Page 3
Small
Beginnings – Summer 2003
Memories
Lynne Marshall was born during April 1948 and attended
Barling School from 1952 until 1959. Lynne is currently a lecturer in
Occupational Therapy at the Colchester Institute. Lynne is a qualified occupational therapist, possessing both
bachelor and master university degrees, and for many years worked as a
therapist in north London, and then later in the Colchester area.
Lynne lives in north Essex.
Question: What is your greatest memory of your Barling School Days ?
Answer: Playing group games such as skipping and Granny’s Footsteps in the playground; building a huge snow fort on the playing field following a very heavy winter storm; the smell of woollen mittens drying on the fireguard in Mr Learmond’s classroom; watching the film of Genevieve on many occasions; the novelty of the Christmas party; the school library which I managed to read my way through, discovering Biggles and Enid Blyton on the way.
We lived next to the brook that leads to the Creek with our large garden backed onto Kimberley Road (which at that time, was unmade), so it was a short walk for us to the creek. I spent most of my spare time playing around or in the creek – climbing the cockle shell ‘hill’ next to ‘Gaffer’ Mumford’s cockle shell crushing shed, or crossing the old wreck from one side of the creek to the other, swimming at high tide in a specifically not-too-muddy spot, scrumping in an orchard on the Barling side and watching the races at the cycle track of the Estuary Eagles. One day, I got stuck in the creek as the tide was coming in (there is something very gluey about that mud) and had to be rescued leaving my wellies behind. There is also a 2-inch scar on my leg as a result of being chased out of the orchard (while scrumping) and falling onto barbed wire.
My father kept a few pigs on our small-holding and one of them, Gertie by name, often escaped from her run and took off down the village street where my mother had to give chase with the meal bucket and a wooden spoon trying to entice her back. Another pig (Daisy) my father trained to sit and lie down. My father also grew strawberries and sold them from our front garden. To this day, I hate strawberry jam as we had jars and jars of it every year. Other very happy memories are of sports day held on the school field, fetes on the Parish meadow, and harvest suppers in the Parochial Hall, where it seemed the whole village turned out and had a good time. I consider that I had an idyllic childhood in my own adventure playground comprised of the creek, unlimited countryside, our unused pigsties, a stable where the straw was kept and a small orchard. I spent hours just playing, climbing, swimming, making little homes in the pigsties, and walking with our dog, Rusty who accompanied my brother and I everywhere. In fact Rusty was taken for lots of walks by others of my generation !!
My
years in Little Wakering and Barling gave me a great love of the countryside
and village life and I have lived most of my adult life in similar villages
where the fete and harvest supper are still highlights on the annual calendar.
Question:
Did you have a favourite teacher ?
Answer:
Miss Riley was always my favourite.
I am often reminded of her when I see and hear large sheets of paper
being torn neatly across, as she used to tear them, using a ruler as a guide.
The sound is like no other.
Question: Where did you live while you attended Barling School ?
Answer:
For my first 3 years, at the Police House in the High Street ,Great
Wakering, (alas, the police no longer have a presence) and then from the age
of 7 at Dreadnought Cottage, Little Wakering Road, Little Wakering (where I
believe ‘Jummy’ Groves previously lived).
Question: How did you get to, and from, School ?
Answer:
By bus from the Police House in Great Wakering, and walked from Dreadnought
Cottage.
Question:
What did you like the most about Barling School?
Answer: The smallness of the school community where everyone knew everyone else. I always felt very secure and thoroughly enjoyed all my days at Barling School.
