retirement and probably wanting a little companionship in her twilight years, was unusual because marriage and children were not on the agenda of the Manning ethos. That was regarded as a last resort: something you did only if you couldn't do anything else or when the time came to stop doing it. Holy matrimony with a man in Holy orders seemed to endow the ASE with an almost evangelical zeal for boring us rigid

Yes, Stephen, I too came across several former POWs of the Japanese- not at school because they were mainly female teachers but I once worked with a chap named Walter Riley (lovely man) a former policeman in Nottingham who had been in a Japanese camp. He was tall and very very thin. I remember him on one occasion- very uncharacteristically- going for the jugular of some colleague who remarked they wished they could catch beri-beri so they didn't have to come to the office. He, of course, had seen the consequences of that awful disease at first hand and, boy, did he give them a rocket for ma

Pidge Pie...yes, Terry Hill. I've been trying to remember the name and it wouldn't surface. Poor Neville Eccles, that's horrible. He was a quiet lad, like Winsome. Yes, it makes you think when you see your peers shuffling off and realise that you're probably well over half way through your time here. It's not morbid...it's all part of life's rich tapestry and hopefully it won't put Stephen Ford off his lunch! Terry Hill was a small lad- quite wiry- but not wiry enough to avoid the train. I've been looking at the photo of Mrs Price's class and there is Charles Haskey on the back row. I d

I was looking at the old black and white school photos last night. Peter Marshall isn't on any of them. The name Jacqueline springs to mind for his little sister but I can't be certain. His mother used to walk about with a stout wooden barrow- often wheeling her daughter in it and she usually wore what looked like an army greatcoat and boots. Presumably, Peter's father had a job connected with the railways, hence living in the house which was virtually on the rail lines. Pidge-Pie, do you remember Winsome Eccles and her cousin Neville? I think they were two of the best dressed children i

Kirkstead Street? I think Jayne Topham lived on Kirkstead Street. All gone now. Jane Humphries lived in Hazelwood Road...now lives in Bulwell. I think the lad you mentioned who lived in the Station House by the footbridge was called Peter Marshall and yes he did have a younger sister. Peter Marshall was another boy who sported the most outrageous green 'candles' under his nose! Sorry- Mick2Me will be complaining!!! Not that I'm prejudiced against people with green candles Mick2Me (in case you've got some- although I hope you haven't!) Do you remember an older boy at Berridge and I think

Gary Walker in trouble with the law? His Mum wouldn't like that. I think she was a music teacher. The playing fields (which I think was the Police training ground) opposite the Whitemoor Pub (not called that the last time I drove by) and the fizzy drinks depot are all gone now. I rarely go into Nottingham but when I do I don't even recognise most of it! Eeee, we're getting old! I did have milk at school but only in winter when it was covered in snow and therefore nice and cold...I couldn't drink it warm, especially when you've got to look at various dirty-kneed little lads with green can

Pidge Pie...thanks for some more memories of Berridge. Yes, I remember Gary Walker. He used to tell my mother he was going to marry me when he grew up. Even then I could have told him he wasn't!! Prefer my chaps without the green candles under the nose! He lived near The Wheatsheaf pub...houses have gone now as has the pub I'm told, though I haven't been in that area for years. I remember Kevin Green and Ian Munro- someone was asking me what happened to him only recently. I thought he went to Mundella but realise now that he didn't. I think he went to High Pavement. I always went home fo

Thought Pidge Pie would have a few interesting memories! Yes, Miss MacDonald did marry Mr Alan Parr. Don't remember anyone going to Ireland but if it was sport related it wouldn't have involved me. Was little Eric called Eric Taylor? He's the only Berridge Eric I can remember. He's on my very earliest Berridge photo but Pidge Pie isn't and if he started at 4 then he should have been. I've heard horror stories about Mr Kemp and those rulers. He never taught me but he seemed absolutely ancient: he retired in 1967 at 65, so to us children he would have appeared very superannuated. I'm tol

Well done, Pidge Pie. All these names bring back warm memories. I once punched Noel James on the nose (look out, it's confession time) because he was irritating me in the playground. His nose poured with blood which was a slightly different colour from what was usually escaping from his nose! (Do you mind, I've not had my breakfast yet!) He ran off to Mrs Platts who was on duty (and we were all terrified of her) to report what I'd done and she refused to believe him. You see, I had the reputation of being so well behaved that I couldn't possibly punch a little boy on the nose...see what yo

During the last (almost) four decades since I excavated a successful tunnel out of The Manning School, I've met many former pupils who endured its rigours long before I was even a twinkle in my Daddy's eye. The moment the realisation hit home, one was aware of a kinship stretching down the years, an unseen bond linking fellow martyrs together: a kind of invisible Bostick of affliction. Most of them assured me that I'd been fortunate: the regime in their day having been far more Draconian than the 'permissive' (eh? must have blinked, cos I didn't see that bit) 60 and 70s. The reigns of such

I agree entirely that respect has to be earned but I am not sure that what we felt for Pickle-Face was respect...more like loathing and naked fear. On the whole, we were well brought up girls anyway: our parents were strict enough to have instilled in us a knowledge of how to behave. Some of the Manning teachers were completely OTT in their attitude toward discipline. As a former teacher myself, I know that there is a point where respect is lost and pupils become alienated. The fine line should not be crossed or you'll have a class full of enemies rather than pupils. Look how serious I'm b

The first Thursday in October meant only thing to the Manning girl: the following day was a holiday. Goose Fair, you see. Manning was the only secondary school to enjoy this privilege since it was deemed impossible for us girls to work due to the noise. In reality, we could barely hear it and compared with the racket of of Robespierre, Pickle-Face et al bawling in one's tender lughole, the clamour of the Goose Fair paled into auditory insignificance. On the Friday, we were free to do as we pleased and to visit the Fair (in mufti, of course) if the fancy took us but, on the Thursday, it was

So pleased my miserable memories are making someone smile. Still lots more to dredge up, including Manning Girls at Goose Fair (not officially allowed), the Manning Gestapo (Pickle-Face in uniform); sports day, the Speech and Drama competition to mention but a few. Oh yes, the thorny subject of male teaching staff...few and far between they were. The Manning ethos was always very suspicious of anything found in possession of a Y chromosome (and I have to say, I'd go along with that to a fair degree). On the positive side, I've given my 'shrink' the bum's rush...he wasn't very comfortable w