Past Pupils

Philip Nyman (1968)

Philip Nyman pictured recently with his `souvenir

Saturday 22nd April 1989

Whilst driving down Creighton Road on my way to see Spurs play against Everton, what was to be the last home game of the season, I noticed that my School was halfway being demolished. From the sign placed on the gate, Rialto Homes gave notice of an impending housing project. A strange feeling came over me. A mix of sadness and panic. The sadness was the thought of never being able to walk the corridors, sit in the classrooms, speak to those masters who had such a profound influence on my future. That stately building, the place where I spent so much time, learning and playing, was quickly disappearing. The school had been a Time Machine, taking the Boy and traversing the agony and ecstasy of adolescence. Although I had not thought of it until now, the period I spent at The Grammar School, was the most exciting and painful time of my life. The excitement of competing at school, with boys who became close buddies. Some of us kept in touch, long after we all left school for good. The comradely, for me, was never to be matched, even at college. The pain, was having to learn, the hard way, lessons of discipline and authority. Most of us felt the fury of masters with the butt-end of the blackboard rubber, a piece of well-aimed chalk. How many times did we leave a classroom with our ears ringing, red from a clout around the head because we were talking in the lesson? We learnt quickly to respect authority, even though we felt some punishments were unjust. Some rebelled but most capitulated and towed the line.

Looking at my old notes, I must tell you that on Monday 24th April 1989, 2 days after I first witnessed the school being demolished, I returned to try and get a "souvenir" and take some photographs. I managed to get a metal window frame (which I still have). Whilst walking around to the front (White Hart Lane) of the school, I noticed someone with a camcorder. It turned out to be Dick Yarrow. He was rather angry how the school governors and council had been responsible for its demise. I wonder if Mr Yarrow's widow/family may have the video tape? At the time he gave me his phone number but I never rang.

`Flo`  was my nickname that travelled with me to TGS from my primary school after Andy Metcalf(e), my peer at Crowland Road Jnr, reneged on a promise not to tell anyone of the embarrassing attachment at our new school. By the way, the last I heard, Andy was in Canada but I have not heard from him since we left school.