As I am working on a concept for an abstract watercolour earth element painting, carrying on from last week, I decided to share a couple more primary school reports.

I have no recollection of class 2.

From the above, it appears class 3 was split into two terms. The first was taught by Mrs Elway whom I adored. Mrs Elway played the upright piano in the school hall. It had an elaborately embroidered drop cloth affixed to the back of it.

My technicolor memory of Mrs Elway merges with the black and white film ones of English actress Margaret Rutherford. They both appeared to be nurturing, driven, crone spirits.

There were no excellent scores in class 1. At 6 3/4 my performance had markedly improved.

I don’t know why I missed 43 days of school other than having measles, chicken pox, and debilitating bouts of tonsillitis culminating in having them removed at the grand terracotta brick Ear Nose and Throat Hospital, junction of Edmund and Barwick streets, Birmingham.

After getting over the pain of healing wounds, I loved being in hospital. I have vivid memories of the late Victorian ward with beds either side of a central aisle with a table in the middle for meals. I loved the jelly and ice cream they served post op. Eventually, I was allowed to eat cornflakes although they had to be scratchy.

Good for P.E. Games? Perhaps due to it consisting of musical statues, throwing beanbags, maypole dancing, and running around.

Note, needlework was now added to the curriculum. Mrs Box taught us to hand stitch, embroider, and use a sewing machine.

Mrs Elway kindly reports I ‘tried very hard, particularly with reading and writing. Particularly good at collecting nature specimens.’ I admit to proactively contributing to the nature tables in most classes. Perhaps I could have been a botanist. Excellent for art and handiwork encourages my current endeavours.

My grades slipped significantly under the tuition of A.M. Lloyd, of whom I have no recollection. Maybe due to my father ‘running off to be with that Walker woman’ as my mother frequently shrilled whenever my five year old brother and I needed to hear it. Dad left us the day before my eighth birthday. I don’t remember whose choice it was. I know my Mom would not have been able to silently endure adultery. At least during this time I had a flair for ‘oral work’.

The formidable jacket and skirt suited headmistress E Lyon would have been sporting a French pleated hairdo while signing off on this report.