In the 1970s, I spent six years at a boys’ grammar school on the Essex-London border where life could best be summed up as flob pits and bundles. I’ll come to those disturbing rituals in a moment. But it was a strange experience where I often felt like a character in William Golding’s novel, Lord of the Flies. Hoping each day that it wouldn’t be my turn to be sacrificed in the playground.
I survived my 1970s grammar school through sheer force of character. Born in Walthamstow, my mother was Portuguese, and my father was Irish. From my Mum I got a lively temperament and expressiveness that confused the school bullies. From my Dad, I got the gift of the gab and the ability to tell compelling stories. This mix of character traits served me well in the dangerous jungle that was an all-boys’ grammar school.
No safeguarding in a 1970s school
Schools now have rigorous safeguarding policies, and society is acutely aware of the need to protect children from many forms of abuse. Now imagine a world where none of that existed. In the 1970s, our schoolteachers retreated to consume several packets of cigarettes in the smoke-filled staff room during breaks. Some even went to the pub. They had zero interest in the drama unfolding in the playground during winter or on the school field during summer. Our struggle for survival was something we endured very much on our own.
And what perils awaited us when the bell rang for a break? Well, you might be playing football – normally with a tennis ball – when somebody kicked it over the railings in front of a flight of steps leading down to a subterranean coal store. That meant, one of us would have to go down the steps and retrieve the ball. One brave fool always agreed to be that person. While everybody else gathered along the railings and showered them in spit – or ‘flob’ to use the jargon of the time. The hapless pupil would then re-emerge from below dripping in saliva and the footie would continue.
During a game, an unfortunate soul might fall over face first on to the ground. That would elicit a cry of ‘bundle’ and for reasons lost in the mists of time, everybody would pile on top of this prone individual. There’s a battle scene in Game of Thrones that comes close to the experience. As a smaller kid, I found it terrifying. Basically, ran the other way the moment the word ‘bundle’ filled the air.
DISCOVER: School gym horror in the 1970s
Bike shed torture
At the other end of the playground from the flob pit was a row of old bike sheds. At some point in the school’s history, some sadist had devised a punishment where a kid would be held by their legs and rammed against one of the supporting posts, crushing their testicles in the process. This became a venerable tradition passed on to generations of psychopaths.
I have a lingering vision of some guy in later life having to explain to his wife why they can never have children because of this torture. I saw it happen once to a little chap called Andy who had the temerity to ask an older bully for his ball back. For which he had his own balls crushed – so to speak.
DISCOVER: Corporal punishment in 1970s schools
This is the tip of the iceberg, and I will spare you a vivid account of a game called ‘whipping’ that still brings tears to my eyes. I’d be curious to know what horrors occurred at your school in this era. Of course, not only were we inflicting pain on each other, but the teachers joined in with the cane and slipper. Quite how I made it through this torment is anybody’s guess.
