Forgot your PE kit again?

Those days of Physical Exercise. A light hearted look at PE in schools of the sixties.

Two years ago I broke my big toe by dropping a cupboard door on it, it snapped in two and I was off work for a while, (about 8 weeks), now that toe has come back with a vengeance, I seem to have a touch of Arthritis in it which when throbbing is almost the same as gout.

It reminded me of my school days when PE was looming in lessons. Genetic evidence suggests there was never much chance of me becoming an Olympian. I hated PE (physical exercise) as you can tell by my excellent frame. PE in my day was a whole morning or afternoon. Depending on the time of year, it would start with swimming just to freshen you up. Then either, cricket, Rugby or football, followed by a session in the gym. I hated anything physical unless it involved a person of the opposite sex, so I always had a bout of athletes foot when it came around, this is a sort of fungal infection that affects the feet – specifically between the toes, and highly contagious. So, it was easy to remove the sock and agitate the skin between the toes just before a lesson, The Teacher a Mr Grahams must have had some sort of foot fetish because he always asked me to remove my sock - complete with holes – to inspect the offending digits. But sometimes he knew I was trying to dupe him, perhaps the hastily scribbled note on school paper signed by my mum in my own handwriting gave the game away.

It wouldn’t have helped that I had walked in on him getting his own bit of exercise with the girls PE teacher – a Miss Saunders - in the shower rooms. It wasn’t my fault, I could hear heavy breathing and a lot of puffing and panting, I thought he was exercising, I suppose he was in a way.

Another excuse was that I’d forgotten my PE kit, this never worked and was probably the most embarrassing episode of my entire school life.

If you had ‘conveniently forgotten’ your kit, then there was a large wicker basket in the changing rooms, this was a basket that everyone avoided like the plague, even with the lid on it omitted terrible smells, the schools compost heap smelled like Chanel No 5 in comparison. You lifted the lid and some wag had posted in large letters on the inside "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate", most frequently translated as "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

it was full of crusty shorts, sweaty tops, pumps and socks that even the lowest of the low had abandoned. When kids PE kit had come to the end of its natural life they would take it home to be recycled for the needy abroad. Mothers would say it wasn’t even good enough for that so best put it in the basket at school.That basket is where you were sent when you had no kit, no matter how hard I searched among the disgusting articles I came out of the changing rooms looking like one of those Victorian exhibits in BT Barnum’s freak show.

My top was a sort of pink, some doting mother had obviously thrown it in the wash with a red sock. It was also badly mud stained and had one arm missing. The shorts were blue, extra-large, and looked like they had once belonged to one of the Roly Polys, after putting them on I discovered that someone bigger than the Roly polys must have worn them, because the seam in the backside was split from top to bottom. I couldn’t find a matching pair of socks so I had one long red sock and a short green striped sock, The only plimsols anywhere near my size were split and squeaked and the sole flapped as I walked,

I was walking down the corridor toward the playing field and the outdoor pool, with a look that any punk rocker would have been very proud of. I was thinking that life couldn’t get any worse when – walking towards me was the girl I was supposed to be meeting that weekend for our first date. At this particular point Dante’s inferno was looking pretty good. I leaned across to say hello when she actually put her exercise book up to the side of her face to hide her obvious embarrassment as she passed, needless to say I waited outside the cinema for over an hour on my own. I never forgot my PE kit again, well, not for a few weeks anyway.

If it was a swimming lesson, You had to use exactly the same shorts with your backside hanging out, this would mean keeping your underwear on, which would also mean that you walked around for the rest of the day in soggy pants. The thing to remember with oversize swimwear of course was never to dive in the water. I usually remembered just as the splash arrived and my baggy shorts departed. There would be hoots of laughter all around the pool.

So, after donning your unusual attire it was inevitable that if it was football day, because it had taken you so long to get ready then you would be in goal as no-one could stand to get too close to you without laughing out loud or catching a whiff. I would be standing in the mud packed goal area shivering whilst picking a larger hole into my pink top and crows would squawk and fly around my head, they actually thought I was a scarecrow! I made a brilliant save one day when I saw big George of the opposition running toward me, I saw the mud splattered case ball come toward me and ran to get out of the way, but I tripped on a long lace dangling in the mud, I fell and saved the goal – with my head. I still have the line etched on my forehead caused by the lace in the ball.

I didn’t fare any better in the gym, we were told to line up for the vaulting horse, this was one of the most torturous and despicable pieces of equipment ever devised by mankind. Anyway, I’m in line to impress Mr Grahams with my expert skills, I run up to jump over what seemed like a ten-foot-high box, I hit the springboard and the sole of my pump -which had been flapping wildly on the run up – managed to slip itself into the space on the side of the vault. I carried on over but the pump didn’t. The jolt threw me to one side as I careered towards Mr Grahams. Thankfully, he cushioned my landing, we ended up in a heap on the gym floor and I caught a whiff of Miss Saunders perfume.

Then the final humiliation, the communal shower! That was one hell of an embarrassing five minutes where chaos ensued. Mr Grahams took his shower alone – apparently. This left twenty-five rowdy youths to run rampant through the shower block, which may I add was nearly always freezing cold or scalding hot.

One of the most dangerous weapons known to man evolved because of the school showers -the wet towel. If you heard the whip crack of a twisted towel, followed by agonizing screams, you knew the school has communal showers.

Without a doubt, our school showers were breeding grounds for bullies and bacteria. The mud you saw on the wall the previous two weeks would still welcome you on the third week, which basically proved two very important points.

1. Cold water doesn’t rid you of grime.

2. Those showers were never cleaned in a month of Sundays.

Then there was the incessant bullying. Some of the ‘smaller’ lads if you get my drift, were totally mocked and probably scarred for life by the taunts of ‘wee willy winky’ and other such phrases.

Thankfully, I was just barely (forgive the pun) above that sort of thing. Judging by the row next door in the girls showers, Miss Saunders was also showering alone – supposedly.

In 1999 the government of the day announced that old fashioned communal showers were to be phased out of British schools.

Well dear reader, I hope you’ve enjoyed my stroll through a PE lesson in the sixties. Now I’m off for a shower – on my own.