Excelsior School

Excelsior School was owned by its Head, Mr Powell, and it was an asset which he exploited to the full. The government paid him to run the morning school, which was free to those pupils who had passed the entrance exam. This ran from 7.30am to 1.30pm and it was in this school that the expatriate staff taught. The afternoon, or 'extension' school, also for secondary pupils, came in at 1.00pm, these children having to pay. Some teachers, like Keith, also taught in this school. Then the adults arrived for the evening school, and Keith taught there too. Mr Powell also ran a teacher training section, in which I did some teaching. Since Mr Powell didn't pay teachers who didn't turn up for afternoon and evening school, overtired staff tended to skip morning school, so there was plenty of 'cover' work to be done.

The buildings were in a sad state of disrepair. When one entered a classroom for a lesson it was virtually bare of anything except a blackboard, so when the students arrived they had to go off to find a desk and a chair. Once all had settled the class might begin - as long as a cleaner didn't arrive and turn us out.

Mr Powell was 65, though staff suggested he was older. It was fairly obvious that he could no longer cope and, with one exception, his senior executives weren't that helpful. 

The students were fun but most were unmotivated. The girls took lessons rather more seriously than the boys. Out of the dozen on roll, the only student who turned up regularly for my Geology 'A' level class was Grace. If it rained, the students stayed away. If it threatened rain while they were in school, they left early to avoid getting wet.

While discipline wasn't too much of a problem, setting and maintaining basic standards was. So I set homework at the prescribed times but very few of the students did it. Teaching was hot and tiring. Keeping going was a struggle.

Excelsior also ran a primary and pre-primary. The latter was on the other side of the cul-de-sac from our house, so Elizabeth joined it as soon as she was old enough. She ran home a couple of times early on: escape wasn't difficult as it was all very laid-back.

Our life settled into a pattern. I would be home in time for a late lunch and then we would either relax in the garden, often with friends, or we would get into the car and drive to a beach. This picture was taken in the garden in April 1974 when Gill's 'bump' was very evident.