As I approached the gates of Ladysmith School, the first thing I saw was the blood on the face of one of my soon to be peers who was getting a serious pasting from what seemed like a vicious gangster. After the milksop regime of my primary schoold, this was a wake up call I did not welcome; I was terrified to think that I would soon be the one on the wrong end of what seemed like serious damage; it took a while, but I got there eventually, but not at this school.

Life and education at Ladysmith was unremarkable, aside from the forced viewing of the film “Zulu”, starring Michael Caine. It was many years later before I realised the significance of this and the name of the school. All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be allowed these days – but then again hardly anything is so far as I can tell.

There was a moment of drama in the art/craft class when my hand slipped on the new Stanley knife and I manage to almost sever my left thumb, much to the concern of teacher who whipped me off to the headmasters office trailing blood along the way. An ambulance was summoned and I was taken to Exeter Hospital, which at the time was in Southernhay. I was soon stitched up with 7 of the best by a cat gut weilding African fella who was never going to win awards for neatness. Almost 60 years later the scar remains like a badge of honour for my “first blood”.

9 year old boys with Stanley knives I hear you say! It wouldn’t be allowed these days ………

The only other thing of note during my time there were the weekly music “lessons”, which consisted of enforced silence while Mr Deakin, the alleged music teacher played us The Planets, by Gustav Holst over and over again on the school gramaphone. There were no musical instruments on offer, but luckily my teacher, My Knight, was something of a hippy and taught guitar in his own time after school. I managed to convince my parent(s) to allow me to partake, and so it was I learned to play Mr Tambourine Man, albeit painfully badly at first. Some 10 years or so later, I would be able to play it slightly better, and able to earn a few quid into the bargain. I did this for the best part of 10 years, and it remains the single acheivement for which I am remembered in this small city. They were good days, but more of all that later.

It was now 1974 and I was booked in to the same school my father had attended, Heles to complete my basic education. The venue had changed from what is now Exeter College to Quarry Lane, and of course it was no longer a grammar school, just a long walk up a steep hill, past the main campus and then down the other side to cross the dual carriageway via the school bridge. Once I’d made it this far we were educated in an old army camp in a variety of Nissan huts – nice……