I went to a Grammar school in South London between 71 and 78, just up the road from Brixton.
Being the only Grammar for about 5 miles and very small (only 300 pupils) we used to get the shit kicked out of us by every comprehensive school around until we reached the 4th year, turned out that one of our number was a South London schoolboy sprint champ, so it was his job to go down to the nearest comp, rile up a few of the twats there and get them to chase him down the road. They'd enter our school gates and they'd get closed behind them with around 40 4th and 5th years tooled up with broken chairs and tables waiting for them, as each body hit the deck, it's get thrown out of the gates.
In my 3rd year there, we had to join up with the local girls school, now there were 2 in the area, St Martins, posh school and posh birds or Dick Shepherd, South London's local unmarried mothers home, so who do you reckon we got? Yup, Dick fkin Shepherd, 3 lessons a week over their site, the bints there were either as rough as fuck or built like that black bint in Tom and Jerry, fkin nightmare.
So, one lesson, I'm sitting there in O Level maths trying to get my head round sines and cosines when this black mama keeps poking me in the back just to annoy the shit out of me, after around 10 mins I've had more than enough, whisk round, grab her hand and impale it to the table with a geometry compass, an almighty scream is let loose and I get banished to the Head's study only to get suspended for 3 weeks. The Head, not exactly Brain of Britain, hands me the letter to take home to my parents ( my parents would have gone batshit to see me suspended for 3 weeks, let alone hear why), so on the way home, I meet up with a mate and we go round to his place, his mum asks how things are, so I tell her about the suspension and she comes up with the idea of going round to hers to do odd jobs during the week, leave and arrive home just as if I was still at school, just so my parents never found out.
Result, no grounding from parents and life carries on as usual. 2 weeks into this, I end up shagging his mum, who at 30 (I thought was a bit old) was reasonably fit (she'd be classed as a MILF these days). 15 years old, shagging a bird twice my age and all while I'm meant to be at school, strange suspension but there you go.
School fashion was Levis straight leg jeans, Dunlop Green Flash or Doc Ms, black T-shirts (punk era) mainly although there were some geeks there as well, flared trousers, Clarks shoes etc.
Liar, liar, pants of fire. I refuse to believe you went to a grammar school!!
Our token coon was a Brummie who was immediately nicknamed 'Afro'. As in Afro-Caribbean. He didn't like that one much for some reason.