This is a slightly edited version of a post that appeared on my old blog on February 18th, 2008

I hated school. I don’t remember my first day at school but I certainly remember my last. I was standing in one of the open corridors that ran around the cloister, as it was called, talking with some classmates and one of the teachers. It suddenly hit me: this was my last day at school; in a few minutes I would be leaving. Forever. A strange sensation ran through my body like that when you wake up from an unscheduled nap with that panicky feeling that you must be late for something. My head seemed to swell up like a balloon. The feeling passed and later I walked home across the playing field as I had done countless times before. It was over. Done with. No more school. What a relief!

My school career was somewhat chequered. My mother didn’t trust the state school system and wanted to send me to a private school but being a widow living on a widow’s pension and occasional work as a nurse, she hardly possessed the means to do this. I first went to a school in an ordinary house a few streets from where we lived. I have only vague memories of it and of the mauve uniform we wore. The whole school would go for walks and when it rained, we were given red or blue raincoats to wear.

My next school was sited the other side of Preston Park in a big ramshackle house. My mother took me every day and I was permitted to ride there on my tricycle and leave it in a storeroom until home time. One day I told my mother that I didn’t want to drink milk at break anymore. When she asked why, I said it was because they poured the milk into a few beakers which were refilled and passed on to other pupils without being washed. My mother was horrified and went straight down to the school to complain. After that I was given special treatment: a beaker was washed for me.

I was moved again, to another school in a big house. There were borders there, including a small boy who looked quite normal but was perhaps slow-witted because at lunchtimes, the headmaster and teachers would make fun of him and all the children would laugh at him. I was given special tuition in writing because I was judged to have fallen behind.

I was then moved to a school in Hove, run by two sisters, a married one whom we liked and an unmarried one who always criticized everything. I went there and back on the number 14 bus. During registration, they would tell us to get out our reading books. I felt embarrassed because I was a book behind everyone else. So I used to open the book inside the desk and pull it out open so that the number on the cover wasn’t visible. One day in reading class, the teacher asked me to read, starting with the title of the story. Hesitantly, I began “Cabin soap…” All the children laughed. “Come along, now,” said the teacher. “It’s ‘Cabbage Soup’…”

Finally, my mother saw sense, and sent me to the local council-run primary school. It was certainly an improvement on the others but I never shone academically. In those days, when you reached the age of 11, you had to sit an exam to determine which secondary school you woukd attend. As a result, you either went “up” to the grammar school or “down” to the secondary modern. You could also take an examination and if successful, elect to go to the technical school. Before the exam, my headmaster judged me “borderline” for the grammar school, and when I was selected, I think it was more by luck than by judgement.

If I had disliked school before, the grammar school was where I really began to hate it. The headmaster was a strict disciplinarian and was disliked by everyone, teachers included. For some strange reason, he took an interest in me and for this reason I still have some regard for him. I was considered abysmal at games and gym, hopeless at science and maths, useless at history and geography and mediocre at all the rest. I did have a flair for free composition and in the sixth form, my best subject turned out to be English literature. This was the subject I was supposed to study at university but I managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory by failing the English exams at the end of the first year. I switched to languages instead.

I have always had problems with exams. This is because of a sort of mental block that I have. If I have to complete a task by a deadline, something happens in my brain. It’s as if a shutter comes down and I can’t get started on the work. If I do manage to do a little bit, I feel so bouyed up as a result that I shelve the entire task for several days until fear of the approaching deadline stirs me once more into half-hearted activity. This is not a good way to prepare for exams. It was what caused me to make a mess of my second-year exams. I remember my Spanish professor, whom I liked and admired, looking at me over the list of exam results, and asking in great disappointment “Why? Why?”

Somehow, I managed to graduate with an upper second, despite not doing any revision worthy of the name and skipping the classes that bored me. But studies aren’t everything and at university I learnt far more than book learning. For that matter, I read a lot of the set texts for the first time after finals, when the pressure was off and I could enjoy them…

I stayed on after graduation and spent two happy years writing a thesis for a postgraduate degree. This idyllic time had to come to an end, of course. I remember sitting in the lounge of the Students’ Union one day and suddenly realizing that my university career was at an end. So was my money. I needed to get a job and sharpish. So, by one of those delicious ironies, I became a teacher. I fetched up in a “New Town”, teaching in a big comprehensive school. That taught me a few things, mainly that I wasn’t much good as a teacher. At the end of the first year, they came to me and wanted to make me an assistant house master. The idea would have frightened the life out of me but for the fact that I already had another job.

And so I set off hopefully for The Smoke*…

*Old slang term for London.

Today’s ramble took us to the London Borough of Newham but of course we passed through other areas to arrive there. Newham itself divides into districts which I will indicate as appropriate.

There isn’t a narrative for this trip and I will simply show you some photos I took as we went.

This is the Shoreditch side of Old Street where we changed buses. The view is looking towards what used to be called Old Street Roundabout. It had been rearranged to eliminate the roundabout but the crossing is complex with the result that is now a traffic bottleneck causing long tailbacks, especially at rush hours. Whatever possessed the road planners to make this disastrous change, I do not know.

An oasis! We stopped off for a coffee break in Leyton (Waltham Forest).

Near Costa are these market stalls in the street. I don’t think there are enough of them to call this a market but it seems busy and thus to serve a purpose for the local community.

This interesting structure, whose ground floor has been vandalized by an Iceland store, is a puzzle: is it an old Woolworth’s store or was it perhaps a cinema? We don’t know. Perhaps further research will provide an answer.

This corner building has a certain elegance to it. It is currently home to a branch of Barclay’s Bank and, I suspect, was originally built as a bank (though not necessarily for Barclay’s) with residential apartments above. Note the gables with clamshell motifs. The main one, on the corner, also has bells in the design.

Another intriguing but spoilt building that seems to speak of a more illustrious past. Cinema? Department store?

Now in Newham, I had to photograph this building using the iPhone’s panorama function because I didn’t have time to choose a better perspective. If you look closely you will see that it is decorated with relief work. Again, I have no idea of its original purpose.

Tigger took this photo of a corner-site pub called the Coach and Horses. You can just see the figure of a horse on the roof. By coincidence (if it is coincidence), this figure turns up again later. The pub has closed and is to be redeveloped as a residential block comprising 29 homes. When the Coach and Horses was still operating, it billed itself as “the birthplace of Iron Maiden”, though whether that was a recommendation, I am far from sure.

In Forest Gate (Newham) we found this drinking fountain and cattle trough combined with a clock. It seems to be Victorian and to have been been moved here from its original position. I think the clockmaker’s name is A.H. Rowley Parker & Co of Clerkenwell. The latter district used to be famous for clock and watch makers from the Huguenot era onwards though little sign of this remains today. I haven’t been able to find any reference to a clockmaker of the name cited.

This is Forest Gate Station. The railway reached here in 1840 and the first station, a wooden structure, was built a year later. I have not been able to find out when the current station was built but think it is Victorian.

We were intrigued by this round building in front of the main station but I have not so far located any information about it. The roundel attached to it differs in colour from the more familiar ones belonging to the Underground and Overground railway networks. It is the symbol for the new Elizabeth Line that is under development at present.

This sculpture, The Preacher, by Peter Lazslo Peri (1961), is on the front of Forest Gate Methodist Church which is currently closed. A new church is to be built and the sculpture will presumably be moved to it. The rather anorexic-looking figure is shown declaiming passionately while waving a book, presumably the Bible. To my eyes, though, the expression on his face seems to be one of horror rather than exaltation.

We stopped for lunch at The Hudson Bay, a Wetherspoon’s pub. The name comes from Sir John Pelly, a local landowner in the 18th to 19th century who was also for a time governor of the Hudson Bay Company.

This is an inadequate photo of Newham Town Hall in East Ham. It is so big that it’s not possible to photograph it as a whole. It is a magnificent building, clearly designed to express the civic pride of its founders. Its earliest parts date from 1901 but it took several years to complete.

This photo may give some idea of the complex detail.

Adjacent to the town hall is a library building though the library itself has moved to a more modern building.

This photo, showing the town hall clock tower, is taken looking along the front of the 1904 Technical College, now rebadged as a Sixth-Form Centre.

This is a distance view of the technic college now sixth-form centre.

One of the entrances of the college.

This is a detail from one of the gateposts and represents what I take to be the god Pan, a rather whimsical figure for a place of learning. The gateposts are topped by griffins (mythical winged beasts with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle) holding erect shields bearing the college’s and borough’s coats of arms.

Near the college on the same side of the street is the above, the old Police Station. It has been closed and is looking a little sad. I hope that it will survive with a new purpose. I could not see a date anywhere but it looks to be from about the same period as the town hall and the college.

And here, finally, is the “coincidental horse” that I mentioned in connection with the Coach and Horses pub. It is above a parade of shops opposite the old police station but does not seem to be related to any of them. Its presence therefore begs a question because such an (expensive) artifact would not have been installed for no reason. It is slightly different from the pub horse – shown as moving more slowly, perhaps – but is very similar. It therefore provides an equine mystery to end on!

On my way past the Tower of London this evening, I was captivated by the moon shining above it. I was not the only one to notice it and stop to take a photo.

Unfortunately, the photo does not do justice to the scene.

This photo was taken at Cross Harbour, a place at which we arrived by accident.

How do you go to Cross Harbour by accident? It’s quite easy, really. You take the 205 bus from Islington to Liverpool Street Station, where you intend to catch a train for the next part of your outing, and then become immersed in such an interesting conversation that you miss your stop, aided by the fact that the familiarity of the route does nothing to jog your memory. Next, you change to a bus to put you back on route but by mistake board the one going in reverse direction, at which point it seems better just to carry on the Cross Harbour, take a toilet break at ASDA and start again from there!

We passed through several districts on the way. The above was taken in Bromley-by-Bow. It shows a fine old building that is now derelict that once held a post office and shops. What fate awaits it? No doubt demolition and replacement by some ugly modern building.

This not very useful picture shows what looks like a railway bridge but is in fact a park.

To be exact, it is Mile End Park which was supposed to be part of a grandiose scheme to create “green corridors” linking the centre of London to the suburbs. The plan was never carried through, leaving Mile End Park as a back-water memory of what might have been, though one that it valuable in its own right.

I took this photo from the bus as it passed through Stratford Bus Station. You may remember this bus station if you read my post Wet and windy where I recounted how I fell and was picked up and looked after by kindly British Transport Police officers before being taken to hospital in an ambulance. From the bus we saw the exact spot where fell but as we remained on the bus, there was no chance of history repeating itself!

Eventually, we reached our intended destination, a street in Upton Park called Green Street.

Before starting our exploration, however, we stopped for lunch at the restaurant shown above.

It is called Turkuoise and, as the name suggests, is Turkish. For starters, Tigger had stuffed vine leaves and I had lentil soup. To follow, we both had vegetable casserole, a good choice for a cold day like today. It comes with either rice or bulgar wheat so we had both! To drink, Tigger had her favourite, ayran, and I had my favourite, Turkish tea. (Turkish tea wasn’t on the menu but I asked for it.)

Afterwards, we explored Green Street. I don’t know how long it is but, having walked the whole length, I can say it is very long!

I don’t know what Green Street was anciently but today it is a fascinating area to explore: a long shopping street virtually all of whose shops, malls and “bazaars” serve the needs of the local Asian community.

As well as shops selling food and household goods, there is a large number of fashion boutiques stocked with Eastern-styled clothing for both women and men. Shops and stalls selling jewellery also abound.

Seeing the East Shopping Centre we went inside to take a look and found that it was a microcosm of Green Street as a whole.

We ventured off Green Street into the neighbouring residential streets. Here we found terrace houses of a by-gone age, typical of suburban London residential housing stock. Many had a flat plaque as part of the original design, no doubt intended for the householder to add a house name. Most were blank but a few had been used for a display of calligraphy in what I think is Arabic. I don’t know what this one says. If you do, please let me know!

It was a surprise to come across this large building that declared itself to be an Ursuline Convent. It’s called St Angela’s and I believe it also runs a school.

Another building of note was this one, originally called Barclay Hall. It was built in 1900 by Quakers as a religious and social centre. Some modification to the original appearance has occurred in the meantime and it has been renamed Churchill College.

Reaching Upton Park tube station was a sign that we were nearing the end of our trek. There was still a little way to go, though…

Journey’s end came when we reached Barking Road and this splendid pub called The Boleyn. The name refers to the no doubt apocryphal belief that Henry VIII’s ill-fated wife Anne Boleyn had some sort of connection with the area.

As for us, our brief connection with the area was now at an end and I was content to take myself and my tired legs onto a bus!

Today we return to London but we are in no hurry because we are having lunch with a relative before taking the train.

The day is cloudy with a promise of rain and, as we have to take our bags with us, not conducive to walking the streets. The solution is to go to Costa for breakfast and stay there until lunchtime!

I took this quick snap of the clock tower as we hurried past. It was built to mark Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee in 1887, being completed just two years later. The clock’s bell was striking 12 as I took the photo.

A little further along, we came upon this curious object. An amusing and thought provoking artwork. It is by Alex Chinneck and is appearing in a number of towns.

We had lunch in a cafe then went to Margate railway station and sat in the comfortable and elegantly furnished station buffet until it was time to go onto the platform for our train.

And here we are on the HS1, heading for London and home!