Mr-D
War Hero
Adidas Trim Trabb were the dogs,
Actually still got my old blue ones somewhere and bought a pair of the re issue green ones last year,
Army Rumour Service
Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!
Skool dayz!!
- Thread starter Hector_Chavez_V
- Start date
War Hero
Adidas Trim Trabb were the dogs,
Actually still got my old blue ones somewhere and bought a pair of the re issue green ones last year,
Miner
ADC
I'm in a wheelchair, so they don't get much use. You cunt!
Tiddle
War Hero
Christ her lungs must have been BLACK. I had a bedside draw full of the fuckers and that was enough for a Parker pen.
Focus points! Fucking hell, my mum nearly smoked herself to death so I could get a Wilson baseball bat.
I'd completely forgotten about them, still got the bat in my mum's garage. My dad used it once to chase away some pikeys who were lurking in our road with intent.
Ooooh look trannies on telly again.
I'd completely forgotten about them, still got the bat in my mum's garage. My dad used it once to chase away some pikeys who were lurking in our road with intent.
Ooooh look trannies on telly again.
Schweigeminute
Clanker
Re: The whole Giraffe about Gas Taps... You never just set the fuckers alight? I almost burnt half the classes exercise books and the fat slag teacher due to x1 splint (lit) and x1 gas tap (on). Managed to chat my way out of trouble by claiming it was an innocent mistake too. Good times.
M
Mark The Convict
Guest
One big lad in 4th form was heavily into weightlifting, and therefore had the physique of about a 25-year old. He somehow got his head run over by a semi-trailer, and his body went unidentified for a week or so - because there was no such thing as DNA in the early '80's, he had no ID on him, he'd never been fingerprinted, and his teeth were pulped into several yards of road.
Eventually, someone connected 'headless unidentified 25 year old corpse' with '15 year old reported missing by distraught parents', and a funeral was arranged.
The funeral was the crowning bit of class. His family were part of some cult, which saw fit to turn the service into a revival meeting; 'IF JESUS HAS COME INTO YOUR LIFE, COME AND PUT YOUR HAND ON DAVID'S COFFIN'. Luckily I was at the back of the chapel, and slunk out unnoticed as the brainwashed faithful surged forth to prove their spiritual purity...
Eventually, someone connected 'headless unidentified 25 year old corpse' with '15 year old reported missing by distraught parents', and a funeral was arranged.
The funeral was the crowning bit of class. His family were part of some cult, which saw fit to turn the service into a revival meeting; 'IF JESUS HAS COME INTO YOUR LIFE, COME AND PUT YOUR HAND ON DAVID'S COFFIN'. Luckily I was at the back of the chapel, and slunk out unnoticed as the brainwashed faithful surged forth to prove their spiritual purity...
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.
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.
maccabonga
LE
The school I spent most time at was propper traditional streamed state school - rugby, rugby, rugby. As a treat we got to play football at Christmas. Strict uniform with braid and 1200 assorted kids from a 20 mile radius of mainly countryside.
It was nearly an all white affair in my class. A black girl from New York rocks up one day. You would've thought that in the '80s she'd have been brutalised but no. She was nails! Her old fella was on a Septic secondment over here.
My only notable offence during my time there was for brawling at the age of 12. A spectacular 20 minute bout, hyped for 4 days prior, and enjoyed by an audience of 500 kids. Blood everywhere. Titanic clash, me and my mate, the 2 biggest cnuts in the year
Points draw.
It was nearly an all white affair in my class. A black girl from New York rocks up one day. You would've thought that in the '80s she'd have been brutalised but no. She was nails! Her old fella was on a Septic secondment over here.
My only notable offence during my time there was for brawling at the age of 12. A spectacular 20 minute bout, hyped for 4 days prior, and enjoyed by an audience of 500 kids. Blood everywhere. Titanic clash, me and my mate, the 2 biggest cnuts in the year
Points draw.
eodmatt
LE
Things started to go downhill when my sainted mother had a fit of depression and removed me from St. Mary's in Chesterfield and shoved me into a grim Labour flagship education camp known as Freshville Secondary Modern.
The headmaster was called Bennet and he was a complete cunt. A little man with little mans complex and a wispy 'tache. He was a Labourite and a union supporter through and through.
St Marys was a brick built Catholic school and one with a very good academic record where I had been studying for 7 GCE's. The other kids were Irish, Italian, a Latvian (she had the biggest tits in the school at the age of 13) and one or two other nationalities. These were the days when the Irish girls wore green stockings and the Italians wore blue. There were adjacent houses with apple, plum and pear trees which gave good opportunities for scrumping and some old air raid shelters which were good for smoking and fumbling around in airtex knickers.
By contrast Freshville sec mod was a ghastly sprawling wooden place on a hill with miles of wooden corridors and long flights of stairs.
My meeting with Bennet the headmaster was not auspicious .
He looked up grimly from his desk as I knocked and entered his office. "It's customary at my school to put your knuckle to your forehead when meeting a master" He said. This gesture of subservience still persisted in some places in the Peoples Democratic Republic of South Yorkshire right up until the 1970's. It was the mark of the lower classes. No one ever did it at St. Marys, but here, this little Hitler wanted you to know your place. I hated doing it.
He continued: "I see that you have been studying for GCE's at your last school".
Yes, I replied.
"YES SIR" he hissed through gritted teeth and, grabbing a cane from his desk, with one hand on my shoulder, he gave me several cuts across the back with it.
This was not good. Even at 13 I was a big lad and although I was intimidated by the cunt I considered giving him a swift punch as my old man had told me that I should always defend myself.
He must have seen the look in my eyes as he rapidly put his desk between us again. I decided that I would not allow him to touch me again.
"Well you wont be doing any of that here fancy stuff here," he said. "You don't need GCE's down't pit, nor t' steel works which is where most people who leave here go. You will report to the Remove classroom (where they sent all the thickos) and you will stay there until it is time for you to leave school. If you keep your nose clean there will be no need for us to meet again. If you don't, you will feel my cane again. Now get out."
Cunt.
I resolved that he could go and fuck himself and embarked on a life of causing hassle. Never enough to get caught, but always enough to cause feelings of uncertainty in the staff and hilarity in the pupils.
The Bunsen burner trick was a good one in the science lab, but I went one better. proceed as follows:
1. With the gas line turned of at the wall, pull the rubber pipe of the spout and turn the tap on at the Bunsen burner.
2. Blow through the pipe to displace the gas.
3. Turn the Bunsen burner tap off and shove the rubber pipe back on the spout.
4. Disappear.
Later when old stinky comes to light the bunsen burner he lights a match, holds it over the Bunsen burner and turns the taps on. The air in the pipe is pushed out by the gas and extinguishes the match. This is a source of amazement for old stinky. At his next attempt, if the timing is right and the gas and air mixture is just so, there will be a mini explosion and old stinky loses his eyebrows. Hilarious!
The school changed the gas fittings so you couldn't easily pull the rubber pipes off, eventually. But not before several people lost their eyebrows.
Then there was the alka seltzer trick. In those days the school desks has inkwells and one of the kids was appointed Ink Monitor, who's job it was to keep the inkwells full. On entering a classroom at the start of a lesson I would surreptitiously pop a crumbled alka seltzer into a girls inkwell. There was just enough time to get away to my own desk. Within seconds a relatively large fountain of blue/black foam erupts out of the inkwell and spreads all over the desk top.
The first time I did it the girl who's desk I had targeted had hysterics and had to be taken to the nurses room to calm her down. Result!
Then I met Sylvia. She went to a different school but our paths crossed. I was coming up to 14, she was 15 and was a pupil at King Egberts County Secondary school (maroon school knickers). Like me she was as horny as an 18 pointer stag.
We arranged to take a day off school together. We met at the cricket pavilion on the school playing fields. I got her horizontal on top of the folded cricket nets by dint of hooking my heel round the back of her ankle and giving her a shove in the tits (36D).
She giggled and had her maroon knickers off in seconds. It was my first time. She was blond but had gingerish pubes (a few weeks later I fucked her 12 year old sister Barbara (34B), but that's another story).
I had the presence of mind to pull out on time and spoffed on her freckled belly. She mopped it up with her maroon panties and put them back on. We walked arm in arm in the direction of her council house. My mind was on fire. My first shag! Would she be pregnant now? Oh God!
I was sure that people would know. Other kids had told me that you can tell when a person has had sex by their eyes. How did that work?
And there was something else. My fingers smelled of anchovies - a smell I was later to learn to savour. But there was another faint smell about us. Slight. Almost imperceptible. I came to the conclusion that the eye story was bollocks and that it must be a residual smell that gave the game away.
My nob was itching now but I resisted the urge to scratch it. And the smell was a little more pronounced. Not the the anchovy smell the other smell. I resolved to go straight to the bathroom when I got home and have a good wash.
We reached her gate. We kissed and I had a quick feel of her right tit. Then she was walking up her garden path and when I turned to wave goodbye I realised the source of the aroma which had followed us from the pavilion. There was a turd hanging off the back of her school blazer. A small turd, but a turd to be sure.
I opened my mouth to tell her but the key was in the door and with a swirl of school skirt she disappeared indoors.
At the same time there was a girl called Barbara M*****. Same age as me she had young film star looks. We were at it like rabbits whenever we got the opportunity. We nearly got caught several times. Enough times to raise some suspicions in staff minds but we never actually got caught. I found Bennet giving me hard looks from time to time.
I spent less and less time at school and more time exploring and fucking. I found a small refuse tip adjacent a factory that manufactured glass lenses. There were piles of reject lenses at the tip. I filled my pockets and went to school next day and sold the lot. For the next few days the school was full of kids setting fire to things and at one point the fire brigade had to be called. It wasn't my fault but I was the root of it all.
The teachers found ways of keeping Barbara and I apart as much as possible. But they didn't know about Sylvia, whose grandfather, incidentally was the Lord Mayor.
Sylvia's family decided to go to the Rex cinema to see a film one night and Sylvia and I decided to stay at her place and do "homework".
The family pissed off in her dads builders van and we gave them 15 minutes to get clear and then settled down for me to get carpet burns on me knees in front of the telly (6 o clock news as it happens). I was sure that there was still someone in the house but she giggled and said no one would be back before 9.
I was giving it great heaves when suddenly the door opened and the light was switched on. Her mother advanced into the room like a howling banshee, screaming you dirty bastard and hitting me with a rolled up umbrella. I had unplugged rapidly and was hopping around on one leg like a Manx avatar trying to get into me strides with a a stiff cock that wasn't slackening off quickly enough.
I exited the house having to run the gauntlet of the whole fucking family in the hallway, grandad Lord bloody Mayor and all. Barbara was pissing herself laughing.
Syliva later told me that her father had been told by her mother to give her a good talking to but all he said was thatb he thought it was very funny and that we should take more care in future.
One of the things I liked as school was music. Particularly classical music. Towards the end of my academic career in the Sec Mod school I only used to bother going to music lessons. This was because there was a student teacher who was sex on a stick. I stayed late with her on a couple of occasions listening to her playing Mozart on the school piano.
One evening as I helped her to put away the music I accidentally brushed the back of her hand and she turned towards me, lips apart and said "we shouldn't". But then she was all over me like a badly made Hong Kong suit. We didnt get very far. The school caretaker coughed loudly from the door.
She was fired the next day and I never went back to school as I was, by then, 15 and due to leave in a couple of months anyway.
A couple of years later I applied to join the army. The recruiting office wrote to my old school. The cunt Bennet sent them a letter saying that I was morally unsuitable to join Her Majesty's Armed Forces. But he didn't say why.
The recruiting Captain asked me what I had done to elicit such a reference and I told him. He said simply " The mans a cunt if he things shagging a school teacher is grounds for barring anyone from the army. Sign the lad up Sgt.
The headmaster was called Bennet and he was a complete cunt. A little man with little mans complex and a wispy 'tache. He was a Labourite and a union supporter through and through.
St Marys was a brick built Catholic school and one with a very good academic record where I had been studying for 7 GCE's. The other kids were Irish, Italian, a Latvian (she had the biggest tits in the school at the age of 13) and one or two other nationalities. These were the days when the Irish girls wore green stockings and the Italians wore blue. There were adjacent houses with apple, plum and pear trees which gave good opportunities for scrumping and some old air raid shelters which were good for smoking and fumbling around in airtex knickers.
By contrast Freshville sec mod was a ghastly sprawling wooden place on a hill with miles of wooden corridors and long flights of stairs.
My meeting with Bennet the headmaster was not auspicious .
He looked up grimly from his desk as I knocked and entered his office. "It's customary at my school to put your knuckle to your forehead when meeting a master" He said. This gesture of subservience still persisted in some places in the Peoples Democratic Republic of South Yorkshire right up until the 1970's. It was the mark of the lower classes. No one ever did it at St. Marys, but here, this little Hitler wanted you to know your place. I hated doing it.
He continued: "I see that you have been studying for GCE's at your last school".
Yes, I replied.
"YES SIR" he hissed through gritted teeth and, grabbing a cane from his desk, with one hand on my shoulder, he gave me several cuts across the back with it.
This was not good. Even at 13 I was a big lad and although I was intimidated by the cunt I considered giving him a swift punch as my old man had told me that I should always defend myself.
He must have seen the look in my eyes as he rapidly put his desk between us again. I decided that I would not allow him to touch me again.
"Well you wont be doing any of that here fancy stuff here," he said. "You don't need GCE's down't pit, nor t' steel works which is where most people who leave here go. You will report to the Remove classroom (where they sent all the thickos) and you will stay there until it is time for you to leave school. If you keep your nose clean there will be no need for us to meet again. If you don't, you will feel my cane again. Now get out."
Cunt.
I resolved that he could go and fuck himself and embarked on a life of causing hassle. Never enough to get caught, but always enough to cause feelings of uncertainty in the staff and hilarity in the pupils.
The Bunsen burner trick was a good one in the science lab, but I went one better. proceed as follows:
1. With the gas line turned of at the wall, pull the rubber pipe of the spout and turn the tap on at the Bunsen burner.
2. Blow through the pipe to displace the gas.
3. Turn the Bunsen burner tap off and shove the rubber pipe back on the spout.
4. Disappear.
Later when old stinky comes to light the bunsen burner he lights a match, holds it over the Bunsen burner and turns the taps on. The air in the pipe is pushed out by the gas and extinguishes the match. This is a source of amazement for old stinky. At his next attempt, if the timing is right and the gas and air mixture is just so, there will be a mini explosion and old stinky loses his eyebrows. Hilarious!
The school changed the gas fittings so you couldn't easily pull the rubber pipes off, eventually. But not before several people lost their eyebrows.
Then there was the alka seltzer trick. In those days the school desks has inkwells and one of the kids was appointed Ink Monitor, who's job it was to keep the inkwells full. On entering a classroom at the start of a lesson I would surreptitiously pop a crumbled alka seltzer into a girls inkwell. There was just enough time to get away to my own desk. Within seconds a relatively large fountain of blue/black foam erupts out of the inkwell and spreads all over the desk top.
The first time I did it the girl who's desk I had targeted had hysterics and had to be taken to the nurses room to calm her down. Result!
Then I met Sylvia. She went to a different school but our paths crossed. I was coming up to 14, she was 15 and was a pupil at King Egberts County Secondary school (maroon school knickers). Like me she was as horny as an 18 pointer stag.
We arranged to take a day off school together. We met at the cricket pavilion on the school playing fields. I got her horizontal on top of the folded cricket nets by dint of hooking my heel round the back of her ankle and giving her a shove in the tits (36D).
She giggled and had her maroon knickers off in seconds. It was my first time. She was blond but had gingerish pubes (a few weeks later I fucked her 12 year old sister Barbara (34B), but that's another story).
I had the presence of mind to pull out on time and spoffed on her freckled belly. She mopped it up with her maroon panties and put them back on. We walked arm in arm in the direction of her council house. My mind was on fire. My first shag! Would she be pregnant now? Oh God!
I was sure that people would know. Other kids had told me that you can tell when a person has had sex by their eyes. How did that work?
And there was something else. My fingers smelled of anchovies - a smell I was later to learn to savour. But there was another faint smell about us. Slight. Almost imperceptible. I came to the conclusion that the eye story was bollocks and that it must be a residual smell that gave the game away.
My nob was itching now but I resisted the urge to scratch it. And the smell was a little more pronounced. Not the the anchovy smell the other smell. I resolved to go straight to the bathroom when I got home and have a good wash.
We reached her gate. We kissed and I had a quick feel of her right tit. Then she was walking up her garden path and when I turned to wave goodbye I realised the source of the aroma which had followed us from the pavilion. There was a turd hanging off the back of her school blazer. A small turd, but a turd to be sure.
I opened my mouth to tell her but the key was in the door and with a swirl of school skirt she disappeared indoors.
At the same time there was a girl called Barbara M*****. Same age as me she had young film star looks. We were at it like rabbits whenever we got the opportunity. We nearly got caught several times. Enough times to raise some suspicions in staff minds but we never actually got caught. I found Bennet giving me hard looks from time to time.
I spent less and less time at school and more time exploring and fucking. I found a small refuse tip adjacent a factory that manufactured glass lenses. There were piles of reject lenses at the tip. I filled my pockets and went to school next day and sold the lot. For the next few days the school was full of kids setting fire to things and at one point the fire brigade had to be called. It wasn't my fault but I was the root of it all.
The teachers found ways of keeping Barbara and I apart as much as possible. But they didn't know about Sylvia, whose grandfather, incidentally was the Lord Mayor.
Sylvia's family decided to go to the Rex cinema to see a film one night and Sylvia and I decided to stay at her place and do "homework".
The family pissed off in her dads builders van and we gave them 15 minutes to get clear and then settled down for me to get carpet burns on me knees in front of the telly (6 o clock news as it happens). I was sure that there was still someone in the house but she giggled and said no one would be back before 9.
I was giving it great heaves when suddenly the door opened and the light was switched on. Her mother advanced into the room like a howling banshee, screaming you dirty bastard and hitting me with a rolled up umbrella. I had unplugged rapidly and was hopping around on one leg like a Manx avatar trying to get into me strides with a a stiff cock that wasn't slackening off quickly enough.
I exited the house having to run the gauntlet of the whole fucking family in the hallway, grandad Lord bloody Mayor and all. Barbara was pissing herself laughing.
Syliva later told me that her father had been told by her mother to give her a good talking to but all he said was thatb he thought it was very funny and that we should take more care in future.
One of the things I liked as school was music. Particularly classical music. Towards the end of my academic career in the Sec Mod school I only used to bother going to music lessons. This was because there was a student teacher who was sex on a stick. I stayed late with her on a couple of occasions listening to her playing Mozart on the school piano.
One evening as I helped her to put away the music I accidentally brushed the back of her hand and she turned towards me, lips apart and said "we shouldn't". But then she was all over me like a badly made Hong Kong suit. We didnt get very far. The school caretaker coughed loudly from the door.
She was fired the next day and I never went back to school as I was, by then, 15 and due to leave in a couple of months anyway.
A couple of years later I applied to join the army. The recruiting office wrote to my old school. The cunt Bennet sent them a letter saying that I was morally unsuitable to join Her Majesty's Armed Forces. But he didn't say why.
The recruiting Captain asked me what I had done to elicit such a reference and I told him. He said simply " The mans a cunt if he things shagging a school teacher is grounds for barring anyone from the army. Sign the lad up Sgt.
Krazy_Ivan
GCM
Not Mount St Mary's by any chance mate?
Grey_Mafia65
LE
Liar, liar, pants of fire. I refuse to believe you went to a grammar school!!
And not just any Grammar school, one of the top 5 of it's time - Strand School - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Despite what Wiki says, the school never closed in 77, I and many others were still there until 78 although we were the last year to be boys only!
My mate Phil was/is as black as coal. He is one of the people I've stayed in physical contact with and he now runs the facilities of a major UK venue.
The school once ran a Fathers and Sons trip to England Vs San Marino with dinner thrown in . There were loads of Dads milling about in the car park that afternoon waiting for the coach and we were all in registration being booked in ready for the off. Phil was unusually quiet for a massively confident black 14 year old with the cock of a Shire Horse and I walked out with him and a speccy lad who wore comedy round bins to compliment his basin haircut.
In true juvenile fashion the trip afforded us the pleasure of seeing each others Dads which would undoubtably result in some severe piss taking, and as soon as speccy's Dad loomed into view we were all sniggering and pointing as his old man had the same moon specs on with a perfectly trimmed basin haircut topped off with a thin tache.
Phil was still remaining quiet and 5 minutes prior to boarding a brown Vauxhall Estate pulled up with the back seat covered in paint tins and dust sheets. It rolled into the car park accompanied by the rythmic beat of a reggae track and the whole crowd stood in silence watching as a painfully thin black man eeked himself out of the car, removed his paint splattered baseball cap from his head and dramatically tossed back his natty dreads tying them back with a hairband. To be honest he looked frightening and he grinned with a mouth full of broken teeth and boomed out 'Pheeel, Pheeel mon! cum ear' in a brilliant Jamaican accent, the bloke was fucking great and was stoned out of his nut, some of the Dads were visibly uncomfortable, mine thought he was ace and he ending up giving him a few bits of work and Phil spent the whole trip staring out the window intently whilst chewing on his jacket collar as his Dad was rapping and freestyling for all the naughty kids on the back seat.
I had a black mate called Irving who came to our school because of his dads job. Unfortunately he was halfway through trying to grow his hair long enough to wear in corn rows so the first time he came through the classroom door he resembled a frazzled Captain Caveman. We took to immediately as he just didn't give a shit about anything and always had fuck loads of cash on him.
Like all kids we used to bunk off but spent it vandalising bus stops, smoking weed on the park and getting chased around shopping centres by the security guards. Irving on the other hand had a much simple idea, we'd go round his grandads.
The first time we rocked up there the door opened and a fog of weed smoke so thick that it stung your eyes wafted out. It was like Disneyland for scrotes in there. Irving's grandad was straight out of 'Desmonds' complete with horn rimmed glasses, pork pie hat and ended each sentence of barely understandable Jamaican with either a suck of his teeth or a "Heh Heeeh ya clart."
He held court from a battered leather chair that always had a copy of Racing Post on one arm and a fucking massive glass ashtray on the other that always had either a lit spliff in it or a roll up rolled so tight that you wondered if it actually had any baccy in it. He'd sit there all afternoon with his pals watching the racing on channel 4 or playing dominos and if they got really battered they'd get his records out and sit singing along to proper old school reggae.
He really didn't give a shit that we were bunking off as long as we kept his rum topped up and the Dragon Stout's coming. All you'd get out of him was "Heh heeh, ickle clart." He was also the first person I ever heard call someone a pussyhole.
Went went around their every couple of days until we left school. We got caught bunking off time and again but we never gave up the old fella or his teenage speakeasy.
Irvings grandad died just after we left school and we all went to the funeral. It was a massive affair and Irvings mum looked on in puzzlement as the only white kid there was greeted like an old friend by the old boys and spent the entire funeral and wake talking to them, playing dominos or going outside 'to get some fresh air."
Like all kids we used to bunk off but spent it vandalising bus stops, smoking weed on the park and getting chased around shopping centres by the security guards. Irving on the other hand had a much simple idea, we'd go round his grandads.
The first time we rocked up there the door opened and a fog of weed smoke so thick that it stung your eyes wafted out. It was like Disneyland for scrotes in there. Irving's grandad was straight out of 'Desmonds' complete with horn rimmed glasses, pork pie hat and ended each sentence of barely understandable Jamaican with either a suck of his teeth or a "Heh Heeeh ya clart."
He held court from a battered leather chair that always had a copy of Racing Post on one arm and a fucking massive glass ashtray on the other that always had either a lit spliff in it or a roll up rolled so tight that you wondered if it actually had any baccy in it. He'd sit there all afternoon with his pals watching the racing on channel 4 or playing dominos and if they got really battered they'd get his records out and sit singing along to proper old school reggae.
He really didn't give a shit that we were bunking off as long as we kept his rum topped up and the Dragon Stout's coming. All you'd get out of him was "Heh heeh, ickle clart." He was also the first person I ever heard call someone a pussyhole.
Went went around their every couple of days until we left school. We got caught bunking off time and again but we never gave up the old fella or his teenage speakeasy.
Irvings grandad died just after we left school and we all went to the funeral. It was a massive affair and Irvings mum looked on in puzzlement as the only white kid there was greeted like an old friend by the old boys and spent the entire funeral and wake talking to them, playing dominos or going outside 'to get some fresh air."
brettarider
LE
Our school never had uniform so it was dress how you please some of the stuff we wore between 86-90 were
Addias kick/Torsion/Samba
Arrow astro turf
Pony NFL
Travel Fox
Sergio Tachini
Nike
British Knights
Converse
Ellesse
Also some strange fad for wearing a Lee jeans patch on the bottom of Ellesse bottoms.
Our School started scrapping with heidtheba's as it was about 5-10mins away got out of hand and the police came and gave the full school a lecture about it and if it didnt stop we would get lifted and charged with mobbing and rioting which in Scotland can get an under 16 fired directly into the nick.
Only had one Indian at school who was in our year Ja pinder havent seen her since I left but her and the couple of Chinese there as well never got any hassle and got on with everyone. Still that's an upshot of having a local catholic school to torment instead.
Other fun things was goobing into stuff getting made in the cooking classes and sticking dress making pins into the washing up bottles for another class to get the good news.
Addias kick/Torsion/Samba
Arrow astro turf
Pony NFL
Travel Fox
Sergio Tachini
Nike
British Knights
Converse
Ellesse
Also some strange fad for wearing a Lee jeans patch on the bottom of Ellesse bottoms.
Our School started scrapping with heidtheba's as it was about 5-10mins away got out of hand and the police came and gave the full school a lecture about it and if it didnt stop we would get lifted and charged with mobbing and rioting which in Scotland can get an under 16 fired directly into the nick.
Only had one Indian at school who was in our year Ja pinder havent seen her since I left but her and the couple of Chinese there as well never got any hassle and got on with everyone. Still that's an upshot of having a local catholic school to torment instead.
Other fun things was goobing into stuff getting made in the cooking classes and sticking dress making pins into the washing up bottles for another class to get the good news.
Miner
ADC
Coming from the hallowed neighbourhood of Grangetown in Cardiff - a mini British Empire as it had people from every colony we ever had living there, the place was full of what my old Gran would call "Darkies".
I was friends with most of them as you are when you're only 6 or 7 and have yet to pick up on all your parents prejudices.
But my best-est brethren friend was a lad called Zeb. Afro-Carribean descent, and the only kid who had the nearest to a six pack, even at such a young age. Hard as fucking nails and about 6 inches taller than anyone else, including the Skinnies (Somali's).
He lived with his parents, and his Grandad (who as mentioned above, was the stereo typical "Desmonds" character).
I remember going around his house for tea and being given rice, sweet corn, and chicken. I had never had rice or sweet corn before in my life.
In those days my mum went with the solid British cuisine of roast dinners, or some variety of potato (chips, mashed, jacket) with some meat (hot or cold optional).
We moved just outside of Cardiff when I was 8 and I went to a different school, so I lost touch with all my old friends. The last I heard, Zeb had taken up boxing and was considered quite handy. No idea what happened to him later in life.
I was friends with most of them as you are when you're only 6 or 7 and have yet to pick up on all your parents prejudices.
But my best-est brethren friend was a lad called Zeb. Afro-Carribean descent, and the only kid who had the nearest to a six pack, even at such a young age. Hard as fucking nails and about 6 inches taller than anyone else, including the Skinnies (Somali's).
He lived with his parents, and his Grandad (who as mentioned above, was the stereo typical "Desmonds" character).
I remember going around his house for tea and being given rice, sweet corn, and chicken. I had never had rice or sweet corn before in my life.
In those days my mum went with the solid British cuisine of roast dinners, or some variety of potato (chips, mashed, jacket) with some meat (hot or cold optional).
We moved just outside of Cardiff when I was 8 and I went to a different school, so I lost touch with all my old friends. The last I heard, Zeb had taken up boxing and was considered quite handy. No idea what happened to him later in life.
Miner
ADC
Ha! I had them as well. Linebackers I think they were called. Mine were blue, with a red tongue as I recall.
eodmatt
LE
It was just St. Marys when I was there. It was opposite the Chesterfield FC ground in those days, iirc.
Koschei
LE
We had a not half bad-looking (even though she did have a bit of a fat arse) form tutor who was fresh out of uni. Even us card-carrying cunts were right little ass-kissers around her because she was young, pretty and had a bit of an evil gleam in her eye, so we figured that this meant she was the member of staff most likely to give one of us a shag. How wrong we were that turned out to be our pug-ugly Jehovahs witness RE teacher. Im reliably informed that she had a fanny that wouldve put unexplored stretches of Amazonia to shame, the gopping god-botherer.
History_Man
LE
This thread has had me in stitches - it has reminded me of the sheer crapness of the 1980s, especially if you were of secondary school age; you can see why so many of us went on become fully paid-up members of Generation X.
Similar threads
Latest Threads
-
-
-
Joining the Int Corps with functional skills maths
- Started by rjburns97
- Replies: 1
-
-
