3rd January 1969. The day we moved to our new home. It was snowing. Me and my Mum were in the back of a removal van and I was watching the thin strip of icy road whizzing past in between the tiny crack in the middle of the van doors. Dad was up front with the driver. When we got there we met our new neighbour and she made us all a cup of tea. After that it's all a blank until my first day at my new school, Blessed English Martyrs (aslo known as, I discovered much later, English Martyrs - squashed tomarters).
First morning. It was cold outside, very warm inside. I was the new girl. They all looked at me and giggled when I spoke cos I 'talked funny'. I didn't. They did. They said 'noooor' instead of no. They said 'yeeeaaar' instead of a quick yeh. (No-one says yes do they?). They said 'loooook' instead of look. They called me 'Paaaawrlerrrrr' and not Paula. They talked medieval.
I was sat next to a girl called Tracy Maine. She was to be my new best friend cos she lived in the same street as me. Tracy said 'I feeeeel siiiiiiiiiick' every day. And just like the boy who cried wolf, no-one took a blind bit of notice of her until one day she was sick. All over my new school shoes. So she was sent to the beds for a lie down for the rest of the day, I was given a paper towel and told to clean my shoes with it.
What did you just say? You had beds in the classroom? You mean you didn't get sent home if you were sick?
Yes, we had little beds and a stash of fresh underwear for those little accidents that inevitably happen to all of us at some point during our first year or so at school. And we didn't get sent home. Then again how could we? We didn't have telephones so had no way of contacting home anyway.
I learned a new song one day. Being a Catholic school, Mass played a big part. One day we were all singing a song in Church. The other kids had already had a term to learn this song by heart and as I was the new girl, I didn't know the words so had to read their lips and join in when I could. But my young brain didn't think 'don't forget the accent'. So I quickly learned this new song with the rousing chorus 'God bless our bull'. I loved that song so much I even requested it one day.
'Please Miss, can we sing 'God bless our bull'?' Stifled giggles from kids.
'I dooorrrn't knooooor that one Paaaaaaaawrlerrrrr, how does it goooor?' More giggles.
'God bless our buuuuull, God bless our buuuuuuull'. Fits of laughter.
'Ooooooh. You mean 'God bless our Poooooorpe''. Hysterics. And one very red face.
They didn't sing 'God bless our Pope'. No way. Their lips were definitely mouthing 'bull'.
That day I deduced that if I was going to fit in round here I was going to have to change the way I spoke. And quick.
And so I too said 'noor', 'yeeaar' and that my name was Paaawrlerrr. But only when I was at school. At home I reverted to being a Scouser. And I went off 'God bless our Poooorpe' pretty smart-ish.
I soon became quite popular at my new school. I was bright (always in the top 3 for tests) and confident and spoke the lingo. I even got a Jammy Dodger from the Headmaster one day for knowing that xylophone began with an 'x'. Get me!
You know what? Life wasn't so bad out in the sticks. And during school holidays I got to spend lots of time at Grandma Mary's whilst Mum and Dad worked.
I even eventually overcame the horror of having my own bedroom, as long as I slept with the 'Big Light' on.
Next time, toys, games, friends and falling in love with Donny Osmond.
P
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