Who can recall their first day at Downer Grammar School?  I remember mine vividly.  We'd just moved down from the Midlands and my parents had bought a house near Kenton Library. From the library there were buses going in six different directions, passing any number of tube stations right across north-west London. Does anyone else still find the numbers 140, 230 (or was it 240) and H1 nostalgic?

(Who remembers summer evenings at Wealdstone outdoor pool before it became Harrow Leisure Centre? And Kingsbury outdoor pool as well?)

But I digress. My first day at school.  About 150 kids milling around in the girls playground by the gym. They all came from local schools, so most of them had someone they could call a friend.  Except me.  I just sat there feeling miserable and very lonely.  I'd been dreading this day for weeks.

There was a gang of about 20 kids who were all together, and I recognised some of them from my new neighbourhood. They'd all come from Priestmead School, just around the corner from our house (where my younger sister was also starting that day). For them this was a whole new adventure and they all carried themselves with the easy confidence of familiarity, laughing and joking and already kicking a tennis ball up against a wall.

I just sat there. Wishing I knew them. Wishing I could call out with carefree assurance, "Pass the ball, Mac," or, "Hey, Andy, have you seen Ju's new jacket?" or, "Wow, look at Valerie Joyce in her uniform."

And I wished that they knew me. I wanted to be greeted as an old friend, and accepted as one of the boys. But I just sat there, feeling too neglected to even care about Valerie Joyce and her new uniform. An oversight which didn't last long incidentally.

I thought of my sister. Things would certainly be worse for her than they were for me. She was entering a whole knew school as a stranger.  A place where everybody knew everyone else ..... except her.  Where everybody knew the routine ..... except her.  I was hoping she'd make friends easily.

"Alright, mate, on your own, are you?" I turned to face two kids. One tall and good looking, the other scruffy and stocky. 

"Er, yeah." While nowhere near Cockney, North-West London has an accent peculiar to itself, and I still wasn't entirely used to it. I'd only really spoken to a few kids in the park behind Priestmead, and they all ended going to Chandos. (Surprisingly I can still remember their names - Duncan Oring, Colin Satch, Des Cumberbatch and a kid who looked like the Artful Dodger in Oliver - the one who ended up doing H.R. Puff 'n' Stuff - you remember).

"Well, I'm Dylan Fenn," said the good looking kid, "and this is Titch Weaver," indicating the shorter, stocky kid.  "We said we'd make friends straight away, and we saw you sitting over here on your own and thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves. What's your name?"

"Er, Karl."

"Alright Karl, pleased to meet you. Titch."

"Alright Karl, how's it going then, eh?"

"Er, alright."

"Alright. So where are you from then, Karl? What school?"

"Er, well, er, not from any school really. You see, we just moved here. From Cannock Chase. Where they had the murders. Near Wolverhampton."

"Oh yeah? I thought you spoke funny. Like a kind of accent, you know. Who'd you support, then?"

"Er, Wolves."

"Wolves! I'm a Chelsea fan, me. Titch supports Tottenham."

"Oh," said I, realising that I would have to drop my lifelong allegiance to Wolverhampton Wanderers pretty rapidly. Thank God I hadn't walked in that playground with a yellow & black scarf wrapped around my neck. Ever the diplomat, and without a backward glance, I immediately deserted the team that my mate Neil Jackson's dad had been taken us to see for all the home games in favour of a London team.  From now on I would support Chelsea. I had just taken my first steps towards becoming a Londoner.

For the first few days of school my accent made me a novelty. But I soon embraced the local dialect and was no longer such an oddball.

Dylan and Titch, if you ever get to read this, thank you.

I remember feeling nervous - but not half so nervous as I did when going up to into the Junior playground at Stanburn School from the Infants playground.

And of course, unlike Karl, I did have several friends from Stanburn joining me - although, controversially, a couple of my best friends had chosen Harrow Weald and Harrow County schools in preference to Downer.

At least I could walk there - they would have to go by bus!

The thing I was most self-conscious about was my cap. We'd left the uniform buying a bit late and as a result, I had a choice of a cap that fitted perfectly, or one that was about three sizes too big.  My mum insisted I have the latter so I could "grow into it". Hadn't anyone told her that your head hardly grows at all?  So in the meantime she had taken it in at the sides - good grief!

The other thing set to prove controversial were the short trousers that all first formers were supposed to wear.  If ever there was an item designed to single you out for torment it was those!!

And even on that first day, I was close to being in a minority. And as the weeks went by it got steadily worse as more parents gave into pressure from their embarrassed offspring.  My mum, however, was made of sterner stuff - remember the cap - and a very clearly defined impression of right and wrong.  The school uniform said shorts, so shorts it was.

By the eve of the Christmas holidays there were two of us: me and Galba (Frank) Bright.  And we made a pact - no way were we going to set foot in that place in January clad in shorts.  The day before the holidays ended and I finally broke the parents' resolve and we duly purchased the longed-for long ones!!  Sadly, it took Galba an extra week - although courtesy of his being black, at least at a distance you could almost imagine he was wearing long trousers.

Fortunately, it was not destined to scar him for life!

I also recall my first days at Downer. I had parents who were strict about uniform and provided shorts and a cap, both of which I was forced to wear for the whole of the first term. Obviously the cap was stuffed into the bottom of my bag as soon as I was out of sight of the house, couldn't do that with shorts though! I remember the backs of my legs were frequently "whipped" by some of the less tolerant "older boys" and this made the first experience of secondary school a bit of a nightmare.  I do recall that as a defence I spent most of my first year lunchtimes in the library. This also had the advantage of providing a ringside seat for the bell monitor so that I could ensure a front place at the lunch queue for the First Form. A necessity if you wanted a choice for dinner and not just the crap that no-one else wanted!

All in all my start at Downer wasn't the best. My parents insisted I got their money's worth out of the uniform. In all fairness to them we were not well off and the uniform was a major budget item at the time, still you always have 20:20 vision looking back, especially with kids of your own to cloth, just at the time it was humiliating.

I also remember that on the way home I had to pass near to Camrose Secondary Modern, most of which pupils seemed to have a personal grudge against Downerites, especially those in stupid uniforms! Another game of dodge the beatings on the way home! I suppose it taught me a lot about life but it's not a lesson I've let any of my kids learn if at all possible.

I cannot remember my first day at Downer too clearly, but I remember the lead up to it. Firstly waiting to see if I'd passed the 11+, and had a place at Downer, or whether I would be at Chandos or Camrose. Then having succeeded in making my parents proud, cos I was the only the second person in the family to go to 'Grammar School', I remember a little shop in Kenton High Street that sold the Downer uniform. My thrifty parents insisted on buying a blazer about 4 sizes too big, so that it would last the whole 5yrs. The maroon skirt and perse belt, blue/white shirt, pe kit, including the maroon knickers, YUK.  I recall walking to school that first morning with Lee Fosbury and Diane Baker, and meeting Mr Portillo and being taken to our form room that overlooked the playground infront of the music, woodwork and canteen bits. We were in 1d, and I vowed to keep all my books as neat as they were that day. (It lasted for about 1 week).

God, looking back, school life was good fun, strict, unfair at times and a damn good grounding for later life. (Especially Latin with Mrs Davies, anyone remember her favourite complaint?)

I remember my first day. Unlike Karl who was new to the area I had attended a local school Kenmore Park (incidentally Karl Des Cumberbatch was in my class at Kenmore Park ). When I got to Downer it seemed to me I was the tallest person in the year I was about 5ft 5ins at the time and still growing. People who went to Kenmore with me included Susan Jones, Debbie Thomas, Lesley Lawrence and Gill Clements who was as small as I was tall.

I remember the awful maroon knickers which were part of the school uniform for girls. I also recall that we had to wear either maroon pinafore dresses or a maroon skirt which if I recall rightly seemed to have some sort of braces that crossed the back and buttoned to the front. Right from the word go I hated wearing such frumpy clothes and because they were all new they itched like hell. Of course we were also warned that our skirts could not be shorter than 2 inches above the knee and that Miss Caldwell held regular inspections by making girls knee on the floor to have their skirts measured.

I have to say that I can never recall being subjected to this treatment.  I recall that what we used to do was roll the top of our skirts over and over to get the desired shortness and then pull it down again as and when the situation demanded.

The other thing was shoes. I recall they had to be sensible.  Eek!  I felt this was seriously damaging my street cred by having to wear TUF shoes for girls. Needless to say they only managed to last a term after being subjected to ruthless treatment by me.

I recall being put in class 1A and our teacher was Mr Beamon.  I recall he taught languages and I seem to recall something about him teaching Russian to the sixth form (probably making them suitable fodder for MI5).

I'm sure all the girls will remember as well that we had to wear cullottes (maroon of course) for PE activities which were basically big shorts. Obviously Clara thought that girls in shorts in a mixed school might be a bit too damaging!

Also no make up was allowed. However as I had advanced into wearing the stuff by the time I started Downer I always ensured that I wore what I could get away with.

I remember on my first day we had to sit on the wall in the old tennis courts and be split up into our classes.  It took nearly a week before the teachers figured out that Dymoke and Bradshaw were one person [me Tony Dymoke-Bradshaw], Mr Monroe (music) struggling for several recounts to figure out why we were one short in his class.

Tony 1963/70