Senior School

That long, sultry summer now at an end,
Off to the seniors school, to main road, 'round the bend
Many hundred girls and boys, a frightening place.
In those days not one coloured face!

What learning would this new place bring?
Thinking about their sort of discipline
After a few weeks, found much the same.
Little education, more of the cane.

The cane administered to the naughty sort.
Answer: don't do it, or don't get caught!
Boys and girls treated just as one.
Caught and disciplined for what they'd done.

Don't go home for sympathy and tell your mum.
You must have deserved it, gave you another one.
This sort of discipline never bothered us.
Either toe the line, if not, make no fuss,

One teacher who wouldn't upset the lesson's flow.
Before he started, caned six of us, "Off you go!"
"But sir" we said "we've done nothing wrong!"
"Ar, but I know you will before long!"

I believe each lesson was only twenty minutes or so;
By the time we'd start it was time to go.
Dancing taught, marching forming mixed rings;
We hated girls! They thought us smelly things!

We tried hard in this stupid useless class.
Wrong? Size twelve slippers tanned your arse.
Teachers seemed useless; don't know where they got them.
Sent them to our missed school; started at the bottom.

There another rough game was played.
To play, volunteers we were never made.
Ten to a team, first boy bent, held window sill,
The rest of the team, same behind, and still.

The others leapfrogged over as far as they could.
More and more, as long as the first team stood.
If all ten got on, with no collapse,
The first team were the winning chaps.

First team collapsing under the weight,
They'd had it, try again at a later date.
"British Bulldog" was it the name of this rough?
A couple of goes, all had had quite enough.

Flicking of ciggy cards to a wall,
Nearest one took the cards - yes, one and all!