Drop ten, turn and face Quilty’s Football Yarns 40 St Paul’s Way Bow

Drop ten, turn and face

Quilty’s Football Yarns 40 

St Paul’s Way Bow

Martin Rabenau was a PE Teacher when I was at Parmiters Grammar as a student. He was a star teacher just as he had been a great footballer. As someone returning to teaching, I found Martin to be a fine mentor. Being someone who was both a football and basketball coach at the time, his input straightened a lot of ideas I had around coaching those sports. Funny enough, soon I was actually involved in an all OPFC Cup Final, on the other side to him. In what was a big day for the club we were the underdogs because they were the higher XI. Those intra club games were particularly edgy. Thankfully, we came out on top to win 2-1.

St Paul’s Way was a predominantly Bangladeshi school, co-Ed but with an unusual demographic. Two thirds of the students were boys and a third girls. In practice this meant that while most classes were co-Ed some were boys only. This I would think was a preference from some parents for single sex classes. Going from the comfort of a City dealing room to teaching PE in Bow was certainly a culture shock. That said I was fortunate in that of the 80 staff retrenched on the same day as me, I was the only person with another professional occupation to return to.

St Paul’s Way, Bow was unfortunately the location for one of those governmental policy muck ups that have you shaking your head. At this time East London was accomodating both Vietnamese and Somali refugees. It seems the assumption was made that Muslim Somalis would fit in well with Muslim Bangladeshi’s. Wrong! They fought at school, after school and again the next day. Serious inter community mediation took place. Unfortunately, the Somalis, who were fresh from a war torn country brought a ‘grudge culture’ with them and the adults at home seemed to be reloading their offspring to come in and fight again. Things got worse with scummy ‘Sun Reporters’ began creeping around the school in search of a story. Those Somali students were not really in the right mindset for school. We had several with gunshot wounds from conflict and they often walked in and out of class not ready for the organisational time-table of a secondary school. The lack of language support set the experiment up to fail. 

That all said getting back into teaching as quickly as I did was fortunate. The national economy post 87’ Crash was slowing down alarmingly in 1990. In fact the whole world was heading for a downturn. Spending the year at St  Paul’s Way Bow was good for me but by now Terrie and I were living at Higham’s Park. We had had Dan who was just 15 months old and Terrie had Cassie on the way. Financially, our post Stock Exchange income had halved and mortgage interest rate had doubled. Trying to get a job closer home seemed sensible. Thus, when Martin got me an interview at a school nearer home run by another Parmiters ex- teacher Tony Maxwell, things looked promising. In the interview I was promised a one point promotion position to go with the role. It was a surprise then that after accepting the job the confirmation letter made no mention of a  ‘promotion position’. Confused and annoyed I wasn’t willing to just let it go. I phoned the Headmaster of the school and told him the offer was wrong. In the conversation he back tracked and suggested the promotion point was only a possibility. Rightly or wrongly, I took a moral stand. I told him I was used to dealing with people whose ‘word was their bond’. I wouldn’t be taking the job working for someone I couldn’t trust. Irresponsible, I know but it was how I felt. 

So there I was. In need of a job for 1991. Fear can be a good motivator. Immediately I started to visit local schools close to Higham’s Park putting out CV’s. As I related in an earlier another yarn, walking into Warwick Boys school, I snagged a job without realising it. There, in the school front office, it was all sorts of busy. I decided not to wait and tried to hand the CV over to a bloke behind the counter. To my surprise he held my arm and started a conversation. 

Man behind Counter. “What is this young man?”

Me. “It’s just a CV”.

Man behind Counter(Still holding my arm) “What do you do?”

Me. “I teach History and PE, can you pass it on?”

Man behind Counter. “When can you start?”

Me. “Immediately. Who are you?”

Man behind Counter. “I’m the Headmaster, Can you start Monday?”

Me. “Yes, but I want a one point promotion point”.

Man behind Counter who was the Headmaster.”Ok, see you Monday!”

And he did. I had a job five minutes from home!

Drop ten, turn and face. Quilty’s Football Yarns 39 County NatWest London Stock Exchange again.

Drop ten, turn and face.

Quilty’s Football Yarns 39

County NatWest London Stock Exchange again.

Having originally had, and taken, the opportunity to start and run my own business, by 1986, I decided to wind it up. The Hackney & Bethnal Green Link was no more. Terrie and I had married on Sept 6th 1986 and I was now in need of employment. Back in the early 1970’s I had worked on the London Stock Exchange, leaving in the downturn of 1975. Fortunately, my cousin Johnny Hill was still up in the City and he helped me remake the connection. 

At this time, the Stock Market and Banking were undergoing the phenomena of ‘Big Bang’. This basically meant that UK markets were being opened up to foreign competition, having been protected up until this point from outside influence. The response of the UK banking system was to form ‘one stop shop’ Investment Banks. Lloyd’s, Barclays and Nat West all expanded into a wider range of financial services.  With a multi-billion shopping list they all acquired various Stock-Broker’s, Stock Jobbers, Merchant Banks, Foreign Exchange and Finance companies. At the same time, many world class financial service providers came to London. HSBC, Bank of America, Saloman’s, Tullette & Tokyo, Swiss Bank and Deusche Bank to name a few.

My new job was to be with Scottish stock-broker Wood Mackenzie, in their settlement’s office up near London Wall. This was a very exciting time to be returning to the City to work. The money was good, bonuses promised and prospects attractive. Johnny was an Equity Market Maker. This was the new name for Stock Jobbers in the new screen-based markets of ‘Big Bang’. Although, I started work for Wood Mackenzie, a whole series of quick paced takeovers took place meaning I went from Hill Samuel to County and then County Nat West in just a few months, without actually changing my seat at work! As ever I was ambitious. I noted that in this new world financial order, "Compliance and Regulation" would be important and more importantly, the whole Stock Exchange dealing culture would need to update. My immediate plan was to study and pass the Securities Industry Examinations. First the Registered Trader and then as Registered Representative. Planning ahead, I saw that if a dealing opportunity arose, I would like to be well placed to take it. The prevailing culture on the Stock Market was still very much ‘fly by the seat of your pants’. I quickly realised that it would need to change as the industry became more professional. Long lunches and drinking at lunch-time would eventually stop. Qualifications would become vital for progression and I gambled correctly. 

The screen-based trading system was still in its infancy, but firms were increasingly becoming beholden to computers. My aim was to become like Johnny Hill, a Market Maker. This was someone who acted as a wholesaler for particular stocks, and ‘made a market’ for brokers to trade in. Market Makers did not trade with the public. Five or six firms would make a market as buyers and sellers of particular stocks. Their two-way prices appeared on the screen for brokers to see. They were committed to trade in particular ‘size’ of transaction to maintain liquidity in the market. By making this ‘market making’ commitment the Investment Banks received generous tax treatment in terms of capital gains and stamp duty. 

Fortunately, an opportunity arose for me in the dealing room of County Nat West. I’d quickly got to where I wanted to be. In late 1986 Stock Markets around the world were on a bull run. The 'greed is good mentality' was pervasive. As equity traders the boys at County certainly led a busy yet financially rewarding life. I was 31 at this time and was married. My boss, Michael Pauk was a few years younger than me and our whole team were a few years younger than him. The temptation to push on after work was a big one. For instance, there were particular IDB brokers like Tullet & Tokyo who would offer to ‘entertain’ the dealers almost every night. They obviously had big budgets and would literally take the boys out to any event they wanted to go to. Personally, I went with them to the Bugner v Bruno fight at White Hart Lane and Herol Graham v Mike Mccallum World Title at the Royal Albert Hall. Both massive Boxing events they took us to. Obviously, they entertained people because they wanted business pushed their way. Nothing illegal in that but all potentially awkward. 

The traditional UK dealing culture came under a lot of pressure as ‘outside’ practitioners came onto the London Stock Exchange. The old ‘my word is my bond’ adage now had an asterisk next to it. One day a sharp broker got me to quote a price and next day claimed he was a seller rather than a buyer. I had to go down and listen to the telephone tape to check what was said. It was very nerve-racking. I turned out to be correct, but it was a lesson learned. My boss warned me to watch out for verbally acrobatic shysters! People often ask about the pressure of market making. Two stories illustrate its ups and downs. One day I was asked to sit in for a few days to trade someone else's stocks. Unfortunately the market was awful and in one stock we had about 15 million shares, also being the company broker. Every time they ticked down our P&L showed us losing money. To make it worse, ‘friends’ often asked us  to buy more at an improved price! Pressure built on me, my discomfort a spectator sport in the office. In the end I offered 5 million at a low price locking in a loss. The ache in the neck of being in such a situation was unpleasant. 

On the flip side one day I hooked up a big buyer and seller all day long making a fortune for County in the process. As the market slowed after the 87’ crash I took more interest in the financial side of the companies I traded. This stood me in good stead with accounting later life.

National Westminster Bank, who owned my firm County, were the UK’s largest Bank in 1986. In five years they have given up this position and were actually taken over by Royal Bank of Scotland, a big fall from grace. There were two main reasons for this. 

The first revolved around a company takeover they facilitated in the boom times of 1987.  British firm Blue Arrow were bidding for Manpower a larger global Employment Services firm. This take-over involved a share offer. The media said’ In 1987, Blue Arrow was at the centre of a financial scandal when employees of National Westminster Bank's investment arm, County NatWest, covered up a failed issue of £873m’ As the Company Broker, County were responsible for announcing its success or failure. In the event only 50% of Blue Arrow shares were placed in the market. County announced that all 100% had been sold creating a ‘false’ market. Somehow, County Nat West decided to hide what amounted to half the company shares in various divisions of the banks corporate structure. Of course, this was soon discovered the ramifications causing heads to roll all the way to the top. 

A second scandal indirectly involved me and the dealers in my dealing area. Because Investment Banks sometimes handle the affairs of multiple business’s, they create information divisions called ‘Chinese Walls’, This, is supposed to protect sensitive information. On this particular, quiet day, one of our corporate analysts was taking a short cut through our dealing room. She had been to a company briefing and had important ‘good news’, with regard to a business NatWest represented. This news was ten minutes away form being announced into the market. Co-incidently, she got called for a phone call, as she walked past our dealing desk, the one that dealt in those shares! Our two market maker dealers, sitting nearby, overheard her conversation. Hearing what she said they decided to try to reverse the firms ‘short’ position to avoid losing millions of pounds. Immediately, they called me and the rest of the other dealers to get on the phones to ‘buy back’ our ‘short  position’. This was done in three minutes and we managed to neutralise the short position saving the firm big money. The only thing was, the 'announcement' still wasn’t out yet. The guys then decided to go around and take out the market again, actually putting ourselves in a winning 'long' position. Next morning the Stock Exchange received numerous complaints from other market-makers that we had front rum the market on sensitive information, which was true! Panicking, Nat West came to question the dealers and suspended them immediately. Little did we all know but not only were all phone calls recorded but even the dealing area was ‘miked-up’ 24 hours a day. Every word was recorded. A year later the two dealers appeared on Insider Trading charges in the City. The judge asked them how much they had made personally from the deals. When they said nothing, which was correct, the judge dismissed the charges. Nat West was forced to re-instate or compensate them, doing the latter.

While 1987 had been a great year for the market, by October, things started to unravel. Black Monday in London was awful in terms of weather. a massive storm preventing many getting into the City. I lived locally and walked in. This day was to be the first technology based Stock Exchange crash. Things were so bad that every time you answered the phone it was to buy shares going further south. Then in the chaos of a crashing market, suddenly our whole dealing system crashed. We couldn’t see our screens so couldn’t answer the phones! It was estimated that this actually saved County Natwest 20m pounds in three hours. Comically, around 11.00am with our screens still blank, the Bank of England sent a messenger to our offices in Drapers Gardens to see what was happening. The conversation went something like this:

After a knock on the door.

Messenger.” I’m here from the Bank of England”.

NatWest Boss. “Yes, what do you want?”

Messenger: “We need to know why you are not answering your phones. As Market Makers you have an obligation”

NatWest Boss. “Sorry, our computer system has crashed, we can’t see our positions”

Like a naughty boy we had been told off!

The market was never the same again after the 1987 Crash. It was a world wide phenomena but certainly hit NatWest hard. I survived the first two rounds of redundancy. This in itself as stressful. On one occasion we lost 40 staff. On the previous occasion when I had survived the cut, I have memories of seeing those flashing phones and screens at empty dealing desks that stay with me. I remember telling the boss that no one was left on the Engineering desk, all the team had gone. He asked me to take calls there for the afternoon. It was a bit longer, as it turned out, I was there for the next month! Corporate planning is not all it is made to be!.

Eventually, my own day came in early January 1990.  I recently watched the film Margin Call. The beginning portrays a scene within an Investment Bank pre-GFC, where a round of retrenchment is just about to begin. Dealers looking up anxiously from their desks as silently HRM staff circle the room tapping losers of the lottery, on the shoulder. A gloomy procession snakes across the floor as those selected go to meet their truncated fate. 

Spookily, this was exactly my fate in January 1990 as I, and 80 others were let go by County NatWest Equities in London. What is even more remarkable to me is that the script has not changed in 30 years! For me that day we were held for what seemed an age before being shuffled in to meet two HR people. As in the film, I was told that this was nothing to do with me or my performance, it was just a symptom of the time, three rough years after the 87' crash. Basically, an offer I could not refuse was made. Statutory remuneration payments, an ex-gratia payment amounting a substantial 'we are getting rid of you and feel guilty about it' payment, extended mortgage relief at 3%, the market rate was 14% at the time, and a week’s outplacement advice on finding a new career.

As in the movie, the brutal reality sting came when a security guard appeared at the office door. The instruction consisted of "Mr Quilty, this gentleman is under instructions to escort you back to your desk. Please give him your security pass, he will give you a black plastic bag. (In movie they have graduated to cardboard boxes) You have ten minutes to clear your desk. You will be escorted from the building and will not be allowed to return. Mr Quilty please understand that the firm bears you no ill feeling, this decision is not personal you are one of eighty staff being let go today"

Watching that scene was personally memory evoking. It dug up all sorts of feelings, long gone, buried in time. Immediately I'd say that it was a shock but no surprise, I had survived the two previous rounds of retrenchment at Nat West. That in itself had been eerie because like in the film Margin Call, the surviving supervisors also call out to 'lift the troops' morale saying you are the dealers chosen to take the firm forward. Whether you are going or staying in such a situation it illustrates how we give too much credence to bosses and their ability to 'plan strategically forward'. I was fortunate that morning in January 90' because I had existing teaching experience, most of the other 80 dealers had nothing to fall back on. 

As it turns out I sensed something was going on and had spoken to a teaching mate Martin Rabenau about possibly needing work. He he said he might be needing someone down at St Paul’s Way in Bow. When I called him on Friday to tell him I’d lost my job he said “Ok , come here on Monday”. I said, “Can we make it a week later, I’m feeling tired and emotional!” 

I went out immediately and bought two  Addidas ‘shell track suits’ and within a week had given over my City clothing and ties, for teaching PE to Bangladeshi kids in Bow.

Drop ten, turn and face. Quilty’s Football Yarns 38 Starting a business from scratch. The Hackney & Bethnal Green Link.

Drop ten, turn and face.

Quilty’s Football Yarns 38

Starting a business from scratch. The Hackney & Bethnal Green Link.

Returning to London after being away working in Houston, Texas, I arrived home with a plan. I would start my own business. One based on the relatively new ‘Free Newspaper’ concept which of course is driven by advertising. London at this time, especially Hackney was in the doldrums in terms of its economy. The unemployment-rate in 1984 was 12% and returning to the UK, I was listed among those unemployed. My mates from Leeds University, Brian Beacom and Bren McLaughlin, were both across the ideas of ‘Free Newspapers’. Brian was up in Johnston in Glasgow, while Bren’s brother Paul, was  in Stretford Manchester.  The ‘free-paper model’ was one that eventually proved to be one of the original disruptive technologies. Most localities had long established, weekly ‘pay’ newspapers. We had the Hackney Gazette and East London Advertiser. Around the country it was a similar story, and most were prime targets for something involving a knew way of viewing newspapers as a product. 

Interestingly in late 1984 we were on the cusp of a major shift in printing / publishing technology, who knew that such a year could be the one that threw up a revolution in the manipulation of news copy, that changed a whole industry? Desk top publishing was just about to take major strides and it would undermine, generations of ‘skilled’ printers, who were relied upon to pick and form the lead letters for the print press. While my idea, the ‘Hackney & Bethnal Green Link’ and Brian’s ‘Johnston News’ used old technology, Bren’s brother Paul McLaughlin was into desktop. He took the opportunity to raise funds from the Prince of Wales Trust and got a crucial start on everybody else. 

Technology aside, starting a business from scratch was daunting. My old mate from Hackney College, Saul Jacob liked my idea and we decided to enter into a 50/50 ownership partnership. Saul and I went up to Glasgow to see Brian’s newspaper operation, which gave us a good insight into running a paper. Looking back, I think we had about a thousand pound each to put into the start-up. We approached the Hackney Enterprise Board for help. Their job, in a time of high unemployment, was to encourage, guide and ultimately fund start-ups, such as ours. The first requirement was to come up with an initial Business Plan. They gave us some advice on putting that document together. Basically, our vision was to publish a Community based paper with a run of 22,000 copies. The product would have 16 pages, some colour elements and be distributed to much of Hackney and some of Bethnal Green. Being in such a low socio-economic area, our Target Customer Profile tended to fit a low-income demographic. It wasn’t a problem because that was exactly who lived in this area. 

Delivering our Business Plan to the HEB we had to ask for the amount funding we wanted. The HEB assessed the idea and finance application. Looking back across the years I have related this story many times. We requested 35,000 pounds, in hindsight way too little! We were absolute ‘greenhorn’s’  generally in business, but in publishing in particular. The money would come in the form of a loan that could be drawn down. In reality we needed a professional advertising manager, a professional paste-up person and someone to run an office professionally. We should have gone for 150,000 pounds! Proof that the HEB could have been persuaded is evident in another idea they backed. This idea revolved around having a central computer library data base for clothing and tailoring patterns. East London was massive in the rag trade with thousands of small to medium clothing producers. The guys with the technology start-up, established a computer based, data base which would enable small-producers to come and access the patterns for thousands of clothing items. The HEB actually gave this start-up business 350,000 pounds! A whole set up of a brand-new computer system and hardware. Not just that, but the business, in a year of operation, never actually opened its doors to trade for one day! Although they had a great idea the owners never actually made a connection with their potential customers, the rag trade owners in East London. A massive marketing fail. Reflecting on this, I believe the HEB got a good run for their money, with the LINK. 

One good decision we did make was to go with a Limited Liability company for legal status. We bought an ‘off the shelf’ company called Emeliss Ltd. Saul and I would take on particular roles in the business, which was to be located in the Old Metropolitan Hospital building in Kingsland Road, De Beauvoir. We took a unit in what was a shared facility building. All kinds of service and small manufacturing firms were based in there. Saul was responsible for Advertising and Distribution while I did production and the journalistic side. Both of us were starting from scratch on what was an uphill challenge. The HEB provided us with valuable Financial and Marketing advice which would normally cost 200 pound an hour if paid for. In addition, we were appointed a ‘white knight’ / business mentor / adviser, Phil Rotherham who would provide many hours of free input to get the newspaper off the ground. Phil actually gave us a van to use in the business. Sadly, within a year he had passed away and Terrie has reminded me of a tragi-comical event that followed his passing. Saul and I had to return the van to his son because it formed part of his estate. While there we were invited to Phil’s funeral service in the Strand. Appreciative of his help we both went along to the service. Unfortunately, we were there at St Mary le Strand Church, while Phil’s service was down the road at St Martin in the Fields! Once the realisation set in, we made our excuses and left, having mourned someone completely unknown for half an hour.

With unemployment so high in East London we actually took on eight workers who would get paid by the government, an amount above the unemployment benefit. They came to us and got all kinds of publishing, advertising, journalism and general office experience. The LINK started as a monthly then in a while went fortnightly. We outsourced the printing to a family business in Bow. All good until the day we went to visit them one day, and realised their operation was complete chaos with the various pages of the paper all around their warehouse. The type-setting, we were still on old tech, was produced up in Glasgow because there it was just a third the price. The only draw back was that I’d have to go to Kings Cross station at 4.00am to pick it up off the night train. As was the practice at the time we had to also join Trade Unions in order to avoid ‘aggro’ around producing a publication. I joined the National Union of Journalists (NUJ) while my partner Saul joined NATSOPA the production union. For a newspaper dependent on advertising it was not really a good idea to have no expertise on board. I was no salesman, but Saul was. The only problem being that as a yiddisher boy he couldn’t resist doing a deal. Unfortunately, we made the initial business decision of heavily discounting the advertising. What was listed as 600 pound per page was reduced in practice to 300 pound. Once you sell through discount it is nigh impossible to get that customer to pay full price. Even more importantly we were not accessing revenue from Hackney Council because someone there, a councillor had a bit of a vendetta against me. He believed that my political background was to do with right wing politics, which untrue. The damage was done when he blocked access by us to council adverts for six months. What went in the Hackney Gazette should also have come to us but he blocked it. This cost us quite a few thousand pounds at a crucial establishment phase of the business. A funny true story emerged from this council road-block for the LINK. Good friend, Leslie Harrison, who ran the Acorn Pub in Queensbridge Road, said he actually knew the councillor. More than that, the bloke actually worked/moonlighted weekends at the Daily Mirror, quite a well remunerated occupation. Leslie was also well connected at the Daily Mirror, and said he knew the bloke and would have a word. A few days later I was at my mum’s when there was a knock on the door. It was the councillor. I didn’t know what to expect but the conversation went like this.

Councillor: “Steve, it is Steve Quilty isn’t it.

Me: “Yep, that’s me, what do you want?”

My defences were up but I was ready to have row with him.

Councillor: “Mate I’ve come to apologise, there has been a big mis-understanding. You guys are entitled to Council adverts. I have fixed it.”

Little did I know but the Daily Mirror work allocator had told him that unless he stopped blocking ‘a local bloke trying to run a business’ he would never receive a single shift again at the Daily Mirror! End of story problem sorted. One of my best memories of the LINK revolved around my future wife Terrie and one of my life-time friends the late Tony Fuller. The first edition of the LINK took me nearly 36 hours to cut and paste-up. Something I could do today in less than an hour on a computer program. Standing in front of my paste-up board I was almost hallucinating with tiredness after so long. In the end Terrie stepped in and finished the job and making it ‘print ready’. Tony Fuller was a natural artistic talent. He was actually working in graphic design but had a real talent for writing. He actually started one of the first Football fanzines The Spurs linked ’Cockerdoodledo’. Tony was vital in forming our ideas on what the LINK would look like. He wasn’t a partner but gave invaluable input and did a lot of the photography.

The link actually ran for 18 months. The product improved as time passed. However, Saul and myself were still virtually working for nothing. One story illustrates our lack of experience. Saul secured a whole page advert form ‘Mr Bubbles Car Wash’ It was a car with bubbles emerging from inside. Little did we know that the ‘blue bubble copy’ we received would actually disappear when printed. Blue copy does that, any experienced printer would know it and that is why ‘pen marking’s’ were always in blue on artwork, they disappeared when printed. In this case when the advert ran in the paper, it came out as was a just a car, no bubbles! It cost us a run of 3 x 600 pound’s lost revenue.

I was actually enjoying the journalistic side of the business. You had the power to create and give prominence to local news. My journalist union card also got me access to my beloved Tottenham Hotspur press gallery on match days. I covered Paul Miller’s Testimonial game interviewing him at Spurs Cheshunt training ground. Even better than that my hero Glenn Hoddle sat in on the interview, as I interviewed East London boy Paul. The actual game was Spurs v Glasgow Rangers which was Graeme Souness’s first game as their manager.

As 1986 progressed, it was clear that in spite of all our efforts and improvement, we were struggling not only to make a profit but were getting in debt while working. I remember Terrie saying this to me. We were getting married in the September. With this in mind we decided to cease trading with Emeliss Ltd and the LINK. Saul and I went to the HEB and explained our situation. We actually owed nearly 20,000 pounds on the loan. We also had insurance/ endowment policies secured against our company overdraft. Unbelievably, the HEB offered to write off the outstanding loan. On one condition. We didn’t go up the road and start a similar business within six months. Looking back we were so lucky. On the spur of the moment I went to our new, reliable printer and paid them the 7000 pounds bill we had with them.  I realised that by the end of the week we would be unable to pay them and I felt bad about that. He was very surprised me coming in to pay early but I desperately wanted to avoid the LINK ‘knocking’ someone who had been so supportive. We were still owed money by a few customers but I was advised not to chase it because it would just disappear back against the HEB loan. It was a difficult decision to finish something we had created. You have a lot of ego tied up in such a time commitment. As fate would have it, the return of our ‘endowment overdraft security’ of 15000 pounds, would in 1992 provide our first house deposit in Australia. 

The last edition of the LINK appeared in September 1986, just as Terrie and got married. As luck would have it, the London Stock Exchange had just undergone massive change, later referred to as ‘Big Bang’. My cousin Johnny Hill who still worked there since the 1970’s, got me a job with his firm Wood Mckenzie, in their back office. History was repeating for me and I was thrown back into the world of suits, ambitions to be a trader and a very well-paid job. And this opportunity I gladly took.

http://stevenqoz.blogspot.com/?m=1

‘Drop ten, turn and face.’ Quilty’s Football Yarns 35

‘Drop ten, turn and face.’ 

Quilty’s Football Yarns 35

Castleford Challenge and Polling test

Starting at the University of Leeds School of Education in mid-1982 signalled the home run of my six year qualification journey. I suppose seeing it through to its conclusion was most satisfying, because it had involved a big element of swimming against life’s tide and current. The Post-Graduate Certificate involved both a Major in History and a Minor in Games. I would be qualified to teach Secondary school kids. The games element allowed me to teach the ‘non-specialist’ stuff which included Football, Rugby League and Union, Basketball and Tennis. We picked up coaching qualifications for all of these across the year. It excluded such specialities as Gymnastics and Trampoline. As you can imagine the course had elements of both teaching theory and practice. I must admit a lot of the Teaching theory seemed a bit pointless at the time, but that was me. What I really enjoyed was the practical element involving teaching practice where you went out to various schools. At that time, everyone spent their first two weeks at a local Primary school and I was allowed to do my fortnight at Gayhurst near London Fields. Two things I particularly remember about that posting. One was the first day where I was surrounded by a sea of little kids sitting cross legged at my feet. All went well until I asked someone to pass me a ball and I was immediately hit  by six or seven at once. Lesson one. Give clear and specific instructions! The other thing I remember was taking the Gayhurst school football team for a match on the Red ochre pitch in the middle of London Fields, near the Broadway. This experience told me that it was something I really enjoyed and to this day I still get a buzz out of organising school teams.

Returning north to Yorkshire I found out I was to go to Castleford for my teaching practice. This news raised a few eye-brows amongst my fellow trainee teachers. Castleford High School was about 16 miles from Headingley but a world away in reality. It was rough in a most basic way. Three of us were to be based in the area. At Pontefract, Wakefield and Castleford respectively. Fortunately, one of the group had a car which we pooled, sharing the expense. There are three things you’d need to know about where I was going. First, Coal-mining was king in the town. Second, playing Rugby League was the preferred alternative to working down the mine. Third and most important of all, everyone in the town hated Wakefield. The area had recently been involved in a series of mining strikes, whereby the union had split causing many families to fall out. I was unaware of this at the time, but tension was definitely apparent around Castleford itself. I was to teach History across a range of ages and groups. From what I remember I was given no guidance whatsoever. The teachers who I was replacing literally gave me the exercise books belonging to their classes and that was it. Fortunately, at 27 I was quite confident and had worked in a range of jobs and managed to swim rather than sink. A couple of the boys I actually had in my class, were at 16, virtually already contracted to local professional Rugby League clubs. One in particular, John, was proving to be particularly obstructive in class. He was a 6ft 3in second rower with muscles on his spit. As it turned out I took a risk and offered to go with outside with him to sort things out. I reasoned that escalating things in the class-room itself would be a bad move, so I avoided taking him on in front of his mates. Once outside the room we were standing pretty close. I didn’t actually know what I was going to say but the conversation went something like this. 

Me: “John, what do you know about me?”

Pause and silence. Me: “John, do you know me?”

John. “No Sir.”

Sir, well that was a relief, I was sure that after calling sir, he wasn’t going to actually belt me, not just yet.

Me: “John, I’ve heard some good things about you. You are a big brave League player but I doubt you’d be wanting to be fighting a short arse cockney like me”.

John. “No sir but I think you keep picking on me.

Silence. 

Me: “I want to do a deal with you. I know you are not interested in me talking about History but I need to talk to the rest of the class. Do you understand? I only need you to sit there quiet, that’s all”.

Five minutes had now passed since we had ducked out from the classroom. I could hear a quiet restlessness and scampering, as the class were trying to hear what we were saying.

I took a step back and offered my hand to the boy giant. After another pause he grasped and shook it energetically. We went back into the room. I never really spoke to him directly again but my teaching life improved 200% having John sit passively in the classroom. 

As a trainee teacher on prac you had a supervisor visit every few weeks to observe your lessons. Mine was a bloke named Dr Robert Unwin. He was a brilliantly innovative teacher of History at the forefront of all the evidence-based changes sweeping the profession. I had enjoyed his lectures immensely. Having Robert as a teaching observer, was something else though.  One day he came into the classroom and I realised I had left a pile of the kids writing books in the staffroom. All I said was “Robert, I’m just popping out for a couple of minutes to……..” I didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Robert had grasped the arm of my jacket and was mouthing words that were without sound. He was absolutely terrified of being left with a group of fifteen-year old’s! In the end I had to send a student to get the books. The fear in Robert’s eyes told me not to push it. As I found out later Dr Robert Unwin, like myself,  had also done a teaching prac once at Castleford High, not very successfully. It seems that once he got out of ‘face to face teaching’ he excelled in producing resources and teaching teachers what, rather than how, to teach!

Castleford High was as rough as they come. One day I was on duty at recess. All the doors were locked with the students outside until, on the bell, they were let back in again. My job was to stand in the corridor to maintain an orderly re-entry. Unfortunately, I arrived a few seconds late and the kids had already forced the door open. Not just that, two were actually rolling on the floor, fighting! Instinctively I pushed through the crowd and pulled them to their feet. Then after a second, shocked, I realised that it was actually two girls who were fighting. Even worse, in my shock I released them both and one girl punched the other on the nose, before sprinting off. Within seconds the crowd had swirled past me and I was left alone with a very resentful, bloody nosed, young student. 

In spite of the lively nature of that school, I was getting on well. So well that the Headmaster asked me directly if I minded coming back to do another prac rather than going somewhere else. Somewhat flattered, I agreed and he said he’d sort it with the Leeds School of Education. As the weeks went by they entrusted me with the U 13 football team. No one else seemed particularly interested in football, they were all League nuts. Where the other staff did take notice was when we played Wakefield High. Those bastards had to be beaten in any sport. Taking the team actually involved going to Castleford on a Saturday morning but I didn’t mind. Having a winning team in any sport always lifts people. At this time I was particularly fit and offered to take all the running group up into the hills for a seven mile run. The PE Staff were quite happy to let me do it, even though the weather did look a bit iffy. There I was in my warm track jacket and New Balance running shoes. The kids were in vests and shorts. Off we all ran, away from the school and up into the surrounding hills. Ominously, a steady drizzle started and made it difficult to see. By the time we reached the high point it was now sleet. Visibility was falling and I could barely see the town down below. Then, gradually but progressively the kids to started to slow down to a walk. I was worried. I could just picture the Newspaper headlines. ‘Cockney trainee teacher loses twenty students to frost-bite, on Castleford Fell Run.’ Several of the runners were now sheltering behind an old brick wall. The situation was getting dire. My immediate reaction was to physically remove those cowering behind the brickwork and eventually I got them all running again. The downhill run to the school gave me time to think up my excuses. I shouldn’t have bothered. The PE Staff just laughed and said they wondered what took us so long. I’m sure I learned plenty of lessons at Castleford High but most would not fit into any educational theory or practice. 

By the March 1983 much of my PGCE was done with only a couple of loose ends to tie up. I actually persuaded my tutors to let me finish early.  It was a surprise to most though, that I had decided to stand at the upcoming UK General Election, as an Independent Labour Candidate. The country was in industrial turmoil and Maggie Thatcher oversaw some seismic shifts in people’s attitudes and allegiance’s. For me it involved taking on the both the major ‘Party machines’ and in this case a bloke named Brian Sedgemore. He was a typical career politician being installed in a ‘safe seat’ that he’d barely stepped foot in. In this case Hackney South & Shoreditch.

I garnered a lot of local support. Terrie, my family and lots of friends and their parents. Eileen Bass and Emmy Dorking were the campaign secretaries organising 22,000 leaflets and posters. We had newspaper coverage as well as a video feature on the 6 o’clock News Night show. Hackney South & Shoreditch, my manor, was undoubtedly a socio-economically deprived area. Someone once aptly called it the ‘Dustbin of Europe’. Nevertheless, it was our dustbin. Taking part in an election was brilliant. I genuinely believe that many of our supporters would never have got involved directly in such a thing before or since. On election night they were all there at the count at Hackney Town Hall. I even had nominate a ‘spotter’ who went forward as my representative to oversee decisions on doubtful votes. In all there were nine candidates. On election day on the 9th June 1983, the voter turnout was very low. Unlike in Australia, voting in the UK, is not compulsory. Brain Sedgemore picked up his reward of a safe seat. In the end I came fifth of nine, beating the Communists, National Front and various loonies polling 704 votes. Not a winner but having done very well in the local area I was later approached by both Labour and Conservatives to run on the local council. Unconvinced, I set about doing my probationary year as a Secondary school teacher in London. Actually, as it turned out, the first to undertake their probationary year as a ‘supply teacher’ and to that I will now turn.

http://stevenqoz.blogspot.com/?m=1

Drop ten, turn and face. Quilty’s Football Yarns 37 St Bernard’s in Bethnal Green, then Houston Texas.

Drop ten, turn and face.

Quilty’s Football Yarns 37

St Bernard’s in Bethnal Green, then Houston Texas.

As I related previously, St Bernard’s was a twin site Catholic Boys school, the lower school in Mansford Street and the upper being in Wood Street off Valance Road. This was the old manor and stamping ground of the Kray Twins. At this time in 1983, Bethnal Green was already undergoing change but in many ways St Bernard’s was still ‘old school’ in many senses. The upper school was run by a Headmaster who wasn’t actually a teacher. Mr A Hawkridge was a former Air Force officer. Apparently after the second world war many ex-forces officers were appointed to run schools as universal education expanded with a need to appoint people who could manage and lead. The school merged with Bishop Challoner in 1991, losing its individual identity.

I only worked at St Bernard’s for a year, it was my first permanent teaching job. I taught History and PE. The lower school was run by the deputy , Joe Webster, he was a teacher and more importantly a hard bastard. At this time corporal punishment was still in operation in London schools and Joe was the mostly likely person to dish it out. Unfortunately, some teachers would think it ok to physically belt kids. I discovered one day that the kids were wary of a clip round the ear. We were walking a big group of Year 9 kids over to the park when one jumped over a low fence. Conscious of this I just leaned across to call him back. In an instant the student had grabbed a stick and hit me across the arm! I was taken aback at this and asked him why he had done it. “I thought you were going to hit me”, was his response. 

At St Bernard’s I coached senior football and junior basketball. The latter was quite new for me but in Year 7 we could beat most sides in the area. Always up for competition we went down at the beginning of the year and beat Humph Long’s Raines side. The significance of this was that Raines were regional champions who trained every lunchtime living and breathing basketball. Just a few months later we took on the same school and they blew us away. My concentration on zone defence as a basis wasn’t going to take us very far!

At this time at St Bernard’s I was training for marathons. Fortunately, I persuaded a group of ten senior students that we should do running for PE. We used to run from Valance Road down to Vicky Park then make our way around the marshes in school time. Getting paid to train was great.

In football it was a different matter. We were below the radar hot. Being a school with a low socio-economic base, we got paid to take after school activities. Mine being football. It is the story of my teaching/ coaching life that my footballers often exist on the edge. Typically, I’d often hear my footballers in the classroom next door giving hell to supply teachers. Many a time I’d intervene by going into the room and making up a bullshit excuse to get them outside. Usually, once outside the conversation would consist of, 

Footballer student. “What’s the matter sir? Why are we out here?”

Me. ”Because you guys are giving that poor teacher aggravation! Do you know how difficult it is to get people to come?”

Footballer student. “ No sir, sorry sir”.

Me. “ I need you to go back and watch. Don’t take part in any mucking about. Imagine you are a fly on the way. I need you to do it for me.”

I can’t say it necessarily worked but behaviour adjustment for students has always been important for me as a coach and teacher.

St Bernard’s was struggling. We had rolling strikes and working to rule.  Absenteeism amongst staff was very high. I’ve always believed that in any school where there are more than 6 or 7 staff who just continually take time off, the school is in downward spiral. A staff which doesn’t care for the consequences of not turning up will have no cohesion. Mr Hawkridge often dealt with teacher shortages in a strange way. He’d get a whole class to sit on the stairs. One step each. His idea of supervising a class was to walk down the stairs once, counting the kids and then back to his office. That was it! At St Bernard’s I had multiple clashes with teachers who tried to use my football team as a way of controlling their students. One day I was getting the side on the bus when someone called Penna came out and told one of my boys he couldn’t go to football, because of a detention.  As you can imagine my answer was along the lines of shove your detention where the ‘sun don’t shine’.

In a great season we went all the way to the final of the London Cup which was played at East London Stadium. I have related this campaign else-where but it is worth reprinting our list of games played.

Round   Opponent  Score

1  Hackney Free & Parochial 3-2

2  Central Foundation             4-2

3  St Bonaventure’s                 5-3

4  Dagenham Priory                4-0

5  Carshalton School              2-1

Semi  George Monoux            3-2

Final  Sir Henry Thornton       1-3

This was an amazing effort from our boys to make a London Final but it hardly registered at the school. Most of our supporters on the day were bunking off school!

Looking back to 1983 I still struggle to believe that I was so disillusioned after just two years teaching that I decided to leave my job and go abroad. As unlikely as it sounds my destination was Houston, Texas to work for my mate Chuck as a building renovation foreman. I can hear people laughing at this minute but I was indeed going to supervise tradesmen on site. Chuck was a multiple skilled builder. He got regular repair contracts from his mate Johnny Johnson who worked for America’s biggest condominium firm, Johnstown USA, as referred to in the Bruce Springsteen song. 

One day he sent me to do a beginner’s ‘Air conditioning course’. I went but it wasn’t exactly my thing. After the theory session I had to go out with a qualified bloke for a practical. All fine as most A/C units were on the roof.  We got up on the roof and just sat down eating our lunch. I asked what needed to be done. He said nothing apart from this. Immediately he took out a hammer and started bashing the A/C unit. Then he stopped. “Why did you do that?” I asked. He replied with “Son, there is mystery in everything. You just heard the mystery of A/C and people will pay $400 call out charge, for it. They don’t know what we do but it has to be noisy!” Chuck took on a 'free' job one day involving doing a mate a favour. Only problem was, he needed quite of his friends to help him! There we were down at Houston University, 10 O'clock at night painting the ceiling of their student social hall. Not too bad a job but the colour was black and it had to be sprayed. Throwback memories of working for PYROCK came flooding back. Literally because the black paint was thrown skyward from a hopper. We all went home covered in it but Chuck was happy.

Depending on the work Chuck had many people he could call on but actually employed very few people. I lived onsite in one of the Condo’s. This could be awkward because his workers were paid daily while Johnstown paid Chuck monthly. A classic cashflow problem. Our workers were predominantly Mexican, Nicaraguan or Guatemalan. Great workers but always wanting their cash at the end of each day. Chuck often forgot to pay them or just told them to come to me. Being a business model with an eternal cash flow problem, Chuck’s solution was not the best.  This was actually the first time I ever heard of ‘Factor Finance’. Chuck used it to get cash against his Johnstown invoices. Always accepting $47,000 when you are owed $50,000 may be good for liquidity but is crap for profitability.

One day Chuck got a job to renovate 44 units in a fortnight. I stood with him as he assured Johnny Johnson that he had workers to do the job. He spent the rest of the day on the telephone getting workers to come work. Houston was very much an oil reliant city that followed the oil price. In this case it was booming and these 44 units had not been occupied for nine years but were now economically viable. If repaired. Turning up at the site next morning with Chuck, the place resembled a refugee camp. A hundred workers were sat in groups with their tools. Waiting for a ‘start’. For the next few hours we apportioned them to individual units where they would sleep and eat for the next two weeks, until the work was finished. My job was to oversee the work. These blokes were good at the work but you needed to keep on top of them when on day rates. Plaster-boarding, epoxy spraying work around kitchens and general making good. The places were often rotting through neglect but within a fortnight would be redone and rented out. One place was rife with bugs in the carpet, a heater had been left on in the unit for weeks. I stayed in Houston for five months. Found a football team to play for and generally got on well. My mate, Neville Sharpe from Hoxton, came out to work as a plasterer, which was well paid. On the way to pick him up from the airport in Chuck’s truck I decided to a ‘right on red’ which was allowed in Houston. Unfortunately, I rolled around, with the road clear, before actually coming to a stop. In second’s, the red and blue lights went off behind me and got me to pull over. The conversation went,

Policeman. “Young man you just ran a red light’

Me. “ I’m terribly sorry I thought it was allowed”.

Policeman. “No, you didn’t stop first. I need to take some details”.

Is this your car? No

Who owns It? My mate Chuck.

What is his address? I don’t know.

Do you know you have no back number-plate. No

Do you know you have a back light missing? No

Do you have a Texas driving licence? No

By this time the list he was writing was long one. Then he asked me where my accent was from

“ Oh, officer I’m on holiday here from London”

“London, England? Wow. It’s your lucky day.”

He was in the action of screwing up his paperwork as he told me I’d just saved myself $600 in traffic offences. He wished me “Good day, drive carefully”, as he turned to drive away.

I was in Houston five months in all before returning to England. Terrie and I took over the Fellows Court flat again. Old mate Kevin Wilson had been living there for six months. Going back to Hackney I had an idea. I was going to copy my mate Brain Beacom in Glasgow, who had started a free newspaper, but mine would be in East London. And I did. It was called the Hackney & Bethnal Green Link.

Drop ten, turn and face. Quilty’s Football Yarns 36 Teaching in London, George Green, Isle of Dogs.

Drop ten, turn and face.

Quilty’s Football Yarns 36

Teaching in London, George Green, Isle of Dogs.

Returning to London from Leeds meant that I had a few things to sort out. The first was somewhere to live. I could have gone back to mum’s or indeed stayed at Terrie’s parents place. However, it is always good to have a place of your own and I had been a bit strategic while up in Leeds. I’d put my name down on the Hackney Council list a few years before returning south to London, knowing all along that I’d need somewhere to be based. As things transpired my name had not advanced at all on the list. In response to this disappointment, I decided to tell a small white lie to help my cause. Speaking to the council officer I made a case for a flat of my own, because being a teacher, I needed somewhere to prepare lessons, my parents place was always busy and in addition to the noise they often locked the door early and I had trouble getting in. Mum laughed when I told her what I said but amazingly it did the trick and within a week I was offered a one bedroom flat at 369 Fellows Court near Hackney Road. Terrie and I moved in to our sixth floor haven immediately.

My second task was to actually get some teaching work. Initially, I signed on for Division 5, which was Tower Hamlets. My own school, Parmiter’s Grammar School, was originally in Bethnal Green, so I was comfortable working in the area. As a 28 year old, new teacher, they actually told me I’d be employed as a Supply Teacher this first year. Technically I could be sent anywhere but in the event, I was mainly at George Green on the Isle of Dog’s. This was when Canary Wharf was still but a twinkle in a developer’s eye. I did work an odd day at Daneford, Morpeth and Stepney Green but once on the Island, they kept me there. 

George Green turned out to be a good fit for me. The Deputy, Sean Maginy seemed to trust me and kept bringing me back. Being a relatively local bloke had its advantages. I had a good rapport with the local students. A fortunate incident in some ways paved the way for this. On this particular day, I went out when school finished to catch the 277 bus. It went all the way back to Hackney. At this time I never had a driving licence. Upstairs on the bus I went and being a big kid, chose to sit with a lot of the bigger George Green students. All was well until the bus started making stops. As it did, the boys I was sitting with would open the buses back-window and jump down to the street that way, from the top deck! After three consecutive stops where the students went out via the window, the bus driver pulled over and came up to warn of ‘trouble’ if it happened again. As he turned away, he said to me “And you can stop laughing as well”. Stunned, my fly on the wall presence was suddenly abruptly changed. The driver refused to drive the vehicle any further until the George Green boys alighted. And there we sat for ten minutes. To make things worse a student clashed with another passenger and in no time his parent was also on the scene and a fight ensued.  Thoroughly pissed off and still a way from home I went down and told the driver if he wanted me off the bus, he’d have to move me himself. The student I was sitting next to, was, I later discovered an England boxer and recognised me as the new Supply teacher from the school. Then just as the atmosphere on the bus started to go even more downhill, the police arrived and threw everyone, including me, off the bus! This put an hour on my journey home, but in the wash up, it was worth it. Next day walking into George Green, I walked past a big group fifth year’s at the school entrance. They didn’t really allow me any space to slide by but from the centre of the group came a big voice.

“Oi, you’re that teacher who threatened the bus driver yesterday” I stopped dead. “Ere that’s you ain’t it?” I nodded weakly. “Well done sir, you told him”. And there I was, being acknowledged openly by the best fighter in the school. The crowd stood back to give me some room and from that moment I had a free pass around what a tough place. My mate ‘the boxer’ ensured that. The island inhabitants had a bit of a siege mentality but if they liked you would be very loyal.

I suppose I did fit in where others might struggle. An example being when I was drafted in as a replacement for ‘Room 5’. This was a special reception room for students who got thrown out of their class. A particular teacher, Pat Rowan, was usually the only person to work there. This day, Sean Maginy, asked if I was willing to go in and run it because Pat was away. So there I was in Room 5, at 9.00am. At 9.05am someone kicked the door open, stormed in and threw a book off a seat and onto the floor. After a second’s pause, I said “and who are you?” For the next five minutes the student ranted how unfair it all was. Gradually I calmed him down and without thinking, engaged him in casual conversation. Which estate are you from? Are you a footballer? Which team did you follow? Almost immediately his attitude changed. Here was the secret. Most students who arrived at Room 5 just needed to be calmed down. Such interactions made me quite useful to the school as an alternative person in Room 5. I was pleased with the regular work but after a few weeks noticed that while I was working six period days, there were always other Supply teachers who hardly left the staff room. Speaking to Sean I said “Sean, I not moaning but how is it those other blokes are always spare and I have six on, every day?” His reply shocked me. “Steve, I’ll be closing down the school before I ever allow any of those blokes into one of my classrooms!” And so it was. The School authorities had a deal with the unions that said ‘returning teachers’ had to be allowed on site but wouldn’t necessarily teach. These three basically sat in the staff room shuffling paper, got paid but didn’t teach. One in particular, was called ‘choo choo’, by the kids. He obviously had a few unresolved problems but when he was in the classroom the students used to distract him. In an English lesson they would distract him by asking, “Sir, how do I get to Sheffield from London by Train?” Instantly ‘choo choo’ would stop the English lesson and start sketching the British Rail map and timetable on the board. They had him at the word ‘train”. The school itself lay on the unfashionable end of the the Greenwich foot-tunnel. One shock at George Green, came when it was discovered that the Headmaster had had a nervous breakdown. No one knew. He was always an ‘office type’ boss but at this time he came into to work for three weeks before his deputies realised that there was a problem. Sad.

At George Green I got an opportunity to work with the football team and an outside coach called Jimmy Firrell, who scouted for West Ham for many years. He was the nicest bloke. The school team played across the road at Millwall Park. That confused me a bit because we were on the wrong side of the Thames, or so I thought. Someone said that Millwall may have actually been based this side at some time. Who knew? The Arsenal are from Woolwich so anything is possible! 

It was a funny environment, very few kids ever played out in the playground. That was until a hundred Vietnamese ‘boat people’ children arrived at the school and they, like magic, transformed the outside spaces by playing all sorts of old fashion kids past-times. Skipping, ball games and ‘rules based’ activities. 

The ‘Seven Up’ TV series was up to 28 by this time. and I managed to persuade Bethnal Green boy Tony ‘I want to be a Jockey’ Walker to come in to speak to our Social Studies classes. They just happened to be watching the series. For such a spur of the moment thing, the kids loved him. It was easy to relate to his experiences. It’s scary that the series has just delivered 63 Up. Yes, I still laugh at Tony’s jokes and we both support Spurs! 

During my year at the school, I volunteered to take away a Senior Student Group as the teacher in charge of an ‘Outward bounds’ trip to Mid North Wales. Terrie came along with us, as did another teacher Robert Llewlyn-Jones. Numerous individuals also came along to quietly advise me that I was mad to take away this group of sixteen year old boys and girls. We were going for a week. Our job as teachers was to oversee the group, while qualified people took all the activities. It was a great week. Most of these kids would hardly of ever left the Isle of Dogs in their lives. One day while camping we discovered that young Charlie Borg disliked wildlife and the open air. Thus, anything he saw near the tent he felt obliged to kill. Bee’s, mice and ants would not be tolerated. He refused to come out on a hill walk with us, so we left him back in the tent. We sat and watched from up on the hill to see what he might do, when we left.  Sure enough, Charlie Borg came out, grabbed a stick and proceeded down to the river. Here he used it to beat a dead sheep that was floating in the water! Charlie aside, the rest of the group were great and enjoying themselves rock-climbing, abseiling and running the assault course. That is why it was so annoying that the Centre staff had a crappy attitude towards them, as ‘City kids’. One bloke in particular, Roger, went out of his way to rile them. A good example being that our lot had to make themselves lunch, every day. Bread and peanut-butter sandwiches were a regular for take-out lunch. No problem but Roger insisted on tormenting them by drinking his daily flask of hot soup while they watched. Every day. If that was not bad enough, he dropped snide remarks about problematic ‘Londoners’ as well. I never really saw him do this, but it was happening. Thus, I was really glad I didn’t discover what they did to him, or should I say his soup. We were well on the way back home to the Isle of Dogs when I found out.  Yes, apparently, one of the students had pissed in his soup and they all watched him drink it! Terrie had got an inkling that they were planning something but didn’t know what. She didn’t actually tell me until we were on the bus to London. I enjoyed the year, my probationary year, as a Supply teacher. Then out of the blue I got offered a permanent job nearer to home at St Bernard’s in Bethnal Green, which I accepted immediately.

‘Drop ten, turn and face.’ Quilty’s Football Yarns 34 Living the life

‘Drop ten, turn and face.’ 

Quilty’s Football Yarns 34

Living the life

As I came to the end of my degree in 1982 I was quite aware of the privileged life I’d been living. Regardless of no real cash, life in a share house and playing football only two days a week, I was grateful for what I had. The UK economy was limping out of a recession, unemployment had reached 3m or 12.5%, in January 1982. Inflation was coming down from a figure of 16%, so being able ‘sit-out’ from the mainstream in our part of Headingly wasn’t so bad. The six year ‘teacher training’ course I was doing was in its fifth year. My mum Maureen wasn’t that impressed or convinced that I was pursuing the right career. A favourite of hers was. “Those poor teachers (she worked at Hackney College) the kids there are little f—kers! Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” Encouraged by her confidence I pressed on hoping to be admitted to a place, at the of the year, on the ‘One year Post Graduate Certificate of Education: ‘Majoring in History with Games as a Minor’. This would be at the University of Leeds, School of Education.

Brian Beacom had by this time gone off to do Teacher training up in Newcastle, while Brendan McLaughlin was doing Accounting back in Manchester. Paddy Galvin had also gone back across the Pennines to pursue Business. My football team Spurs was outperforming expectations by making and winning the FA Cup once again, so all in the world was good, on that level.

Brian had had a major escape that year. For some reason known only to himself he had gone skydiving up on Tyneside and the parachute had failed to open to its full extent. He hit the ground damaging his knee but on impact the reserve chute opened too, the buckle cutting his face. Brian spent weeks in hospital. Because his accident made the local TV and media, several old flames rushed to the hospital to be at his side. He was always one to play the eternal sympathy card!

Having lived in the old house Brudenell Mount house for three years, we had a minor disaster when returning from holiday to find the whole place had flooded. The University were very good and immediately moved all five of us into Garstang Flats, on campus, for a couple of months. This was my only time in the whole four years to be living in the University grounds.

During this year, one of the quite memorable things I did, was to sign up for an ‘extra’ non-counting unit of study. ‘Ancient Hebrew’. The reason I did it, was to get an insight into the language that I had learned in its colloquial Modern form, whilst on the Kibbutz in Israel. What transpired was that I got a ‘fly on the wall’ insight into the fantastic mind of Professor David Isolin, a brilliant multi-lingual scholar of Middle Eastern Ancient Languages. The course, although language based, was also built around Ancient History and how it related to many Biblical stories. It was fascinating and enabled me to gain some insight into the way the Ancient and Modern Hebrew languages related to each other.

As the University year came to an end, I submitted my thesis on ‘The Origins of Political Debate in Great Britain”. Funny enough one of my minor History units probably gave me more trouble. I actually forgot that is was one that had a ‘final’ examination linked to it. Thus, I had a mad rush to do it to be cleared to Graduate. Such was the trauma around this near miss, that even today, I wake up from dreams where I have forgotten about the need to do such an examination. I’m always relieved that it was only a dream!

As June approached Terrie and I agreed to go away to Camp America together. In later years she became Programme Co-ordinator for Camp America in London. At this time, I was the one most connected because I was the Leeds University student interviewer for that programme. We went back out to Camp Delaware in Connecticut. I worked with the 13 year old boys, while Terrie took the 15 year old girls. Groups with just a two year difference in physical age but more like five mentally. The two sides of camp were divided by ‘main street’, a dirt road that went across camp. There was a tradition of ‘raids’ by the boys over to girls-side. My 13 year old’s knew about raids but didn’t really know why they were going. One night, three boys confided in me that they intended to go raiding at 2-00am. 

Boys: “Steve, what do you think is the best route to go raiding girls-side would be?”

Me: (After a bit of thought) “Go straight down main street, no one, especially the mean security guard and his dog, would possibly expect you to go that way”.

And they did. I knew they did because at 2.05am I heard the sound of feet running into our wooden bunk. It was clear that whoever was running had slipped under a bed before being hauled out again. The security guard had not fallen for their devious plan.

When camp finished in its usual crescendo of happiness and despair, around the inevitable Colour War, Terrie and I went down to New York to stay a few days. We stayed with her family in the North Bronx. Aunt Kathleen and her husband Paddy. He worked for years at the famous Bronx zoo while Kathleen worked in a local Bank. It was great to get a chance to stay a while in that neighbourhood with its deep Irish association. One of the memorable things in this short stay was going to see an early screening of the film ET. This was wonderful, especially as we had had no real expectation with it, missing out on much of the media hype that surrounded the film. 

After New York, we flew south to Florida and stayed in West Palm Beach with my uncle Micky and his wife Brenda. They had four young children and had only emigrated a few years earlier from London. My cousin Michael, Micky’s older son, was also in Florida on holiday at the time. 

My uncle Micky had a business involving the home delivery of videos. He was (is) a very talented woodworker. Thus, to meet a need he had fitted out his delivery vans with an elaborate shelving system. Amazingly, a businessman had spotted what he had created and from that, a whole side business was created as people paid him to customise their vehicles as well.

Leaving the family, we hired a car and drove up to Daytona Beach. Terrie was the driver because I at this time had not taken my driving test! We drove up to Daytona then across to Orlando and Disneyworld. The Epcot Centre wasn’t open until later in September. Fortunately, we got a chance to visit Camp Delaware counsellor Mitch Lemus in Gainesville while up that way. The ‘Orange Bowl’ College American Football game was in town that week. Florida v Miami a big draw. One of Mitch’s mates, Dick Singer invited us up to his parents place in New York and we did so on our return north., flying out of Jacksonville on the budget airline People Express. As our American trip came to an end we indeed visited Dick Singer in Mamaroneck. He lived in a very unusual house with a tower. Dick also had a three-legged dog. It was an interesting stay. His parents were writers. His mum Loren Singer wrote a well-known book, ‘The Parallax View” which was made into a film starring Warren Beatty.

Arriving back in the UK, I prepared myself for a final year up in Leeds. Just before I went back, I went to work with old mates Gary Collins and Johnny Colbert who had taken over a sandwich shop opposite Leadenhall Market in the City. What an experience. The shop was called ‘Doorstep’s which described the ample sandwiches the store was renowned for. This store was potentially a gold-mine. Unfortunately, it was so busy that the new owners had no real settling in period to learn the ropes. I worked alongside Gary at the front of the shop making and serving the food. Big Johnny was toward the back making hot drinks. One funny episode involving Johnny epitomised the miss-fit in this whole situation.

A customer ordered a tea and a mushroom omelette to take away. We at the front of the shop took only a passing interest on what was going on. Then after a little commotion the customer stormed out. Asking Johnny what had happened he said,

“The bloke ordered a mushroom omelette and a cup of tea”

Gary looked quizzically and said, “So what did you do?”

Johnny replied with, “I left him standing there for ten minutes and then when he asked for his food, I denied he had ordered it!”. Puzzled we asked him why he did it. Johnny answered by saying,

“I didn’t know how to make a mushroom omelette, so couldn’t make it for him!”

Gary and Johnny’s ‘Doorsteps’ was probably an opportunity missed for them, but such is life.

I headed back north to start my PGCE in Leeds having discovered yet another thing I wasn’t very good at, but then again nor was Johnny

‘Drop ten, turn and face.’ Quilty’s Football Yarns 33 There’s nowt as strange as folk.

‘Drop ten, turn and face.’ 

Quilty’s Football Yarns 33

There’s nowt as strange as folk.

Getting back into study after 3 months away in Israel and Egypt was difficult. Mainly because Leeds was so cold. Our house at Brudenell Mount wasn’t far from the University itself but meant a brisk walk across Woodhouse Moor. Doing this was painful not least because the path was often frozen and if not, so hard and cold that it made your feet hurt every step. The area where we lived was opposite the old Hyde Park Cinema, restored from some bygone era. The demographics of the area were pretty low with hundreds of similar houses populated by either students or Anglo-Pakistani’s. Our house at number 60, had the advantage for us of being owned and repaired by the university.  They also sent cleaners in once a fortnight. I didn’t really get to know many locals apart from one bloke, ‘Nutty’ Paul Johnson. That wasn’t my nick name for him but was applied by Brian, Bren, my other housemates and Terrie once she got to know him. He’d had a very serious car accident and was really in a bad state living at his parent’s home. Paul told us he made the decision to leave home and live alone, in a place up on Hyde Park Road. He believed he wouldn’t recover being cared for. Paul was an obsessive. He would take his whole flat apart each week and clean it from top to bottom. “Jif cleaning fluid’ was his weapon of choice. He dressed immaculately but carried his right leg somewhat as a result of the accident. Paul was never short of an opinion and had a very thick skin. He was probably the original conspiracy theorist I ever met. Most of his ideas were out there but as early as 1980, he was talking about ‘burning sun rays’. He was a regular sunworshipper but only between certain hours. He was also a professional gambler who stuck rigidly to his system and view of betting ‘value’. I went a few times with him into the city greengrocery markets, where he would give every stallholder tormenting hell. Paul was an undoubted racist but then he hated anyone not from Yorkshire. He called me a ‘cockney gob-shite’ the first time we met. I couldn’t really argue with him there. In truth Paul shared his annoyingness around, it was the one area where he didn’t discriminate. Paul hated the ‘Top of the Pops’ show which started 7.00 pm on a Thursday evening. Thus, at 6.55 pm there would be a tap on the back window, as he turned up to watch it in our house alongside all my housemates. I certainly copped some stick for encouraging him. Some said he was a kind of social project for me. I’m not sure about that but I certainly collected some waifs and strays. Tolerating Paul was generally a shared job at 60 Brudenell Mount over the four years. However, he really pissed Terrie off, when she came up to visit. First off, he continually moaned while watching Top of the Pops on our telly. Not just that, he insisted on going home to get his ‘Jif’ to polish our fire-place hearth. If that wasn’t enough, he’d stay on until 11.00pm and insist on smoking one more cigarette in the house before going home. 

One day Brian Beacom snapped at him. Paul had been spouting racist based stuff all evening. Brian tried to reason with him, but little got through. The final conversation that night went like this.

Paul Johnson; “Yorkshire is ours and no outsiders should be coming here” 

Brian: “There are 22,000 students here and they add to the local economy, especially here in Headingly”

Paul Johnson; “Well they can all go home, especially those from other countries, if you ask me”

Brian. “Ask you? Who the f—k is going to ask you? You know what you should do?”

Paul Johnson; “No what?”

Brain. “Go home and top yourself because no f—cker will care!”

Do you know what Paul did? Just sat down, got out another cigarette and sat down laughing.

His ‘Nutty Paul’ nickname was well earned.

Over the four years I had quite a few lively housemates at 60 Brudenell Mount. Blond Dave was a classic. He had ridden his motorbike down a country lane one morning and crashed into a herd of cows, breaking both wrists in the process. He had a certain naivety about him and was unwilling to be anything but totally truthful. One early Sunday morning, there was a knock on the street door. It was a girl to see one of the housemates. When she asked, “Is he here” Dave said “Yes” and promptly took her to the fellow students room, knowing full well that that bloke was upstairs asleep with someone else! No one knew how he could possibly have done that, but he did. He couldn’t tell even a trouble avoiding white lie. 

One thing I certainly was at Leeds was very fit. I’d gone with the Athletics club to Nottingham to run in the 3000m relay championships. I was not club class runner but went along to help out. Thus, when the relay started around the campus, I was desperate not to let the team down with a poor time. Such was the nature of the run that it difficult to know how you were going. Many people had seemingly flown past me. It was great surprise then that I had ran our third best time on the day. Encouraged by this I agreed to also run for Leeds University in the famous Poly Marathon at Windsor Great Park in London. This run only had three thousand runners and was not only the UK’s oldest marathon but also the Olympic qualification race, I was in great company. One of the Leeds runners had pulled out and I was his replacement. As things transpired, I had run the London Marathon four weeks earlier and had hardly got past some casual runs in recovery. Amazingly, I did my best ever time 3 hours 23 minutes at the Poly Marathon. The race started at the gate of Windsor Castle but finished in the town. We were told that unless we did 20 miles in 2 hours 30 minutes, we would be stopped and withdrawn, because they were opening the roads back up to traffic at that time. Fear can be a great motivator. The first seven miles was really hilly, in the park, but I stuck with a good group who swept me along. Terrie was waiting for me at the finish, it was a great feeling.  Unfortunately, the certificate I received had the name ‘Graham White” on it because he was the runner I had replaced. I did receive a crystal glass as a prize though. 

As I mentioned previously the shadow of the Yorkshire ripper hung over Leeds in these years. One afternoon I had arranged to meet Terrie from the London bus but I was delayed. There she was, having been dropped off around the city back streets. Fortunately, a cab driver parked -up nearby in his cab, until I arrived on my bus. He got out and explained that in such dangerous times he wanted to stay to see she was okay. Brian, who at one time lived at Lupton Flats, actually lived in the same block as one of the Yorkshire ripper Peter Sutcliffe’s victims, Jacqueline Hill a student at the university. When he was eventually caught in mid-1981, the town breathed a sigh of relief.

As another learning year came to an end, I headed off back to Camp Delaware for the summer. Brian Beacom met up with me in early August and we spent a month delivering cars, city to city across the states. We were traveling with three other counsellors across from New York to LA. The firm “AAA Con’ gave you petrol money and seven days to get the car to its destination. Our first in this case being a compact Japanese car with a ‘U Haul box’ on the roof. The towns rushed by. Philly, Washington, Baltimore, Nashville, Memphis, Little Rock and Albuquerque. We actually started a two- hundred mile diversion toward Dodge City at one stage. I had taken very little note of our route but kept throwing ‘Dodge City’ into the conversation. Only to discover that we were actually driving that way, because they thought I really wanted to go there! We stayed on many university precincts on the way. Always a cheap feed, accommodation and a safe environment. One night our luck ran out finding accommodation on campus. Brian and I  climbed in through the open window of a library and slept the night on leather sofas until woken up be security guards next morning. The Grand Canyon was everything we expected and skirting around Utah we spent the night in Las Vegas taking in free food and drink at the tables. In nearby Gallop we got a less than friendly reception in a restaurant. The waitress literally dropping our meals on the table in front of us. When we questioned two uniformed police on just what was the problem, they told us that she thought we were Americans ‘out of area’. Eventually our British accents did identify us but we were warned not to wander more than a hundred yards either side of the restaurant, because it was some crazy town after dark.

Arriving in LA we got to stay at a fraternity house free of charge. If you saw the state of this ‘party house’ you’d know why. Still it served a purpose and we got an insight into ‘Animal House’ culture. 

At point Brain and I left the other three after dropping off the car. 

An amazing coincidence then occurred because at Venice beach we bumed to an Israeli I knew for Tel Katzir. This former kibbutznik actually had two vacant apartments at Venice and West Hollywood and this is where we stayed for a few days. Before leaving California we also went to Calabasas to stay with a bloke I had helped out in Israel. His name was Mike  ‘Malibu’ Clare. 

He had actually arrived back in Calabasas that day from a year’s overseas travel. His old man replacing his Blue Corvette with a new Red one!

Our next car delivery assignment was to drop of a brand new Camero sports car to Houston. Fortunately, I knew a couple down there, Chuck and Sally.  They put us up for a while and showed us some deep south hospitality. Eventually, it was time for me to return to the UK for University. Brian travelled on, doing on an epic Central and South American journey. He arrived in Argentina not long before the Falklands conflict was to erupt and we had to help him get back home to Scotland!

My story had a few funny elements on the way home. At Houston International I sat and spoke with five young Morman chaps for hours while waiting. Not mocking them but definitely questioning what was the basis of their faith, before they flew to Brazil on a ‘conversion tour’. They gifted me ‘the Book of Morman’.

I stopped off in New York for a few nights. My accommodation was with the late Ray Dorn, my good friend Zvika Dorn’s elder brother who worked on Wall St. Ray being a strict practicing Jew, I couldn’t actually go to his house until sundown on Saturday evening. With a few hours to spare I wandered into Central Park. The further I went the busier it got. Eventually I asked someone what was going on. A local told me “ There is a concert, Simon & Garfunkel live in Central Park”. I had stumbled into a classic occasion with a million other people. I stayed for seven or eight songs and got almost to the front. Then as I was leaving, I noticed that mounted police were forcing spectators to remain standing. Someone explained that the police believed that if they allowed people to sit down, they would start smoking marijuana. Who knew? 

Terrie was also arriving at Heathrow when I got home. In the end I waited what turned out to be 14 hours for her at the airport. Love is worth it.

Drop ten, turn and face.’ Quilty’s Football Yarns 32 Leeds...we are Leeds

Drop ten, turn and face.’ 

Quilty’s Football Yarns 32

Leeds...we are Leeds

Leeds was a great place to go to university. Awful place to watch football but overall a fine city to spend four years studying. I was 24 when I started up there. Older than most students but I always thought that was a good thing. Having been seven years out of school it let me appreciate the opportunity more. In 1979 if you won a place at university in the UK, your local Education Authority paid your fees as well as a small living grant. Being someone who had worked gave me ‘independent status’ whereas most youngsters were ‘means tested’ through their parent’s income. At Leeds there was a whole range of campus and external accommodation available to its 22,000 students. I was certainly fortunate when they placed me in a university owned  ‘share house’ at 60 Brudenell Mount around the corner to the Hyde Park cinema, in Headingly. It was a big old place amongst streets of similar houses. At the time I speculated that if you had the cash it could be redeveloped to reflect its original five bedroom splendour. 

University back then was truly a smorgasbord of opportunity for students. The ‘freshers’ open week certainly offered choice. Parachuting, learning to fly, horse-riding, all manner hiking / orienteering based activities and all the major sports were catered for. In my four years up in Leeds I played Football for the University, worked on the Leeds Student Newspaper and ran marathons for the Athletics club. I really didn’t time for anything else, especially as I was also supposed do some study. 

Whilst up there I met and made friends with two blokes who have remained lifelong friends. Brian Beacom, a Scot from Glasgow and Brendan McLaughlin from Manchester. In my second year in Leeds these guys actually moved into 60 Brudenell Mount with me. That in itself was a weird thing. You are only supposed to have one year in University accommodation. The authorities must have believed I was a calming influence in that house because they let me stay for all four years!

A funny story looking back was how I had had a change of heart about what to study. I went to the Law faculty and asked ‘what was the possibility ‘of joining them. Surprisingly they told me that if I was willing to wait two weeks there was a chance of switching to Law. Apparently, four or five students failed to turn up as planned, each year. In event I stayed with Economics, History and Politics. Looking back waiting two weeks for an answer was not significant in the bigger picture. Who knew?

In truth I wasn’t the typical student. I only remember going to the library four or five times in four years. My week was full of football. A Wednesday and Saturday game and training twice a week. My day consisted of everything but study. Running, walking around campus, watching or playing football and reading the newspapers. Then, about 11.00 o’clock at night I’d actually settle down after all the distractions to work and would go on until 4.00am. Of course this meant I often missed Lectures, no online stuff then. I tended to make Tutorials but soon learnt there were many students actually doing less than me. An example was in John Schwarzmantels’s Political Doctrines course.  There would usually be about ten students in there and two would be responsible for a presentation. There we sat. Waiting. And waiting. Waiting for the two to actually say something but no just silence. This happened quite regularly but Schwarzmantel would just sit there and say nothing. One day I had had enough, stood up and started laughing before saying “This is ridiculous’ before walking out. Of course the students were useless in not preparing something but he was the adult in the room and chose just to sit. Gormless in his inaction. This upshot of this episode was to be called to his office. I went. Once in there Schwarzmantel started some faux rage at me claiming I was rude.  After about thirty seconds I stopped him saying “Get down off your high horse. Who you think you are talking to? Get your tutorials in order if you want me to attend them!”. And he did. For the rest of the year students were told that failure to prepare meant that the tute would have to be made up at a later date.

Leeds had a good reputation as a University. Unfortunately, some of the lecturers were total planks of wood. So much so that they would walk in, read from a script and walk out without once engaging with the audience. Many did their best work in the Uni bar. Personally, I was never much of a drinker and have probably been a tee-totler for much of the past 27 years. However, there was one Friday night in Leeds when I had a few more than usual. Not really an issue but I actually had examination in the Great Hall the next morning, Saturday. The examination was on Economics. Feeling rough I didn’t take too much notice of where I was and a few familiar faces were in there with me. At the time it did go through my that the paper was a bit different to what I had anticipated but kept writing through the splitting headache I was suffering. Then it was all over and I could make my way home for a few hours sleep. Then, as we all filed out of the Great Hall I saw another crowd of students emerging from a building about 100 yards up the road. Yes, it was my Economics class. I had gone in and done the wrong examination. Fortunately, I had not realised my mistake half way through the test, I would have surely panicked then! In the event I was called in by the Dean of the Faculty. The conversation went something like this.

“Ah, Mr Quilty, I just need to ask you a few questions. The main one is, Why did you sit the ‘Specialist Economics’ test when you actually do General Economics?”

Embarrassed, I came back with. “It was all a mistake, I was running late and didn’t realise I was in the wrong Hall”.

“Its not a problem, you actually passed anyway, we just were just puzzled as to why you came to sit the wrong test!’

This probably explains why my attitude towards student misadventure has always been empathetic. I know anything can happen.

As you can imagine, life was good as a student in 1980. Terrie came up regularly to visit. I was surviving in the cold harsh north and it was almost time to go away again for three months, returning one last time to  Israel. Terrie had actually gone back to her Kibbutz Rosh Hanikra in April, it was on the Lebanese Border. I was returning to Tel Katzir for a third time in June. 

The luxury of long University breaks meant that I had a good three months to spend away in Israel.

I went with Finsbury Leisure Centre mate, Dave Jennings and Terrie actually came to meet us in Tel Aviv. Terrie had no time pressure to return to the UK but we agreed that we would might meet up in a while down south in Eilat, when we both had time off. As it turned out she travelled down before me with a group from her Kibbutz. With no mobile phones the communications we a bit random. The evening I arrived in Eilat the sun was already setting. I had no real idea where Terrie would be. Along the beach were lots of giant umbrellas where groups of travellers bunked down for the night. With thirty or forty people together, it was a safe way to sleep on the beach. Throwing a sleeping bag down I settled in for the night planning to go look for her next morning. The one thing I remember in the night was turning over to see this pretty girl looking at me. Even in a sleepy state, I was respectful enough not to stare at what was possibly someone else’s partner. I rolled over and looked the other way. Next morning my fellow travellers were making plans for moving on further down the coast. I would tag along with them. Then just as we were about to walk off I saw Terrie walking towards me. “Where have you been” I asked. ‘Where? What do you mean? I slept next to you last night. We actually looked at each other!” Embarrassed, I told her of my ignorance and also that we were just about to leave! Terrie told us that she had just popped off to the shower block to freshen up and I was just about to leave her.

We spent a few days in Eilat. She actually nursed me after I’d cut my foot open stepping on the razor sharp coral. We both had to return to our own Kibbutzim but agreed to travel to Egypt together.

We travelled from Israel to Egypt in late 1980. Having just finished on Tel Katzir and Rosh Hanikra. We were among the first to get visas allowing us to do so. Fortunately, we had two wonderful Egyptian families to stay with up in Alexandria, people Terrie had worked with in Stamford Hill Salt Beef Bar.

In 1980 the crossing was at El Arish. We just swapped ‘sheroot’ cabs at the border. A place we got held up for four hours was the Suez Canal. Some big ships were going through. The bridge across was actually a ‘swing bridge’ that could be moved. Our driver actually sat us down, whistled across the dunes and ten minutes later a waiter carrying a tray of black tea and cakes appeared. Surreal times

We were fortunate enough to have two lovely Egyptian families to stay with up in in Alexandria. A few days in Cairo were brilliant but it was a difficult town to leave on any form of transport! In the end we exited when a café owner sent his son at five in the morning to get us bus tickets. Our hosts in Alexandria were brilliant. They actually had to register as foreigners staying at their house. Every day a full feast of chicken, fish, rice and mango juice was laid out at 1 O’ clock. The only problem being that exactly the same meal was also prepared to be eaten at 5 O’clock! The old mum asking in Arabic “Why does Terrie eat nothing?”. Traveling between the two houses just a few blocks apart was nigh impossible. As we walked, neighbours would come to greet us. “Who is this”. “Our friends from London” “Good they must come to my house right now!  And we did. Every time to sit in their reception to drink mango juice and eat biscuits. Magdi one of the teenage sons, knew everyone and got us in everywhere. Agami Beach was beautifully untouched. He also pointed out a government building his ‘friends’ had burnt down. One day he took us to a ‘teachers private beach”. Him, his two brothers and us. We were with locals. As we walked along the beach it was as if time stood still. People stopped mid-bite in their sandwich. Although I was an obvious Adonis in all respects, the crowd were mesmerised by Terrie who was ‘a European lady in a bikini’ and beautiful she was! We eventually found a spot to sit but when we looked around there was an audience of ten, looking down on us from above.

Egypt in 1980 was indeed a place undergoing change. One day on the TV, Sadat came on,(a bit like a modern day Trump) and made a proclamation that no beef should be killed for a month. This was to reduce price racketeering. He obviously made a few enemies because he was assassinated a year later in1981.

We intended to catch a ferry to Athens but it was too expensive. Instead we flew from Cairo to Athens for 33 pound Egyptian. Having changed some local currency we needed to change it back. Unfortunately, the bank at the airport refused to do it. Desperate we told a policeman who knocked on the bank door, entered and threatened to arrest the bank manager if he didn’t help us! We found at that time the Egyptian ‘tourist police’ were excellent.

Unfortunately, our Athens plans hit a snag. The ‘Magic Bus’ was not running for three days, we had very little money and just $1 a night for very low level accommodation. A 68 hour bus trip eventually followed across Greece, Yugoslavia, through Italy and France and back to the channel. Only to suffer another five hour delay because of a naval strike worker strike. Arriving in London we had 50p between us and called Terrie’s mum for a lift home to Islington. We were back.