1978 School Magazine

Escape! Our school's ancient bell rings, and herdsof navy blue- clad figures storm the unfortunate sixth-formers on gate- duty. Pushed unmercilessly on by this crowd, I plow thr6ugh the front gate, mowing down several second form girls who happened to be in my way. I am nearly skittled by a female teacher in a bright yellow Japaneselob, and I thank my lucky stars that she needs glasses. Fiowever, do not despair, she will try again. Another member of our teaching staff cum police force is organizing the bus lines, but f rom the look on her face, anyone woutd think she was moving a cargo of dead rat's. t join the end of tbe queue, and am immediately joined by a large brutal-looking girl who begins pushing lne, all- the while shouting, "Stop this senseless shoving!". The teacher on duty looks ready to faint, she has a terrible look of unconcealed horror plastered all over her face. A new looking bus comes towards us, the driver being one of the type who brake too late, and miss the right parking space by about three metres. There is a mad bcram6le and reshuffle of places, and although I had worked my way up to the front, I now find myself at the back of the line. I manage, however to get on the bus before the driver shuts the back and f ront doors, severe- ly injuring several of my fellow students. However, they are -scraped off the doors and our journey begins' I realise that I am only standing because two different girls are anchoring my feet by standing on them and I iook about wildly for somewhere that I can hang on, but I fail to find such a position. The aforementioned bus driver is just as bad at steering as he is at parking. We reel recklessly around corners, and speed through red lights, making me grab finally at one o{ the leather straps, vacated by a student who has just gone flying out the front door, thoughtfully left open by the driver. Hanging on for dear life, I swing ridiculous- ly about like a sock on the washing line in a cyclone. A second form student begins pressing the bell, and does not cease until we reach our destination, Central Station. I drop down from my strap and grope about on the floor for my bag. A Grammar boy of sizeable tonnage stands on my hand, crushing it beyond recognition. Biting my lower lip, I gather up my broken fingers and fall out of the bus on the pavement. On my knees now, I begin to thank the Almighty for bringing me through this teriifying ordeal with my life still intact. At this point so- meone, friend or foe I cannot be sure, throws my bag out of the bus and onto my head, therefore rendering me blissfully unconscious F. Sinnamon,44.