How Different Was Your Home Life From Your CH Life?

Anything that doesn't fit anywhere else, but that's still CH related.

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sejintenej
Button Grecian
Posts: 3097
Joined: Tue Feb 08, 2005 12:19 pm
Real Name: David Brown
Location: Essex

Re: How Different Was Your Home Life From Your CH Life?

Post by sejintenej » Sun Sep 28, 2014 6:58 pm

Looking back at almost five years of this thread shows me what different backgrounds we had, what life knowledge we had to start with and what different home backgrounds.
Remember that this relates to the 1950's when we had no TV, internet or (in my case) radio and newspapers. Things are different these days
I am forced to agree totally with Kim2s' comment:
Kim2s70-77 wrote: I was completely out of my depth, although CH had given the chameleon-like skills to present an appropriate front. There was just no depth to the presentation!
I wonder whether, despite the young lady's obvious intelligence she realised that she knew nothing about life and couldn't cope:
I did know of at least one girl who came from a very much poorer background than I. But sadly she will not be contributing to this Forum. She was always very bright, achieved an Exhibition to Oxford, took a First, became a Nun, and then took her own life.
I had been effectively alone (check Mrs Bridges in Upstairs, Downstairs) in a place 13 miles from the nearest town, the three friends moved away when I was about 7 and there were no other kids around. The local language was far removed from Lunnun - only one person had been outside the immediate area and that was because he had been a stoker in WWI. Her boss put me in CH - my mother was innumerate though she could just write and could not even afford clothes or shoes for me - I was still wearing her castmedowns.

What did CH do? by the time I left I had absolutely no idea about the world outside the boundary fence, no knowledge of the economy or jobs or even how stuff got in shops (I saw then at the underground going home), no money and no real home. Apart from Oxbridge there were no places of further learning and you could only go there if you got S levels and weren't Jewish. CH might have taught me about the Pilkington Float Glass Process but not about life and relationships. Even when I left with a Bible (this was a few days before everyone else for outside reasons) I was treated by most staff and boys as if I was being expelled - not even a goodbye or good luck but they still pester me for money
It is hard to make a comeback when you haven’t been anywhere.

Donsimone
3rd Former
Posts: 33
Joined: Thu Dec 02, 2010 7:54 am

Re: How Different Was Your Home Life From Your CH Life?

Post by Donsimone » Mon Dec 15, 2014 2:06 pm

A Missing Shade of Blue

I pitched up with the mark of Cain – Michael Caine actually, complete with Sarf Lundin aksehn't. In Second Form Geography, peg-legged old salt Kit Aitken would promise a pre-decimal 1d 'prize' to dipthonged Londoners for correctly pronouncing the aspirated aitch, even if I'd previously imagined a London accent to be, if not an enviable trait, at least nothing to be ashamed of.
No cause for concern, kidology ever was part of the expert teacher's bag-of-tricks, Kitology in this case. In emergencies, there was always the Quiet Room where the put-upon could retire to and think things over.

Leave Day though could be a bittersweet even bruising merry-go-round: the liberating roar in the direction of home, stopping en route on Boxhill, despite the uniform – after all, being mistaken for an AWOL member of the Vienna Boys Choir was an ever-present danger. The naughty-boy zipped cover of the Rolling Stones 'Sticky Fingers', casually tossed into the boothlike window of the sole café always caught my eye tho' I never listened to them ( too successful, too old ).
Never arriving soon enough, the polite phallic procession of Lunch Parade uncelebrated and unmissed, the easy embrace of our small kitchen more than made up for the stodgy grandeur, the poodle-anarchy of the Dining Hall. Bedboards finally exchanged for a splendid splinter of blissful reunion with the once fought-over bunkbeds, the cloudbusting intimacy of the top mattress was healing, sensual.
The afternoon purred away in clock-stopped time.

The fog of contentment rudely dissipated by the dark hull of the day's retreating freedom, dogs silently sorry to see me go, the return journey without end, moist of eye and flesh crawling low in the passenger seat, back into the sightless glare of the oncoming night traffic but never long enough before the austere silhouette of the Main Gate was re-appearing like a recurring rash. A stifled Desperate Dan sigh - my hatred of farewells undoubtedly dates from that time - and back to the old boy-bazaar and the promise of a glittering career, in truth already tarnished by a nagging dread of boarding-school, its sublime decrepitude, unencountered in my Biggles or Just William days and rarely in the long nomadic days since.

'Lord of the Flies' might have been better reading preparation for this rite of spartan maladaptedness. Next time round, at the very least, I'll have to remember to be born a Master's son.
Then maybe, who knows, love would be the law. But I'd settle for a little ubuntu.

Hey Santa, pass the Barolo, would'ya.

Happy 2015 and Arrivederci.

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