Navy knickers and hard balls

MaryB has written a post on her blog about gym class and I just have to follow suit. By the way, MaryB posts infrequently but her posts are always brilliantly written, interesting and entertaining. She is one of my favourite bloggers, so do visit her.

PE. Glanmor Grammar School. Mid to late sixties. Two teachers Mrs Ellis and Miss Lewis. In winter PE or, rarely, folk dancing. I think hockey must have come under a different lesson code. Sports maybe? Like tennis in the summer.

Where to begin? Which did I hate most? 

I loved folk dancing. I tolerated tennis even though I was no good at it. So hockey and PE. Hm, I think PE wins the Most Hated title.

Let me start by saying I couldn't - and still can't - even do a forward roll. In junior school I got so upset by having to try to do them and being scolded for my failure my mum had to go in and see the teacher. (I don't think it did any good.) But grammar school was another place altogether. Your mum couldn't come in and sort out your problems for you.

So my complete lack of athletic skill added to my crippling shyness meant that PE lessons were the worst time of the week for me. Not made any better by the communal changing and compulsory - again communal - showers that followed. 

In comparison hockey was a doddle. Our school didn't have its own playing fields; we had to walk up the hill behind us to the Ganges. The only good thing about it was the time the walk took out of our lesson. There in draughty wooden sheds we had to change into or rather down to our navy knickers and dark green t-shirt. I won't go into the team selection horror; you can guess I was never top of the list. Or even on the list.

And hockey. Have you ever played hockey? Scariest sport known to woman. This woman at least. With no hand eye co-ordination to talk about hitting anything with any sort of bat, be it hockey, tennis, golf, was a case of wave the stick in the vague direction and hope for the best.

Judith was good at it. Judith was terrifying. I think she may have gone on to play for Wales schoolgirls. Once, just once I found myself chasing her up the side of the field. (Literally up. This was Wales where all playing fields are on the sides of hills.) She had the ball and I was supposed to be tackling her or at least stopping her. Even now I can hear the shouts of encouragement. 'Come on, Liz, stick with her.' And I did. Until she put some effort in. I knew when I was beaten. 

But just imagine if I'd stopped her. Think what a story I could be telling my grandchildren today about the time I single-handedly saved the honour of the school by taking on an international player and beating her. 

What I lack in physical skill I make up for in creativity.