In the same way that all first time parents think that they are the first people on Earth to have children (or that all post virginal adolescents think that sex didn't exist before their first coupling) I find myself realising that I am the first person ever to approach the age of 50. Sorry, but if you were born before 1958 you don't count. OK, you do but I'm pretty certain that you were the first person to approach 50 as well.
But this isn't about age (although the subject will no doubt be mentioned here and there), it's about stuff I remember that I want to tidy up in my head before August next year. If for some strange reason you find yourself reading this then Hello. Leave a comment if you want to but be aware that anything insulting will just look like the saliva speckled ravings of a mouth breathing internet crank - Be honest, nearly all online insults do.
I was born in August 1959 which means that on the 29th October 1964 I was 5 and had recently started infants school. Tyssen Primary School was (and, I just checked, is) just off Old Hill Street in Hackney. Back in the early '60s that part of Hackney still had a sufficiently large non Hassidic Jewish community to warrant dividing the hall at lunchtime into Kosher and Christian dinners. Woe betide anyone being found in the wrong section. The dinner ladies, still finding a use for their Waffen SS training of two decades before, all instinctively knew who was Jewish and who wasn't. It mattered to them not a jot that I wanted to sit with my best friends Roger Warren and Gordon Campbell as they grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and plonked me down between David Elishahof and Eric Reubensen.
At assembly that October morning Miss Fisher the headmistress asked us whose birthday it was today. This was not uncommon as birthdays were a big thing at infants school. After a rendition of 'Glad That I Live Am I' or 'When A Knight Won His Spurs' Miss Fisher (all female teachers in 1964 were 'Miss', married or not) would ask us whose birthday it is. A kid would put his hand up and say "Nathan Cohen, Miss". She would then always say "And what do we say to Nathan?" and the assembled infants would chorus "Many happy returns of the day" or, more accurately, "Nehneh hahe redududuh day"
"And how old is Nathan?"
A few kids would mumble uncertainly.
"Six"
"And how many is six?
We would all clap six times as we intoned "wun, doo, free, vor, fife, zix"
But today was different. A muffled silence followed Miss Fisher's initial question so she offered a hint.
"It's not a little boy or girl at this school"
More confusion until an older girl raised her hand.
"Is it Swinsden Jerjill, Miss?"
"Very good! And what do we say to Swinsden Jerjill?"
"Nenneh hahe redududuh day"
Now came the killer.
"And how old is Swinsden Jerjill?"
The same older kid put her hand up.
"Ninety Miss"
"And how many is ninety?"
This may as well have been googolplex because no five year old had ever encountered such an age let alone counted it but we soldiered on...
"wun, doo, free, vor, fife, zix, sen, eight, nye, den, ellen, dwev, thirdeen, fordeen, fivdeen, sistine..."
On and on it went. Bewildered toddlers all over the room were lapsing into primevel grunts well before 'firdy' and by 'sendy' the entire assembly, teachers excepted, was just mumbling "Gneh, gneh gneh..." our hands red raw from clapping each number . Who was this Swinsden Jerjill git? Why was he ninety and why did I have to suffer this impossible mathematical chore as a result? By the mid 80s some of the older kids could see the end was in sight and picked up the pace a little.
"Aidyzix, aidyzen, aidyay, aidynye, NINEDY!"
And that was it. Nothing from Miss Fisher about Our Finest Hour, his wartime record, his speeches. Still less about Gallipoli, Tonypandy or the return to the gold standard in 1924.
The very next thing I heard about Swinsden Jerjill was that he had died. The whole day was given over to his funeral and this meant all childrens TV programmes were cancelled.
The selfish bastard.
But this isn't about age (although the subject will no doubt be mentioned here and there), it's about stuff I remember that I want to tidy up in my head before August next year. If for some strange reason you find yourself reading this then Hello. Leave a comment if you want to but be aware that anything insulting will just look like the saliva speckled ravings of a mouth breathing internet crank - Be honest, nearly all online insults do.
I was born in August 1959 which means that on the 29th October 1964 I was 5 and had recently started infants school. Tyssen Primary School was (and, I just checked, is) just off Old Hill Street in Hackney. Back in the early '60s that part of Hackney still had a sufficiently large non Hassidic Jewish community to warrant dividing the hall at lunchtime into Kosher and Christian dinners. Woe betide anyone being found in the wrong section. The dinner ladies, still finding a use for their Waffen SS training of two decades before, all instinctively knew who was Jewish and who wasn't. It mattered to them not a jot that I wanted to sit with my best friends Roger Warren and Gordon Campbell as they grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and plonked me down between David Elishahof and Eric Reubensen.
At assembly that October morning Miss Fisher the headmistress asked us whose birthday it was today. This was not uncommon as birthdays were a big thing at infants school. After a rendition of 'Glad That I Live Am I' or 'When A Knight Won His Spurs' Miss Fisher (all female teachers in 1964 were 'Miss', married or not) would ask us whose birthday it is. A kid would put his hand up and say "Nathan Cohen, Miss". She would then always say "And what do we say to Nathan?" and the assembled infants would chorus "Many happy returns of the day" or, more accurately, "Nehneh hahe redududuh day"
"And how old is Nathan?"
A few kids would mumble uncertainly.
"Six"
"And how many is six?
We would all clap six times as we intoned "wun, doo, free, vor, fife, zix"
But today was different. A muffled silence followed Miss Fisher's initial question so she offered a hint.
"It's not a little boy or girl at this school"
More confusion until an older girl raised her hand.
"Is it Swinsden Jerjill, Miss?"
"Very good! And what do we say to Swinsden Jerjill?"
"Nenneh hahe redududuh day"
Now came the killer.
"And how old is Swinsden Jerjill?"
The same older kid put her hand up.
"Ninety Miss"
"And how many is ninety?"
This may as well have been googolplex because no five year old had ever encountered such an age let alone counted it but we soldiered on...
"wun, doo, free, vor, fife, zix, sen, eight, nye, den, ellen, dwev, thirdeen, fordeen, fivdeen, sistine..."
On and on it went. Bewildered toddlers all over the room were lapsing into primevel grunts well before 'firdy' and by 'sendy' the entire assembly, teachers excepted, was just mumbling "Gneh, gneh gneh..." our hands red raw from clapping each number . Who was this Swinsden Jerjill git? Why was he ninety and why did I have to suffer this impossible mathematical chore as a result? By the mid 80s some of the older kids could see the end was in sight and picked up the pace a little.
"Aidyzix, aidyzen, aidyay, aidynye, NINEDY!"
And that was it. Nothing from Miss Fisher about Our Finest Hour, his wartime record, his speeches. Still less about Gallipoli, Tonypandy or the return to the gold standard in 1924.
The very next thing I heard about Swinsden Jerjill was that he had died. The whole day was given over to his funeral and this meant all childrens TV programmes were cancelled.
The selfish bastard.
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