As his old school is demolished, Lancashire Evening Telegraph sub editor Eric Beardsworth makes a sentimental journey

CLOUDS of demolition dust are rising where I used to sit among clouds of chalk dust.

The old Accrington Grammar School - that impressive Victorian pile dominating Blackburn Road - is being reduced to rubble.

I left Accy Grammar in the summer of 1968, just as the school was preparing to up sticks and move to smart new buildings in Queens Road West, now part of Moorhead High.

And a sentimental journey to the scene of destruction left me with mixed feelings.

It was in autumn of 1962 that young Eric Beardsworth - one of just four 11-plus passes from a class of 30 at Cross Bank, Padiham - got on the rattling Ribble bus with the other lads in black blazers to join the intellectual cream of East Lancashire.

Padiham lads who passed the iniquitous 11-plus had a choice of grammar schools - Clitheroe or Accrington.

Clitheroe Grammar was noted for its posh arrogant kids, so my parents had picked Accrington, where the boys were fairly normal and could take their O-levels after four years instead of five if they were bright enough. And so began six of my formative years.

That huge building caused a dreadful sinking feeling deep in the bowels as I approached it. Thousands before me must have felt the same. Luckily, my first form class was 1L, benevolently steered on its way by Mrs "Flossie" Ferguson.

I can't recall her first name. Was it Elizabeth? But in those days it was like finding the holy grail to discover a teacher's first name. Flossie said nice things about my essays and about my efforts at English grammar, which eventually were to lead me to the columns of this newspaper.

Not every teacher seemed as well disposed towards the tide of smelly youth that flowed and ebbed every day.

The headmaster, Bernard "Ben" Johnson, instilled a great deal of respect backed by fear of a cane which he wan't afraid to use.

I remember the cheers when jack-the-lad Terry Wilkinson got on the bus home having received his 100th whack in five years.

We lived in fear of the shout of "Oi, laddy, cap!" and a clip round the ear from Sam Wignall if we dared to be seen outside school without that school cap on our heads - or inside school if we had inadvertently left it on.

"Pinky" White, the deputy head, stood for no nonsense. Neither did "Jackie" Foulds, who would fearlessly fling a piece of chalk at a miscreant pupil. If you were really unlucky, he'd fling the wooden-backed board duster with the uncanny accuracy of trajectory you'd expect from an expert in physics.

Other teachers weren't so fierce. "Spike" Roberts tolerated a lot until we really riled him. So did "Dozy Ken" Marsden and "Rolo" Rawlinson. Come to think of it, nearly every teacher had a nickname.

I remember "Pug" Portno the French teacher, "Winky" the science teacher, "Gobbin" the maths teacher, the thin "Famine" Clough and his Ariel motorbike.

And best of all, in sixth form years, the young curly-haired English teacher "Rosie" Sagar, as she reached up in her mini dress to write at the top of the blackboard. Ah, teenage fantasy!

What was the education like? Without doubt, it was among the best available in those days.

The science laboratories were a journey back in time, and the stick-on name labels in many of the text books dated them from the 1930s when Dr Edkins was head. But at least we had text books, which modern high schools seem to lack. Mr Blunkett, take note!

The days could be long - very, very long - and mind-numbingly tedious, but most of us left with a sackful of O-levels and three A-levels to get us into university, which is what it was all about. In the five, six or seven years we spent at grammar school, there wasn't much in the way of life skills, drink and drug dangers - we gleefully found that out for ourselves - sex education, careers, or even how to change a light bulb.

But we made some very good friends; friends for life, even though we tended to get scattered all over the country in our subsequent careers.

So let them pull down the old school. A school is more than just a building. Its spirit lives on as long as there are people around who can declare with some pride: "I went to Accy Grammar."

DO you have any Accrington Grammar School memories you want to share? Write to Newsdesk, Lancashire Evening Telegraph, High Street, Blackburn, BB1 1HT, or e-mail on:

let_editorial@lancashire.newsquest.co.uk

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