Looking at my school photo from 1973 it holds many memories for me good and bad. Strangely, I can remember back then while sometimes I can’t remember what I did yesterday.
This picture was taken in October of the year I mentioned in a photographic trailer outside the reception office of lower school of Mostyn. I remember having no idea there was a planned photo call in the offing. I may have been on the mitch when the announcement was made or deliberately late for registration.
So when my class were called out I was puzzled to what was going on. Something to do with the school nurse was my first thought until word was given to me of our pending photo session. It was soon suggested we use some delaying tactics to eke out more time away from the class we could be very naughty.
The red spot on my nose was a pimple I popped that morning just to get me some wandering time down to the secretary to get a plaster or some tissues. Still how hot do I look and I still find it impossible to believe girls weren’t beating a path to me. Look at that smile, the unkempt Donny Osmond style hair what a dreamboat, what a catch!
Not everyone was a fan of my hair mum wasn’t she wanted a nice short manageable cut. Then there were my teachers who it wound up most. Mr Howells in particular would chase me down tap me on the shoulder and announce he wanted it collar length with the word girly mentioned on occasions. When he wasn’t around my other ‘nemesis’ was Mr O’Brien but we had a bit of banter about my hair as long as the teacher/pupil line was not crossed.
When at one registration a note was produced from the register asking if I had my haircut and reminding me to get it done, I decided at the spur of the moment I would have a skinhead to shut him and the rest of them up.
Sitting in the barbers on school time my resolve over a skinhead was waning and by time, it was my turn to sit in the chair shrivelled away. To this day I can’t say what made me say ‘two inches off the collar, please’ much to the amusement of the barber who asked if I was sure. With clumps of my hair all around me, it was a bit late for a change of mind and when he showed me the finished article, I knew straight away I made a bad mistake.
You know when you feel like a peacock and you want the world to behold the new you, this wasn’t one of those occasions. This was like trying to sneak out of a sex shop hoping not to be seen. When I got back to school, pulled to one side, given a talking to, sent to Mr Howells who was not happy with my new haircut. It was like a bowl cut something from the past where your mum or dad would put a bowl on your head and cut around it. I gave everyone a chance for some amusement at my expense and I began to feel a holiday was called for.
At home mum hit the roof and of course, I put the blame right on the door of Mr Howells. Mum sat back and got down to writing a letter, I was personally to hand it to Mr Howells and mum wanted a reply. After the joshing, I had in school the previous day I was soon making my way to school with the letter in hand with my planned holiday had to go on hold. I would have to run the gauntlet of jokes but the joke seemed to be over so the holiday was not called for.
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