Archie Greenshields was born in 1920, one of eight children, living in Tower Street, Chichester. Archie recalls here his schooldays and also his first job, which made him miserable:

At the turn of the century, there were three schools in Tower Street; The Lancastrian Boy's School, St. Peter the Great Infant's School, and the Blue Coat School. With a girl's school in the next street, at mid-morning and mid-afternoon the happy cries that the children let out at playtime could be easily heard throughout the area.

By the time I was four and my turn had come to join them, the boy's school had long been demolished and turned into Ebenezer Prior's Wool Warehouse. St. Peter's had been renamed the Lancastrian Infants School and was only steps away from our home.

I expect I was thoroughly overwhelmed by being left with so many other young children, and can well remember being cared for by an older girl. I cried a good deal and was soothed in rather a strange manner. I had been encouraged to fit a number of knobbed plugs into a block of wood that had a series of drilled holes of different sizes to accommodate the plugs, an early model of an educational toy.

I remember crying so much that, to distract me, the girl placed one of the knobbed ends of a plug into my navel. Whether this silenced my tears, I cannot remember, and wonder now how she was able to shelter her actions from the gaze of our teacher. It is a fact that I am the owner of a considerably deep navel, which I proudly claim, is due to that unknown girl's actions on my very first school day!

I can recall another child of my own age that had an 'accident' on the classroom floor and to my amazement was not scolded for such a mis-demeanour. The teacher quickly covered the mess with a scoop of sawdust and just as swiftly, deposited it into the open maw of the slow burning stove; the only means of warmth there was for her classroom.

If the weather was unkind and we were unable to go out at playtime, we had to stay in the classroom. I would envy our teacher at lunchtime, having to watch her eat a cake and drink a cup of tea or coffee. In particular I would watch the method in which she would eat a doughnut, a cake that I was particularly fond of. First, she would nibble two places for a thumb and finger before attacking the rest, thereby avoiding the remaining part of her hand getting covered with the lovely sugar. Watch was all we children could do, for the system of supplying milk for children at lunchtime was years away still.

I progressed through classes, was taught to read, and discovered the magic to be found among the pages of books. The teachers were kind and patient and I still remember my first teacher, Mrs Pratt, a lovely lady.

It was considerably many years later than the time I write about, when my wife and I took our first daughter to start a school near our home in Worthing, when a curious coincidence occurred. The Headmaster asked me if I could recall my first day at school or indeed, the name of the teacher. I assured him that I could and gave him her name. The Headmaster then replied, 'That was my mother.'

At Christmas time in the infants' classes, we looked forward to a tea party eaten at our desks, when our teachers supplied us with cakes and orange squash. Before the party, we had to make the paper plates to hold the crumbs, cutting serrated edges round them for decoration.

We were all given a present of a picture book and I vividly remember a story in one that I was given, especially the illustration that went with the tale. It was quite a moral tale, of a boy who bought a toy engine with pennies he had saved, and then felt sorry for another boy that he met on his way home. The boy he met had no toys at all, so he gave him the engine. Frankly, at the time I read it, I thought the boy was daft to give away something he had prized so much in the first instance.

I must have enjoyed attending this school and the children were, on the whole, well behaved, but the teachers were firm in instilling correct behaviour. Punishment for poor conduct seemed rare, although one boy was caught showing off by illustrating to classmates how high he could urinate up the slate urinal wall. Unfortunately for him, he was caught mid-stream and was whipped with, of all things, a knitting needle as a reward for his skill.

At eight years of age I left the Infants to attend the Lancastrian Boys' School in Orchard Street, to begin a much stricter regime. The school was divided into six standards and I progressed through each. I cannot remember the name of my first teacher, but I treated him with respect after receiving my first caning, for falling asleep in class. A cruel punishment some might say, when it should have occurred to the heartless teacher to enquire why so young a child would doze off during a lesson.

The Headmaster, Mr Swan, was also a very strict man, for soon after I started attending this school, I witnessed him giving a boy six strokes of the cane near the front entrance to the school, where it could have been witnessed by any passer-by. His offence must have been very serious indeed to deserve such a violent action.

My next teacher was nicknamed 'Galileo' because he was so interested in astronomy (I have forgotten his surname). I must admit he instilled in me an interest in the astral worlds, and on the whole, he was well liked by his class. It was he who allowed me to stand by the radiator during a lesson, after I had arrived at school, drenched from the rain.

My next class was with a Mr Douglas Campbell, remembered for having a number of assorted canes that were kept in his cupboard, one of which was rumoured to be tipped with sandpaper. I was caned once by him for untidy and blotted work and called out for it to be administered. What added to my indignity was a classmate calling out with glee, that he knew I must have read the story in a weekly comic and had re-written it.

It was a pity that for untidy pupils such as I, ballpoint pens had not yet been invented, which might have saved me from the last punishment. More especially, as one of the next classes I passed through was run by the sports and arithmetic teacher, who, we were warned used a cricket stump rather than a cane.

Before that, however, I passed through the hands of Mr Norris, who taught art as his main subject and made his pupils draw solids such as cones and spheres, or the difficult ellipses he was so fond of setting us. We dreaded the corrections he made to our work if he saw any poorly produced, for the poor man suffered badly from halitosis and we constantly had to endure this when he leaned over our shoulders to alter a line or two.

My final class was with Mr Hanson, everyone's favourite, who introduced us to music and the arts. Being fond of music, it was he who took the singing lessons, and organised a school choir, for which he held auditions for its members. He went from boy to boy whilst we were singing together, to obtain these. Luckily, I was passed by, for those chosen, could expect to stay for after-school practice, which would not have gone down well at home.

As we had now all progressed to the highest class, we were given certain privileges, one of which was a small quadrangle playground at the rear of the school. This privilege was not appreciated by some, for we were denied the chance to compete with younger pupils in the games of conkers and fag cards. This was where cigarette cards were flicked towards a wall in differing feats of skill, to win or lose according to set rules.

It was gradually being instilled in us older boys to act like gentlemen, but considered by our charges, that a losing battle was probably being fought anyway. In an attempt to create future skills, there were woodwork and metalwork lessons for the two top standards, when items were made to take home, if thought worthy enough. My clock case and toasting fork did not make the grade and so proved that my future would not lie as a blacksmith or electrolysis.   

Towards the end of my days at the Lancastrian School, dancing lessons were given to some boys, and I seem to recall that girls from the top class of the girls' school joined these too if they were interested. I believe there were very few that took up this opportunity. Hardly any of us were interested in girls and it was a very heinous crime to be caught peering through the dividing fence between the two schools. What a significant and healthy difference there is in today's attitudes of the mixing of sexes.

During my last term, our teacher approached the subject of our future careers, knowing full well that probably the majority would be employed by Henty & Constable's as bottle washers at the local brewery, or at the local paste factory, Shiphams of Chichester.

My parents had told me, that if asked at school, I was to inform them that my father had already obtained a job for me. This was as a bricklayer's improver, with the jobbing builder that he worked for, a Mr Fred Shippam, who also owned a fish and chip shop. This was quite a surprise, for no discussion with me had been held. I was a shy and reserved boy, quite self-conscious, and not very robust either. The thought of going into the wide world to ask for a job would have terrified me had I been forced to do so.

I even had nightmares when it was to be my turn to lead prayers at the weekly meeting of the Wesleyan Boys' Club which I belonged to, so it is no wonder that my parents' choice was accepted as my lot.

In later years than the time I write about, it was always a boast by my Mum that I started school at the age of four. When making the claims, she had by then completely forgotten, or may have chosen to, her later refusal to allow me to attend Chichester High School, after passing the equivalent of the 11+.

The registration of me in the infant school as being one month older than I actually was, was eventually discovered at the next school I attended. The subterfuge came to light and authorities learned my true date of birth. Mum did admit to me, many years after this incident, that she had given the earlier date of birth to enable me to leave school at the end of the summer term, rather than having to continue until the end of the year.

The truth of the matter was, by the time I was ready to start school, Mum had already visualised that with a growing family (she had two children and another on the way), the family resources, already being stretched to the limit, would be even more so in the future. Therefore, who could blame her for attempting to get her son to leave school earlier than he ought, thus enabling him to find employment and supplement the family coffers that much earlier?

With the end of the term, shortly before Christmas 1934, I left the Lancastrian Boy's School with relief and, at the same time, concern. Not knowing what was in store for me was a mystery. For the next three and half years or so, I worked at the job found for me by Father, and what turned out to be far from the bricklayer's improver that had been promised.

I do not recall there was once a time that I was allowed to lay a brick. But I carried them, yes, and humped and mixed mortar by the bucket-full, receiving complaint after complaint from Dad or my employer. Always being nagged to roll my sleeves up, or to take my jacket off, even to put my back into it. No wonder then that I hated every minute of what I considered to be an ordeal. This was made worse when, on returning home at the end of the first day, I heard a neighbour remark, when she saw my Dad and I entering our Court, 'Here comes the British Workmen.' Exhausted from that first day's toil, I burst into tears.

Poor Archie! You do have to feel sorry for youngsters in those days who were expected to do exactly as their parents told them. Luckily for the youth of today, they are given more freedom of choice over such decisions as their careers.

Tower Street area