king ’ s cross kid
Everything about the building had an air of authority. At either end of the roof stood make-believe turrets complete with battlements. I thought the place looked more like a castle under siege than a school. We went in through three stone archways, one for the infants, one for us boys and the third for the girls. The names of each group were carved above the arches, very imposing: INFANTS, BOYS, GIRLS. This building was where I was to start my schooling. Mum says ‘Good morning, God bless’ to all the other mothers she knows. On the way to school, we come under the scrutiny of the ever watchful Mr Reid, the chief gardener of St George’s Gardens. You can’t miss him, always shouting, ‘Keep off the grass you lot, what do you think the pathways are for?’ Which of course attracts the good-natured jeers of the mums who, true to type, take no notice of any authority. John was a year younger than me and still clinging to Mum’s ankles. She had a folding pram that she used to strap John into. ‘Quicker this way,’ she used to say, ‘can’t dawdle around, too much to do.’ Mum always seemed to be doing something. As I walked along beside Mum everything seemed to be right with the world and then, without warning, I was through the arch being shuffled into a line of kids who were complete strangers. Mum had vanished and we were all escorted along a tiled passageway that was the entrance to the infants’ school. This was a strange new world and some of the kids began to cry their little eyes out for their mothers. All of us in the small group of new arrivals were ushered into a large room where there were two ladies dressed in a
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9781408840504 King's Cross Kid (510h).indd 8
07/03/2013 09:47:44