It was 1959. I was eight and in my last term at primary school before moving on to the lower school of a large boys’ grammar.
My friend Valerie and I were playing a silly game in class, paying no attention to the lesson. The game involved each of us in turn holding up a hand while the other tried to touch the hand with their tongue, while the first child tried to avoid it. Amazingly, the teacher, Mrs Roberts, didn’t notice.
The lesson ended, it was morning break and I went out into the playground. But after a few minutes Valerie came looking for me. “I’m afraid we’ve got to go and see the headmistress. Janice [I forget the wretched girl’s real name] has told on us.”