50 Years Ago Today

Photo. How I looked just before I left school. Note the school tie, with the narrow end showing, wide end tucked away, tied with a Windsor knot,. For some reason, I am not wearing my fashionable black square-rimmed glasses. My hair was fair and curly, a bit of a disappointment because I could not style it as a ‘Beatle-cut' . Title photo. King Edward VI Camp Hill School, Kings Heath, Birmingham.

Today is my girlfriend’s birthday. She has just turned 17 and goes to school in Bournville where she is doing her 'A' levels. I am 18 and I have just finished my ‘A’ levels at King Edward VI Camp Hill School for Boys, Vicarage Road, Kings Heath. I am waiting to hear if I will be going to university in London in the autumn.

I met my girlfriend the previous year at a youth club. I had walked other girls home from the same club but, as relationships go, they often didn’t last longer than that walk home. Some only allowed me to take them home for safety’s sake, including one girl who I considered to be very pretty with the latest bobbed hair style. The next night, my best friend walked her home. She must have like him a lot because they are still married to each other.

This girlfriend was different from other girls I had met. She was intelligent and knowledgeable. She read a lot and went to see arty films and knew about obscure musicians. She taught me how to pronounce ‘Dvořák’. I was also considered to be highly intelligent; that is a fact and not a boast (see footnote). But I was very ignorant of culture, politics, geography, history, literature. You don’t get these things at a boy’s school, we had sport and science.

She opened my eyes to culture. We went to foreign films, visited art galleries, listened to folk and jazz records, and went dancing. I can’t remember what we might have done to celebrate her birthday but it could well have been a Swedish film, perhaps by Ingmar Bergman. I recall seeing Smiles of a Summer Night with her.  In Birmingham, in those days, the only place to see foreign films was the Cinephone cinema on Bristol Street. This was not an art house movie theatre, its staple fare was soft porn, usually Scandinavian. A Bergman film was probably shown simply because it was Swedish.

Until then, my life had been unremarkable. Within the petty hierarchies of family, school and church I had achieved some recognition; eldest son, head boy at primary school and class leader at Sunday school.  My place was assured and comfortable. My horizons were limited and stretched not much further than school and church (later replaced by the youth club). My intellectual horizons were equally narrow, my personal mental landscape lacked imagination.

Why did I want to go to university, especially one in London? I was clever, and going to university seemed to be what clever people did. Having seen Birmingham University’s tower from Raddlebarn Road, I could at least imagine what university looked like, if only at a distance. I thought it was just a bigger school with lots of people who studied a lot. My mental image of a student was someone with glasses wearing a tweed jacket, tie, and a college scarf.

My chosen subject (pharmacy) was only available in a few places, including Nottingham and London. My future was decided when I was offered a place at Chelsea College of Science and Science and Technology, newly recognised as a college of the University of London.

There I was, somewhat naïve, waiting to go to Chelsea, already in the throes of being ‘swinging’ London. This boy, whose mind was already being stirred by new ideas and experiences, was beginning his personal voyage of discovery. It would prove to be eventful.

Footnote. Some years later, in my late thirties, I was subjected to psychological tests to assess my mental health. They established (I forget the precise mathematical formulation) that if you took a group of 1000 people with a similar background to mine, I would be in the top five, according to my ability to solve certain intelligence tests. Their conclusion was that I was depressive due to being bored because I was ‘too intelligent’.